The mountain bike trails from the top of Sun Valley’s fabled Bald Mountain (9150 feet elevation) wind through meadows, switchback down sheer slopes, weave through pine forests, and really get the adrenaline flowing. We were cruising (or rather, braking) down eight-mile-long Warm Springs Trail because the friendly fellow who sold us tickets for the gondola to take us to the top sized us up and said, “Take Warm Springs Trail. You’ll see when you get up there that you have two choices, Cold Springs and Warm Springs. You folks want Warm Springs. It’ll be a lot better for you.” Then he grinned and said, as if questioning our resolve, “Cold Springs is not for the faint of heart.”

I would say that mountain biking on a ski mountain by definition is not for the faint of heart. Hence, the slow, careful progress of our party of five.

It’s not a stretch to say that one of us could easily have flown off the mountain over the three hours we made our way down. The widest part of the trail was about two feet, most of it was loose rock with the occasional boulder and gnarly tree root, and hairpin switchbacks took us down the steepest sections.

We were novices. At one point when one of us picked himself up from a minor crash and brushed off his skinned knees, a more experienced biker who stopped to help commented merrily, “If you aren’t bleeding it ain’t mountain biking!”

Even though we took our sweet time and stopped for lots of breaks to make sure we didn’t lose anyone, we saw few other bikers and felt we had the mountain to ourselves. And when we stopped we could appreciate the stupendous scenery over Idaho’s Sawtooth National Forest.

The wildflowers on the open slopes near the top dazzled us with their pinks and purples and yellows and blues, but as we descended and entered a forest burn zone we came upon a scene “straight out of the ‘Wizard of Oz,’” my friend Lee said: wild hollyhocks as far up and down the slope as we could see. In 40 years of mountain hiking (probably 200 years collectively), none of us had ever seen a wildflower show so spectacular.

When we reached the bottom, bruised, dusty, fingers locked in a claw grip and forearms aching from squeezing the handlebars, we all marveled that we had made it.

“Heck, I’d do it again,” George said. “But not tomorrow!”

The next stop was the Jacuzzi.

My sentiments still stand…the names of inns and restaurants have been changed to their rightful spelling.

Very high on my list of romantic getaways is a wine country retreat. Most people have at least name recognition with the wine country of Napa Valley, Sonoma, Santa Rosa, and the contiguous valleys that go all the way up  Humboldt county — but little Walla Walla is a jewel that is less known — but no less worthy.

This town is in the wine region of Washington state and is home to more than over 100 wineries, about 80 of which are open to the public either on weekends or by appointment. The quality of the wine is superb, the scenery is stunning, and there are fine restaurants and places to stay.

Why don’t you know about it? Because unlike Napa or Sonoma, Walla Walla is not a short drive from a major city. It is about a five hour drive from Seattle or a quick one hour flight. But it isn’t something that most people will do for an afternoon or on a short mini visit to the Northwest. But if you’re in the mood for romance (or fine wine) you are really missing something.

First of all, Walla Walla is like what a California wine town must have been 40 years ago, a small turn of the century downtown that is more for locals than visitors. There are very few “tourist shops,” although there are plenty of tasting rooms and festivals. Locals will fill the fine restaurants unless you get your reservations in early (if you like truly wondrous food that you aren’t upset paying top dollar for, book Saffron as soon as you arrive). Also very good: T. Maccarones and another favorite of mine is Brasserie Four — where I am boringly attached to the yummy Mussels and Yam frites. Whitehouse-Crawford is usually very good but I have to admit I had a mediocre meal last time I was there. Olive is a new yuppified restaurant with good lattes, great lunches, picnic supplies and a very good selection of wine.

The fun and the romance however goes beyond roaming the in town tasting rooms ( I particularly like Tru for Champagne, Da Ma for very good wine with great cowboy art on the label and Rollat ). Get a car and go to the Oregon border (about ten minutes from downtown Walla Walla)  for deluxe scenery — rolling green hills in the spring, yellow in the summer and fall — and the beautiful Blue Mountains (they do have a blueish cast) in the background. Tasting wines in the informal and modestly priced (or free) rooms is intimate (be sure to make someone the designated driver though — some of these wineries pour very generously).

The Washington side of the line has some alluring tasting rooms with knock-your-socks-off wine. Bereson is a casual place with excellent wine. Nearby is Saviah, Va Piano and Waters (which has an especially pretty setup).  I buy all of their wines. Go up the hill and you see bigger operations: Pepperbridge, (known for their Merlot) and Northstar, also known for their reds.

Tertulia Cellars and Amavi have architecturally interesting rooms.  If you make a private appointment you can see Garrison Creek. This is a gorgeous winery set in acres and acres of wine grapes. Sipping their wine looking out at the Blue Mountains is about as romantic as you can get (but go early in the summer if you can. They are a small boutique producer and their wine sells fast). If you cross the Oregon border you can visit Zerba, which has a tiny log cabin on the highway, and Watermill Winery, which is right in Working Class Milton-Freewater producing a very fancy Malbec and great hard cider.

But that’s just one part of the area. There are amazing wineries on Highway 12, including one of my all time favorites, Woodward Canyon. L’Ecole is in a lovingly restored school house and is a big producer of moderate and excellent red wines. They also make two high end wines — Apogee and Perigee (delicious!)  A classy experience all around can be had at Long Shadows, a collective of six wine makers who have made a big success of their wines (they must have: the tasting room is decorated with a number of impressive Chihuly glass creations).  The wine has won all kinds of awards.

Finally, the last intense area of wineries is out by the airport. The Port of Walla Walla has built numerous small industrial type  buildings — unadorned but cheaper to rent, so that they can “incubate” young winemakers and wineries who can’t afford to do a more presentational tasting room. It is fun and efficient walking around them.

On the other side of the highway are some more excellent wineries — and some more beautiful scenery — Walla Walla Vintners, Abeja, a’Maurice, and K Vinters (who recently got a 100 on their Royal City brand and whose Syrahs are justly famed). Speaking of Abeja, that’s the place I like to stay and it wins the romance sweepstakes in any state. Two couples collaborated on putting the winery and an inn together to make a destination inn. I have been there seven or eight times, but let me warn you, you have to win the lottery (literally!) to get in there on spring barrel and other important wine weekends. They have a lottery for people on their wine list and  there are only nine rooms to be had. But what fabulous rooms they are!

This time I stayed in the summer kitchen that used to be a small farm outbuilding but now has a modern small living room and kitchen, and upstairs a big tub (two people can definitely cuddle in there), a shower and a big bed overlooking the vineyards. It is decorated beautifully with fluffy towels and quilts and big robes to make you feel well taken care of. A new room, just finished in July, is called Edison and it is a beautiful big bedroom and kitchen with an enormous window looking out into and among the trees that makes you feel like you are in a tree house. I have seen all the rooms — I would be happy to stay in any of them.

The innkeeper Mary is delightful, and a fine cook. Your room comes with breakfast and this July visit we had lemon soufflé pancakes one morning and a superb herb and cheese omelet the other next day. Sitting out in the garden under the trees, soft breezes rustling by us, hearing the river beneath us — it doesn’t get better than that.

If you can’t stay at Abeja, there are other charming places. Try Walla Walla Inns and Walla Faces Winery .They have lovely apartments downtown but also a few rooms right off of Highway 12 not far from the airport that has beautiful views of the hills and a pool. Girasol is also situated among wine fields very close to Pepper bridge and Northstar and is very romantic. The major hotel in the city, the Marcus Whitman, has been renovated and has a classy lobby and restaurant. If you wanted a place to stay in town so that you could eat and drink a lot and not have to drive, this would be a good choice.

During the winter Walla Walla  is a pretty sleepy (and cold) college town, but  starting in late March and going until November it comes into its own as a romantic destination. It gets hot in late spring and very hot in July and August.

The whole area is getting into the wine and food act now and two nearby towns also are quite charming and have attractions. Waitsburg has the Jimgermanbar which is renowned for its owner’s mixology, and the Whoopem-Up Café with celebrated home cooking. Dayton has a Fromagerie (a goat farm that produces cheese) with international interns and seriously good products). These places make for enjoyable excursions.

The area is growing every year. Each time I go I hear more international accents but so far, I haven’t seen the kind of buses that invade Napa on summer weekends. I hope it doesn’t come to that  (although I love Napa despite the heavy tourism and I will write about it soon in my list of the country’s most romantic places). Still, I would say see Walla Walla now — it has a casual charm that won’t last forever.

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Pepper Schwartz serves as the AARP love and relationship ambassador and is the chief relationships expert at Perfectmatch.com.

There are many popular canoeing rivers in Northern California. The Sacramento River, from Red Bluff, 30 miles downriver in the shadows of Mount Shasta, to Woodson Bridge, is not one of them.

It was July 4th weekend so we were expecting crowds, and save for a few kayakers and boat enthusiasts, we pretty much had the river to ourselves.  We had planned a moderate backpacking trip but when one in our party had abrupt knee surgery in April, we opted to paddle to our campsite instead of forcing the kids to hike with packs a la the Bataan Death March.  The preparations were similar to a backpacking trip, but we could bring comfy pads and a cooler. I was concerned about tipping the canoe, but my friend hails from Minnesota and has done this sort of thing before.

We rented canoes at the Driftwood RV and Fishing Resort in Los Molinos, CA. The crowd at the park was definitely more of a beer drinking, horseshoe throwing, BBQ crowd, some more hardscrabble than others. The equipment we rented was in great condition and they provided life jackets (of course) and unexpected cushions and small portable seat backs, which made the trip that much more comfortable.

It must be said that the Sacramento River flows, so the canoeing is anything but arduous. We actually did a lot of floating, which was fine with me, since I was in a canoe alone with my two boys, ages 10 and 6. It was glorious, and gave us time to enjoy the scenery. We saw tons of birds: osprey, pelicans, an eagle, egrets and even though the water was chilly we often pulled ashore to frolic and sort of swim. The temperature was in the 100’s so the snow melt temperature of the water was much appreciated.

The first night we canoed back to the Driftwood, feeling a bit insecure about the whole thing and wanting to get our proverbial feet wet first. This spot is clean, well maintained and has that feel of most camp sites, like perhaps they had their heyday in the ’70s. The manager was sweet and brought us pastries in the morning and charged the kids 40 cents for cans of generic “pop.”

The second night, we decided to pull up on shore and set up camp. We were told (and did a bit of research) that the banks are pretty much public land, so we could pitch a tent anywhere we pleased. The challenge was picking a spot and not feeling like there might be a better one around the bend.

It was a perfect spot and the kids enjoyed the clay-like mud. Having been engrossed in the FIFA World Cup, they were smitten with South African names and promptly named the mud “Mbele”… literally hours of mud play ensued, what more could you ask for an outdoor adventure? No ipod, video games or TV, even if the photo looks a bit like Lord of the Flies. We cooked on backpacking stoves, enjoyed the sunset and slept surprisingly well.

You can explore the small offshoots of the river, finding a variety of small beaches and spots to investigate. We finished up our journey and the Driftwood folks met us to take our gear back to the RV Park. They hired a local to drive one of our cars to meet us — all in all a pretty seamless adventure.

I recast and landed the fly in the same spot, watched it run with the current in the shade, under the willows and through the deep water again. But no strike.

“People say they catch fish but only small ones, and I tell them they’ve got to put the fly where the big fish are. That cast was right where the big fish are,” Jim mused, as I couldn’t tempt a trout to rise to the fly.

“I’m pretty good,” he continued, “but I couldn’t make a better cast than that.”

That, of course, was music to my ears, even though I suspected that he said the same thing to everyone.

We were fishing Wild Horse Creek, a quintessential Idaho trout stream in Copper Basin in Challis National Forest 26 miles north of Sun Valley. Jim was leading me and three of my best friends through a morning of fly-fishing that promised lots of contemplation and — we hoped — a few fish.

I’m not an avid fly-fisherman. I don’t have the gear, the box of intricately tied flies arranged in rows like museum specimens. When I fish at home I still use the $10 fly rod I bought more than 30 years ago after good buddy Lee showed me why fly-fishing was more fun (and usually more productive) than spinner or bait fishing. In a good year I fish maybe three days, and I usually spend more time pulling my flies out of trees and shrubs than tempting trout, but today I had Jim Santa to tell me how to do it.

“When I was an eight-year-old in Duluth I cycled to Amity Creek as often as I could,” Jim said when I asked how long he’d been guiding. “That’s where I learned to read water. I guess I’ve been guiding here since about 1997. I majored in ‘Steelhead Fishing’ at UMD and minored in Accounting.”

For me being here was a last-minute decision to join a mini-reunion of my Dartmouth pals — the only impediments being the usual ones of time and money — and in the high mountain sunshine I couldn’t have been happier that I’d come. There were bragging rights, after all, to be fought for.

Lee and George had their own gear, everything they needed to both look the part and entice trout to strike. Dave and I needed everything from Jim and Sturtevants Mountain Outfitters in Sun Valley. Dressed in waders, rigged up with a Parachute Adams fly on the line, Dave and I were ready to join Lee and George as we fished upstream.

Idaho is legendary country for fly-fishing. The snowmelt streams that flow out of the high-desert mountains and cut through the valleys are loaded with trout and have drawn avid fishermen (and fisherwomen) for decades. Names like Big Wood, Silver Creek, Big Lost, and Trail Creek get the blood flowing, not to mention such renowned rivers as the Salmon and Snake. Fishing here is as good as it gets.

“We’ll just pick and move,” Jim said, fishing a pocket here, a riffle there, leapfrogging each other so we’d all get a chance to hit different stretches of the stream first. The river was shallow enough to easily cross back and forth to fish the deep water in the bends.

It didn’t take me long to get my baptism. I was feeling my way across the stream in calf-deep water when I lifted a foot to step over a boulder. The fast-flowing river wasted no time in pushing that raised foot downstream, pivoting me on my one solid foot and planting me nearly on my face. Lucky for me I caught my fall and kept the water out of my waders, but I was otherwise soaked.

The good thing about being out of sight of your fishing buddies at times like this is they don’t see your pratfalls. The bad thing, though, is when you do catch a fish, no one will believe you unless you produce some evidence.

About 30 minutes later, after having got my bearings and made my way upstream, I cast into a ripple glistening in the sun. I felt a sharp tug, pulled the line to set the hook or see if it was a trick of the current, and sure enough I had a fish on. He pulled like mad, as strong a fight as I’ve ever felt with a fly-rod, this way and that across the stream, downstream and up, and when I finally saw him he was a nice big guy with a broad head, bigger than any trout I’d ever caught.

I got him to the streambank but wasn’t sure how to land him without a net, and since we were catching and releasing I didn’t want to keep him out of the water long, but I had to have some proof. So I managed to get him next to my boot, pull my camera out of a dry box and snap a shot. A moment later, fly extracted, he was swimming again. And I’d caught the first fish of the day.

But as often happens when fishing, the day was more about the practice of fishing than the actual catching of fish. The stream bubbled over the stones, cutting a sinuous path marked by green willows through the valley. Sage ran to the brown mountains, casting its earthy kitchen-spice scent everywhere.  A songbird atop a willow protected its territory or simply enthused about the happy existence it had here, repeating its call over and over much like I repeated my casts and tracked the fly over the clear water.

Jim stopped by and gave me just the right amount of advice: “see the line dragging you under, get the tip up a little”; “you’ve got too much line out, if you cast and hit the bush, then you know, reel some in”; “see that bubble line, that’s a good spot”; “hit that pocket”; “fish the green water.”

We leapfrogged each other, Lee caught a fish about the same size as mine, I had another big strike but he got away, and after I abandoned that pool, Lee moved in and caught a couple.

“This pool’s loaded with fish,” he said, but it was his hole now.

George and Dave got skunked, but the experience of the winding stream, sharp-toothed mountains, pale sky, and no sounds other than the breeze and the stream and the birds brought enough satisfaction.

As for bragging rights, well, they weren’t much. Based on the photo of the size 11 boot next to my trout, Jim guessed he was about 16 inches. “But every day it’ll grow two inches!”

Whatever the size, I was glad I caught at least one fish, and got to hang out and trade yarns with old friends in the fresh mountain air.

But this month I was invited to a birthday party up at the Summit restaurant on top of the Crystal slopes and I realized there were new possibilities for love on resting ski slopes.

First there was the ride up. With the snow gone and the mountain temporarily ungroomed by the careful padding of ski machines, the actual contours of the mountain are easier to see and quite beautiful. It is also an adrenaline rush as you feel yourself go up the mountain and have a better idea of how high up you are. It took us two different lifts to get to the top, and then we were greeted by one of the most beautiful views on earth: Mt. Rainier undraped, no clouds whatsoever. Moreover there was a 360 view — we could see Mt. Adams, Mt. Hood and Mt. Baker, all of them topped by glaciers. We were agog.

The Summit restaurant has a $79 gourmet meal but it couldn’t compete with the view. I am told they also have a very good brunch, but the view is what makes you hold hands, glad to be seeing this together. You might have gorgeous mountains you can visit during the summer too. I’m not sure they are as spectacular as this one, but if I were you, I’d go find out.

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Pepper Schwartz serves as the AARP love and relationship ambassador and is the chief relationships expert at Perfectmatch.com.

The islands get all the tourism they can handle, but if you take the ferry with your car and go on a weekday you can miss the weekend congestion. If you must go on a weekend and take the ferry from Anacortes (about an hour and a half from Seattle) or from British Columbia, prepare to wait in line a few hours. Locals know to get their car in line for the ferry early, spend time doing something else, and then have a friend drop them at their car before the ferry arrives.

Puget Sound is  full of islands with character — high bank, low bank, small coves, big agricultural expanses, small houses that blend into the trees, trophy houses that have architectural bragging rights — and somehow it all hangs together.  The ferry ride shows you a  sampling of terrain and lifestyles as it moves past various islands, stopping at several of them (San Juan, Lopez, Orcas) and giving glimpses of many more in the distance, many of which are only served by private boats or smaller Ferry services.

I stayed on Orcas Island. Orcas has a charming, New England quality and 2,409-foot-high Mt. Constitution, the highest point in the San Juans. It was colonized by Robert Moran, one of the Captains of Industry of the 19th and early 20th centuries, and Moran State Park is named after him. The mountain has a demanding climb to the top and moderate auxiliary trails for unambitious hikers like me. Expansive water views are everywhere and the island is dotted with wonderful places to stay and explore.

I usually stay at the Inn at Orcas, which is a short walk to the Deer Harbor Marina, about a fifteen minute drive to the town and quite a distance from the park. It’s a formal sort of house (think Charleston) near a cove that fills in when the tide rolls in from the nearby bay. Jeremy is your host and his partner in life is the cook for breakfasts that are wonderful as long as you aren’t on a diet or have a high cholesterol reading. These guys are warm and engaging hosts in a gorgeously decorated inn. Each room has its own theme, some nautical, some floral, some more English than others, all luxurious.

There are also two more private buildings — one of which is a small cottage that is quite cozy and has a great view of the inlet. I stayed there once when I went to a wedding and roomed with another good friend from out of town. We almost  burned down this adorable hideaway when Adrienne rested her suitcase on the gas fireplace and it melted and started to smoke. The acrid smell woke me up, and I grabbed the suitcase and tossed it outside. Fortunately, nothing but the suitcase was damaged and the cottage is still there for you to enjoy. A mark of Jeremy’s hospitality is that he has been kind enough to allow me to stay at his place many times since then.

If haut Charleston is not to your taste there are other romantic choices. The Kingfisher is beautifully located across the street from the water’s edge and they provide kayaks and other watercraft for experiencing the sound. They have a few rooms, sweet, simple and some with a great water views. The inn is very reasonable and has terrific breakfasts and seriously good food for  other meals as well. Another choice if you want a farm-like experience is the Turtle Back Farm. It has beautiful pastoral views and is compelling and cozy inside. Like the Kingfisher, its close enough to town to bicycle in.

One reason I stick to the Inn at Orcas (or my friend Cynthia’s place nearby) is because it’s a short walk to Deer Harbor — which is such a perfect setting that it looks like it’s waiting to be discovered as a movie set. Kenmore Air can drop you off there, and circling around before you land in the water is just so beautiful it makes you want to fall in love with the person sitting next to you (this means it would be a good idea to know the person sitting next to you…). The picturesque cove also  has a great little stand for lattes and sandwiches that can be your reward after you complete the absolutely stunning walking and running trail that starts after the harbor and goes forever along the water’s edge with many lookouts.

As for uber romantic things to do: Get a small boat and motor over to San Juan Island and eat at the Backdoor restaurant (wonderful food); have lunch at Roses, which has delectable chicken salad and just about everything else they serve will have you mindlessly happy. You can also just get stuff at the deli section of the restaurant and create an instant picnic on the nearby beach. If you want a fantastic dinner for your second night, drive (or cab) over to Ships Bay — which is a lovely place to stay as well.

It’s all informal here on this island, not too touristy even in the summer. There are  good quality shops in town and several surprising places (like Art Galleries and Pottery Shops) to discover throughout the island. Exploring here is a good idea. So is just reading on the beach, and cuddling at night when the temperature usually dips a bit.

Orcas is definitely a place for lovers — but it is such a quiet and beautiful place that it’s also a place a single person could go to find a dramatic vista and meditate. Families love it too. Many sailors come here with their kids and fish and explore several of the islands and inlets. (Few will swim however. That water is cold!) There’s no doubt that many different kinds of people can enjoy this island world. Still, I think of Orcas as the kind of place that will make you wish you were with your honey — or motivate you to find one.

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Pepper Schwartz serves as the AARP love and relationship ambassador and is the chief relationships expert at Perfectmatch.com.

But everyone can use the occasional tip, and Cruise Critic has put together a report on the Eight Hidden Costs of Cruising and how to avoid them.

I was visiting my good friend and her family recently and they decided to take me on a bike ride on the stellar Norwottuck Bike Trail, a 9.5-mile path linking Northampton, Hadley, and Amherst.  Norwottuck, the Native American name for Northampton means the midst of the river.

We set out on a humid day, ready for a mellow ride, their house was just a block from the entrance to the trail which made departure easy. Living in San Francisco, I’m unused to flat trails and enjoyed the fast and smooth ride and the natural breeze given the weather. Crossing an old train bridge was novel, and with a view of the river it made a perfect rest point and photo op. We passed families, dog walkers, folks of all shapes and sizes enjoying being out  and active.

Our journey took us to Hadley where we climbed the dike to the Connecticut River, wildflowers hugging the shore and kayakers paddling in the distance. I was surprised by the huge display of American flags covering the Colonial Houses. It was Memorial Day weekend, but I had assumed that the lefty politics of the area would preclude ostentatious displays of Americana patriotism. Apparently, though, Amherst has a large military population.

It was asparagus season, and I bought a bunch of asparagus grass to bring back to my mom in NYC. I loved the sign on the stand and the honor system of payment.

On the way back, we stopped at a trendy Woodstar Cafe in Northampton. My friends bumped into loads of their friends and colleagues, as I relished the superb coffee. We returned home and soon thereafter I hopped on Amtrak with my bundle of asparagus headed for the Big Apple. Over the years I have written stories about Rails to Trails in Washington DC, Monterey, CA and Boston, it was satisfying to finally enjoy the benefits of this great program.

As a young student, I remember being so haunted by the pictures and stories. Later, when I moved to California and worked in TV, I met a few folks who had covered the story, a personal tragedy for many in the San Francisco Bay Area. So it was with shock and intrigue that I read a recent article in the New York Times discussing the possibility that the ghostly jungle compound, where 900 people lost their lives, could become a tourist attraction. Visions of Dollywood, souvenir kiosks and, gasp, People’s Temple T-shirts made me read on.

Guyana is lush and the only English speaking country in South America, in desperate need to diversify its economy. The sacred land that is now overgrown by jungle is remote, part of the original appeal for Reverend Jim Jones and his followers. Is it disrespectful?  Would a research center to study cults be more appropriate? Or, should the jungle just do its thing and continue to smother the memory of the horrors there?

Encouraged by the travel lecturer on board, we got up at 5:50 a.m. to look at the skyline of Istanbul as the ship made her way up the Bosporus to the Golden Horn. It was hazy out, but strengthened by reasonably good coffee and pastry we stared over the railing until the sun came up and the buildings became more visible.

It became quite beautiful — although while dawn on the Bosporus sounded like it would be high on my romantic index, there is something about standing among some two or three hundred red-eyed tourists that doesn’t exactly create an intimate moment. I did see a few couples holding hands — and one couple where a young woman watched the scenery go by in her partner’s arms — so there were romantic possibilities for people who were able to shut out the rest of the world and only see each other.

After breakfast and a serious amount of additional coffee, I left the boat to meet Turkish friends of my friend Lana. Lana’s husband Lyn had met Selim and Nadire at a medical meeting (all three are doctors) and convinced them to write books on treatments for disabled children for a global charitable project. It is a special kind of person who will write a medical text without receiving money for it — and Selim and Nadire are certainly exceptional people. Selim - tall, thin and a bit bookish — and Nadire — small, fit and sexy with big and frequent smiles — looked younger than people who had three children over the age of sixteen. They were sailors and athletes as well as coauthors and parents and described themselves as centrist Moslems. They whisked me away to the Grand Bazaar.

I love the Grand Bazaar. I love the high vaulted ceilings and the branches off the main aisles that beckon with the promise of thousands of new booths. Everywhere you look there are colorful wares competing for your eyes and senses. I am happy just browsing and looking around.

But of course I did more than look around. I bought a small turquoise bracelet for my daughter, an old sword for my son (he collects them) and a jade bracelet and antique Persian book illustration for myself. I ogled carpets and dishes and scarves and silver — but managed to fend off the impulse to buy it all.

It’s an overwhelming place — and yet, not impersonal. I had a great conversation with the man who sold me the Persian illustration (he had amazing drawings and paintings in his pint-sized booth) and we ended up taking pictures together. I had to be dragged out of there.

I was anxious and pleased, however, to be invited to Selim’s ancestral home, a traditional wooden building in a changing neighborhood. There I met his brother and sister-in-law who offered me tea and a mini introduction to Sufi theology about sexuality. His brother, having been told I was a sex and relationship expert, explained to me that his Sufi religion had little-known teachings about sexuality and its deeper connection to spirituality and transformation. He invited me to return some day and meet some of the masters of the religion who could tell me more. He was gracious and I was rapt and intrigued.

After that we went to see the gorgeous mosaics at the Chora Museum. The former Byzantine church is as it should be, said Selim. Modest on the outside, artistic within. I took about fifty photos of the intricate religious mosaics, and then we left the divine to concentrate on feeding our mortal bodies.

Selim and Nadire went to the modern street they like best — Istiklal Caddesi — a cross between the broad shopping streets of Paris and the Ginza in Japan. We went to an excellent restaurant, Haji Abdullah, which was on a side street off Istiklal. It was composed of three large rooms decorated with Turkish art and big jars of stored fruits and vegetables.

The custom in Turkish restaurants is to go up to a counter filled with all the appetizers and some of the main dishes and pick out selections that look good to you. Salim, Nadire and I were famished by the time we looked over the choices and they ordered just about everything on the display counter. There were artichokes in olive oil, glorious string beans, mashed eggplant and lamb, stuffed grape leaves, lamb shank, grilled eggplant, chopped tomatoes, steamed fish and some sweet red goop with strawberries in it that looked and tasted like liquid Jello. Selim said that foreigners often found it too sweet and I was no exception. After this feast we went to Selim’s favorite chocolate shop where he bought a creation that resembled profiteroles smothered with chocolate sauce. It was not wonderful and Selim agreed that it was not its usual quality.

My hosts had a wedding to go to that night and invited me to relax at their place while they were gone and stay over night. But it was the last couple of nights of the trip and I thought I should rejoin my group.

They dropped me off at the ship and I rejoined Janet and her family. We had dinner and discussed the last and final day in Istanbul. Janet’s brother had hired a guide and tomorrow we would do all the usual tourist spots — the Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque, the Cistern. They had toured Topkapi museum while I was with Selim and Nadire and loved it (I had been there twice before and while I enjoyed seeing the Harem quarters and the baseball size emeralds and diamonds, I had no desire to go a third time). A couple of the group, against advice, had gone to the more modern Dolmabahce Palace and regretted it. The tour is boring, the rooms are garish and there really is absolutely no reason to see it.

So the next day we did the tourist sights and they are popular because they deserve to be. The Blue Mosque is huge with some beautiful tiled walls, but once I am in hoards of tourists I find it I hard to connect with a place. This was also true for Hagia Sophia — although Selim’ s brother had urged me to connect with the female spirit of the space. I tried — but the people distracted me. Hagia Sophia has a rich background, however, of being both church and mosque, and though now a museum there is a feeling in this place of the hundreds of years of religious history that have enlivened it’s interior.

The next stop, the Cistern was new for me. It was constructed long ago using scavenged Roman pillars to create a holding tank for city water. Dark and lit at the base of the pillars, it is a mixture of creepy and romantic — more the former than the latter — but definitely worth seeing.

So that was it. We had disembarked the ship that morning — really quite sad to say goodbye to the Azamara’s excellent staff and pampering. I thanked Philip Herbert, the hotel manager again for his kindness and for the wonderful room he had given us — and had several embraces with waiters and other people who had taken exceptionally good care of me.

We transferred for our last night to the Intercontinental Hotel, a chain frequented by Janet’s brother. It was big, glitzy (crystal struts for the winding stairway in the middle of the lobby that went from the first to the second floor) and our room was quite lovely with a nice view of the city and the hotel pool.

It was international style however, and except for European plugs for appliances we could have been anywhere. Some people love the predictability and elegance of such hotels and I like them in the United States. In Europe however, if I can, I prefer something more local. Still, it was a beautiful hotel and well run.

So, how do I rate the trip on the romantic meter? The Azamara was an excellent ship and an easy place to be lovers, tour the islands and watch the sunset. The food, service and spa services were first rate. Our room, the next upgrade from a balcony room, was terrific. It had a big enough balcony for a small table and chairs and a lounge chair. Some of the nicest moments on the trip were spent on that balcony, drinking good coffee and watching one island after another go by. The other balcony rooms were nicely appointed and came with a personal valet, but suffered from modest bathrooms and downright awkward and small showers.

My favorite romantic place on the trip was Santorini, hands down. The views from the town of Oai were breathtakingly beautiful. For monuments, Ephesus of course, but in particular, the relatively new reconstruction of elegant Roman homes. And finally, Istanbul. A city of life, diversity, political contradictions and endless shopping, restaurants, neighborhoods and monuments to explore. This was not my first trip to Istanbul, and it won’t be my last. Next time I want to see much more of Turkey, a land of beauty, art, and mysteries of history.

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Pepper Schwartz serves as the AARP love and relationship ambassador and is the chief relationships expert at Perfectmatch.com.