Thursday, a long travel day from Amsterdam to Paris. We arrive in the late afternoon, quickly settle into our apartment in the Palais Royale, pop to the local Monoprix for provisions, and then endure a truly bad dinner (one of only two horrible meals I’ve ever had in this city) at the restaurant across the courtyard. The next morning, most likely because of that meal, I’m sick, and Buck’s sicker--he stays in bed our first day, while I pump myself up with antibiotics and other drugs for our first full day in the city.

It’s August, vacation time for Parisians, so many good restaurants--as well as, to my heartbreak, my favorite stationery store on the Rue Louis Phillipe--are closed. But Honey P. and Jeff and Marc (who arrived by train from Frankfurt and joined us midday) find some lovely clothes in Melchior. Six hours later, we return to the apartment, get some stuff for Buck who’s thankfully on the mend, change for dinner, and head back to the Marais.

Le Coude Fou. The man who seated us was owner’s son--he was pleased when we told him that we had come here for the first time almost 10 years ago and we returned to the restaurant every time we visited. He explained that the restaurant had been around for more than 25 years and that they still had the same chef. Another delicious meal at a wonderful price. It’s good to be back.

Day 1: a full-day trip starting with a bus ride to the Peterhoff, where we spent the morning snaking through the palace in the longest conga line of tourists I’ve ever seen. Then, a hydrofoil back to town, where we rendezvoused with our bus for a trip to the Church of the Spilled Blood. As a chaser, our tour guide Ruslan brought us to one of the seven sanctioned souvenir shops in the city where they guaranteed that every item we might purchase was truly Russian-made. Back to the ship through customs and straight to Neptune’s Lounge for canapes before dinner.

Day 2: a half-day excursion solely to St. Catherine’s palace in Pushkin. More crowds, more lines, more waiting, more walking through gold rooms and green rooms and pink rooms and the amber room (which was spectacular). Another shopportunity awaited us as we headed back to the bus. And back to the ship for lamb burgers.

On Saturday afternoon, we stood on our veranda and heckled fellow passengers who showed up an hour late for departure and yet insisted on stopping by the duty-free shop. Amateurs. We drank champagne and toasted our leaving a city that none of us had quite enjoyed.

Yes, I was disappointed ... in the tours, undoubtedly, and in the overall visit, but also a bit in myself.

As we hopped from spectacle to spectacle in our air-conditioned charter buses, the most interesting pockets of the city went by us in unidentified blurs. I wish I had taken the time to research St. Petersburg, apply for personal visas, and visit the parts of town alive with people and commerce and culture. I wish we’d had dinner in one of the best restaurants the city had to offer. Gone to a museum or a church for which there was no surcharge for taking a picture of the ceiling. Shopped in stores that didn’t sell lacquered boxes, nesting Santa dolls, or shirts that read “Vodka, Uniting People.”

Our experience of St. Petersburg was akin to going from the United Center to the Shedd Aquarium to Great America and then back to the best hotel at O’Hare and having dinner at Gibson’s. For some, that would be great. But for me, in retrospect seeing the biggest things a place has to offer isn’t really seeing the city at all.

We hadn’t made a reservation, but they found room for us in the back, up a half flight of stairs, it what was the hottest and darkest area of the restaurant. How dark? My iPhone shed just enough light to make my menu legible.

The restaurant itself on the whole was cool in an upscale Medieval Times sort of way. Heavy wood tables, tapestries, menus written in old-world language-ish and calligraphy, lute music, and cute young waiters and waitresses dressed in tunics and tights and milkmaid dresses.

We ordered the local beer, which came to us ice cold in earthenware mugs. We placed our order. And waited. And waited. And waited. An hour later, the meal arrived. Parts of it, amazingly good--the spelt bread and fresh cheese, the barley and lentils, yummy. But by then, we were sweaty, cranky, in need of fresh air, and desperate to see the rest of the town before the ship again set sail. We asked for the checks immediately, ate quickly, and bolted for fresh air and the early afternoon sun.

Cobblestone streets led us up up up to the two cathedrals in the town, as well as the ramparts from which we could get a view of the city below. At least theoretically--we found the entrance to the rampart cafe. Search, search, search, give up, head back down to the square to look for a pharmacy. When ask for a topical antiseptic (Neosporin or the like) The woman behind the counter offered our friends something that looked suspiciously like a feminine hygiene kit. Uhm, pass.

Back to the ship, no lamb burgers necessary today. Ye nobleman’s smoked fillet mignon, in fact, remained with me a jolly long time.

We weren’t due back to the ship until 4:00 p.m., but by lunchtime we were ready to return to the Eurodam--lamb burgers on the Lido!

The Dutch and their bikes. And their french fries. Biking in the rain, with an umbrella and a cigarette, while talking in your mobile--that takes skill. Brick sidewalks bruised my heels as, in two hours, we covered a small part of the city in the intermittent rain. It’s Pride in Amsterdam. Pink balloons and boas, Lady Gaga blaring from the canals, and crowds of partygoers at each bridge and along the canal. The rain doesn’t dissuade people from coming out to celebrate, pride floats.

We eat dinner, at Solo, a few blocks away from our hotel, and retire early as well. Until 2:30 a.m., at which point we’re awake again. Read, rest, reset.

Sunday morning. We have breakfast in the kitchen, a warm and inviting space suffused with the scents of the meal and beautiful flowers. A fantastic spread of everything from mini-croissants to freshly made crepes, breakfast meats and cheese, thick and sweet organic yogurt from glass jars, and strong espresso from a high-end Jura. The eggs are saltier, pepper-ier, drier, and the chives paler, than I’m used to, but the meal is rich and filling and perfect for another morning of wandering around the city while waiting to board the Eurodam.

Check-in is a cluster. No one knows what’s going on. The land crew is uncommunicative, mis-informed, and green. “No, you may not carry that box of expensive wine with you, it must be checked.” “Boarding number, what boarding number?” “I see you’re in a deluxe veranda suite, but I can’t find your keys, are you in a suite?” (Duh.) “Smiles, everyone, smiles!” And the number of blue-haired women and wheelchairs! After an interminable 30 minutes, we’re on board.  Sweet, brackish bliss.

Muster takes place at 4:15 p.m. Or rather, it’s supposed to, but two tour buses of passengers are late, so we’re dismissed for 15 minutes to await their arrival. At the bar, of course, where Peter and I have our first drinks of the voyage and our friends Mikey and John find us (like swallows to Capistrano ...) . A woman passes us and mutters to her husband about people drinking martinis at this hour of the day. “Amateur,” I think to myself, as I wonder whether two would be excessive before the safety briefing--like it helped the folks on the Titanic.

The six of us gather in our suite for champagne and canapes as the ship leaves the harbor--a two-hour journey to the open sea. Along the way, we wave at people who snap pictures and hold banners reading “bon voyage” at the shore--I’m not quite sure whether they’re seeing off friends and family or simply bored on a Sunday afternoon, but I think to myself that it’s a sweet custom. Even from our high deck, we’re close enough to make out faces--I would recognize mom and dad, or Sam, or Jen, or Michael, or Marty and Katie, from the distance, and I’d be touched to see them waving farewell.

Monday. The first day at sea, quiet. I wake up, mid-night, while Peter sleeps quietly. And then Monday passes in a progression of sleep then sleeplessness then sleep, spa, reading, snacks in the private lounge, walking the Lido deck for the equivalent of three miles, more reading (by the end of the day I’ve finished two books, “Blood Sucking Fiends” and “Comedy in a Minor Key"), dinner en suite, a replaying of “Kinky Boots,” our nightly martinis, and then sleep.

Until now. It’s 4:00 a.m., Tuesday (I’ve been up since 1:50 a.m.) Now, Alan Furst’s newest novel while I wait for tired to return. But I have a second full day at sea to recover before our first stop, Stockholm.

As I began to check in online for our flight, I stared at my passport in disbelief. It had expired. Almost nine months ago. WTF?

I gulped and gasped and googled “same day passport.” The first place I called told me that the earliest they could get me a passport was Tuesday ... right about the time our cruise ship would be docking in Stockholm. Crap. Deep breath, call Peter Carideo, our CRC Travel agent (who incidentally is an angel and the best travel agent in the world). A couple of exchanges later, I was dashing down to the passport agency in the city. 9:20 a.m. Valeted my car at a local hotel, ran to the Walgreen’s two blocks down for a passport photo, and then up to the 18th floor, where I stood in line for a chance to beg for help. 10:00 a.m.

Long story short, they processed my passport in a few hours. 1:15 p.m. And they were really wonderful to deal with, too. I got home in time to hug the dogs, grab my camera bag, and get into the car to leave. 2:00 p.m. 

The optimist in me is glad that to have the minor calamity out of the way. I find every trip has one--last visit to France, I fell down the stairs and badly sprained my ankle. Then there was the trip to Alaska when I left my iPod and camera in the seat pocket in front of me. Compared to an expired passport and the threat of no vacation at all, most else that could happen is relatively minor. We arrived in Amsterdam two hours ago, let the games begin.

One of Honey P.’s other favorite quotes is that “we must celebrate the holidays as they come.” And as Valentine’s Day approaches ...

I was talking last Friday with some teammates who were stymied about what to do or buy for the occasion, and the conversation got me thinking about what would make a wonderful Valentine’s Day. Hopefully my ideas come with enough lead time to spark some of your own. Three points:

Point #1: Relieve the Pressure
Admittedly, this is only important if you’re both feeling some angst about the occasion. If all of the burden for the day already falls on your shoulders, this is irrelevant. Otherwise, I think one of the best things you can give the one you love is happily owning the entire day. Something along the lines of “Hey, don’t worry about Valentine’s Day this year. In fact, don’t even worry about getting me a gift--this year, I’ve got it covered for both of us, and it’ll be great.”

Point #2: Assemble a Wonderful Meal
Rachael Ray was saying on her show yesterday that a home-cooked meal trumps a reservation at an expensive restaurant any day. I’d agree, with a couple of caveats: if you don’t enjoy cooking or arent’ that confident at it, then don’t put undue pressure on yourself now, you should be enjoying the occasion as well.

If you’re an experienced cook, then you already know what to do--go to it, and have a blast making something special. If you’re inexperienced or just plain worried, consider the possible alternative of making one dish--maybe the salad or the dessert or the main course. Maybe even just a special mixed drink--then create a wonderful meal buy acquiring the rest of the courses from other places.

Some other options:
- Choose an assortment of cheeses, cured meals, olives, nuts and French bread for a picnic-type meal
- Create a meal of prosecco, chilled jumbo shrimp and crab claws, a few dips, crackers, and veggies
- If you both love something that you can get in only certain places (for example, Chicago-style pizza), have that dish shipped to you in time for Sunday
- Choose a kit from D’Artagnan and assemble an authentic French meal with step-by-step instructions

Point #3: Choose Thoughtful Gifts
Plural, yes. And thoughtful, rather than expensive. The first gift should be especially for your honey, and it should be something that’s tied to what’s important to him or her. Some ideas:

For the fitness-oriented: anything from LuluLemon Athletica. Seriously, their clothing looks and feels wonderful--everyone from my massage therapist to my personal trainer to my best friend swears by the quality of their stuff. It’s pricey, but well worth it. Or how about an iPod nano, pre-loaded with his or her favorite songs?

For the foodie: call Karen at City Olive (773.878.5408) and ask her to pull together some of her newest finds--some oils, vinegars, spices, condiments, and artisanal pastas. Stuff that cooks love to use but can’t justify for day-to-day meals. And have her send some good hand lotion, too--people who cook usually have dry hands, and moisturizer is always appreciated. Or find a local chef of a respected restaurant and arrange for “an apprentice’s day in the kitchen.”

For the reader: some reading tools (book bungees, page nibs, highlighters) from Levenger.

For the fashionista: contact Lisa Williams (http://www.lisawilliamsjewelry.com/) and tell her a little bit about your honey (girl or guy), have her choose or design a special piece for them. I’ve been a big fan of Lisa’s for awhile--her work is beautiful, handmade, and fairly priced.

For the technophile: go to www.apple.com. Print out a picture of the iPad. Tell your loved one that you’re on the pre-order list. Brace yourself for serious impact.

The second gift addresses what I meant about “having it covered for both of you.” Namely, make an event of the next time you’ll get to spend time alone together. It doesn’t have to be anything bigger than a picnic basket and a DVD of a movie you’ve been planning to see. But you could also consider getting tickets to a play or sporting event or planning a weekend away, maybe to a city you’ve always wanted to visit together or to a place that holds some good memories for you. The point of the gift is to communicate that you value the moments that you share, so much so that you’ve already thought about how to make the next one special.

That’s what I’ve been thinking. To your health and happiness this Valentine’s Day ...

Small plates, their specialty, a sort of international tapas approach. We shared classic pommes frites, meatloaf, tasso ham pizza, gnocchi, greek lamb burgers, as well as some salads and soups meant for one. The place was so great we went back a second night and ordered what we didn’t have the evening before. Next time we’re there, I’m going to try to score the semi-private table with a window into the kitchen.

And for great coffee and homemade pastries, check out Brewed Awakenings, a nifty little place on First Avenue. It’s the kind of place that makes you heartsick for the coffeehouse around the corner where they know your name and your drink-of-choice and are always glad to see you. Places like Zins and Brewed Awakenings ... are the next best thing to being home. 

Angie greets us with a big smile and friendly “welcome back.” Our second night at The Cowboy Star Restaurant and Butcher Shop. She may be excited to see us, but we’re even more excited just to be back.

“Same drinks as last night?” Angie asks. We nod, and the vodka martinis materialize in champagne coupes. They’re perfect--shaken just vigorously enough to produce those happy little ice crystals that float on the surface of the cold, cold drink.

We’d decided last night what we would be ordering tonight, but I’m swayed by two of the specials: the bone marrow appetizer served with toasted brioche points and the elk rack. Honey P. and I debate for a moment and decide to proceed, as planned:

For appetizers, braised lamb short ribs with potato dumpling and whisky-currant sauce, and bourbon braised berkshire pork belly with celery root puree, natural jus, frisee garnish. And for the entree, Elysian Fields farm lamb with green garlic farro, grilled artichokes, lamb jus, and rabbit duo with potato gnocchi, organic swiss chard, morel mushroom sauce. The wine, a 2006 Elizabeth Spencer merlot (thank you, Michael M., for introducing us to this label at In Fine Spirits!).

It’s hard to properly describe precisely how well prepared our meals are--they simply are wonderful. Everything from the quality of ingredients to the harmony of flavors to the size of the portions--all brilliantly balanced and presented with simple elegance.

And just as our meal is wonderful, the setting is also extraordinary. The interior design strikes me as a blend of Chanel and Tom Ford sensibilities, with a touch of The Territory Ahead and Patsy Cline. The space is beautiful, and I fight the urge to sing harmony on “Strange.” And though the restaurant is fairly full this particular Friday night, Honey P. and I can enjoy a quiet conversation. Priceless.

Even though I’m not a dessert person, I’m tempted by a number of the items they have on offer: profiteroles, a cheese plate, bread pudding, and, most honestly, the absinthe. We resist, happily pay the bill, and stroll back to the Hotel Solamar--all the while thrilled by our good fortune to be enjoying a warm breeze under a Western night sky.