A Week Of Fun, Cliffs, And Carnival Chaos In Our Island Quest.
In our island-hopping quest to find the perfect paradise for post-graduation life, one contender seemed like a slam-dunk on paper: Malta.
It checked every box we’d dreamed up—turquoise waters, white cliffs, cozy Mediterranean vibe, mild February weather, rocks for Yoni to climb, and, most importantly, everyone spoke English!
It looked like we’d found “the one.”
So, in 2012, during the Crocus holiday, we took off for a week to explore this miniature Mediterranean marvel.
I’d booked an Airbnb that looked like it had waltzed off a movie set: all modern furniture, plenty of space, and a view of the sea that could make you swoon.
Thom brought a friend along for some company her own age while we tested the waters—literally and figuratively—of island life.
Malta had everything. We found prehistoric temples, ancient forts, Crusader towers, and coastal views to make you want to stop and stare.
And as a bonus, we’d arrived right in the middle of Carnival week, so the streets were alive with colorful parades, dancing, and energy that made you feel like the whole island was in on one big inside joke.
But for us? We didn’t need Carnival to let our inner kids out.
Yoni, Thom, and her friend seemed to have a radar for playgrounds and made sure to test every single one on the island.
Thom was in her “experimental photography” phase and convinced us all to try her new “people flying” concept—meaning we had to jump
while she snapped a shot mid-air.
The results were a blend of hilarity, awkwardness, and occasionally, a surprising amount of grace against Malta’s stunning backdrops.
Our days were filled with cliffside walks, exploring Gozo, taking in sea views that dropped off into oblivion, and playing make-believe Crusaders at every fort we found. Malta’s cliffs and castles had us hooked—especially on the views.
On the final day, Yoni decided to take his love of heights a bit further and hired a local guide for some rock climbing.
We watched from a safe distance as he dangled, a tiny black speck on the side of a cliff between sky and sea.
He looked like a modern-day action hero. We cheered, but let’s be honest—we were secretly thrilled that none of us had to try it.
Yet, even with all this fun and the amazing photos we were racking up, something about Malta just didn’t feel right.
The island had a kind of strictness, a vibe that was a little more rigid than we’d hoped for.
It was beautiful, no question, but as the week went on, it felt a bit…well, claustrophobic.
We couldn’t quite put our finger on it, but the magic we were looking for just wasn’t there. And trust me, I wanted to love it.
After our week of exploration, we crossed Malta off the list.
It would stay in our memories as a place where we’d learned to “fly,” laughed ourselves silly, and gained a newfound respect for rock climbers, but it wasn’t “home.”
So we left our island hunt in the Universe’s hands, hoping it would deliver the right one at the right time.
Luckily, just two years later, the perfect paradise found us.
But in the meantime, Malta remained a favorite chapter in our journey—a place of playful days, unforgettable cliffs, and our grand Carnival discovery that
sometimes, finding where you belong means learning where you don’t.
