Dancing at sea

The final jewel of our 1982 honeymoon was to be a transatlantic crossing on the QE2. Imagine our disappointment when we learned that the ship had been conscripted by the British government to transport troops to war in the Falkland Islands. We flew home on a jam-packed 747.

Shortly after the ship returned to passenger service, the Cunard Co., in a gesture of goodwill, flew us back to England to finally enjoy the voyage from Southampton to New York. Alarmingly, we awoke on our first morning at sea to the captain's announcement that because of engine problems, the ship was returning to the English Channel. As we sat, moored off the Cornwall coast for four days, it seemed that our honeymoon voyage would, again, end on a 747.

The mechanical problem, however, was finally fixed, and we were underway. In the mid-Atlantic, we enjoyed an evening of dancing. My wife was in her bridal gown, I was in the tux I wore at our wedding. Explaining our "Falklands detour" to the orchestra leader, I asked if he would play a special song for my wife, who had waited months for her wedding dance. He did that, and more. Clearing the ballroom floor, he dedicated a melody to my beautiful bride, and we danced, alone, in a singular moment of magic on the QE2.

MICHAEL WALZ, Golden Valley

(and Christy Lueck, my beautiful wife of 25 years who doesn't know I submitted this)

Hikers' affair

When my husband and I were married 17 years ago, we decided to go backpacking. We also wanted a cheap trip, so we traveled overland to Ohio. From there we bused and hitchhiked to the southern terminus of the Appalachian Trail in Georgia. We hiked about 60 miles in nine days. When we got off the trail at Brasstown Bald, the highest point in Georgia, we hitchhiked down the mountain to the airport in Atlanta, where we used our frequent-flier miles to get a flight home. One of the rides to the airport was in the back of a pickup truck that was hauling fresh peaches. I have never had a peach before or since that was so juicy or sweet.

SHARON CIZEK AND STEVE LEWIS

Hopkins

Hurricane honeymoon

Our honeymoon was a disaster -- a real natural disaster named Hurricane Roxanne. In October 1995, we flew off to Cozumel, Mexico. On the first day, we learned a very large storm was headed directly for Cozumel. The airport had closed, the ferries had stopped, and there was no way off the island. By late afternoon the next day, we watched the ocean surge cover nearby buildings and we took cover in our room.

We spent 12 hours in the darkened bathroom listening to the wind howl. We jumped every time we heard a large explosion, knowing that the glass deck doors in another room had shattered. We heard tiles from the roof slam against the building and the poolside furniture crash as it was hurled through the air. We felt the intense pressure as our own glass doors heaved in and out from the force of the 115 mile-per-hour winds. Soon, they imploded with a terrifying gush of air. The roar was deafening and terribly frightening.

The hotel did the best it could, but quickly ran out of toilet paper, clean towels and clean bedding. Two days after the Category 3 hurricane hit, we finally got off the island to spend the remainder of the trip at the nicest hotel we could find in Cancun.

We like to think we weathered the worst storm of our marriage that very first week. Our honeymoon was rough, but 12 years later, it's mostly smooth sailing!

SHARON AND JOE RUHLAND

Maple Grove

Twin-bed troubles

MARY ANNE THIESEN

Maple Grove

For birds and lovers

My husband, Steve Scofield, and I spent half of our monthlong honeymoon in 1994 toiling as "volunteer assistant wardens" at a wildlife reserve on an island off the southwest coast of Wales. The choice reflected our belief in service, our love of nature and our austere budget. I'd do the whole thing -- the guy, the wedding keg of Bell's, the funny, exhausting, totally memorable trip -- again in a second.

We were on Skomer Island working for the Dyfed Wildlife Trust. Our "honeymoon suite" was the crumbling remains of a 300-year-old stone farmhouse; under the floorboards nested a family of Manx shearwaters, the rare (and noisy) nocturnal petrels for which the island is known. In lieu of a Jacuzzi, we had a battered metal washtub outside our window.

In the late afternoons, we'd take our binoculars to a sunny cliffside spot and, surrounded by sociable puffins, watch seals frolicking in the cove. We'd cook dinner with fellow volunteers and listen to BBC reports of the O.J. Simpson drama on a transistor radio. After dinner, we'd play cricket, drink beer and wait for night to fall so we could head out under the stars and see the strange Manx shearwaters returning to their nests. The clumsy, vulnerable shearwaters, whose eerie call I can still hear 13 years later, mate for life.

SUSAN MAAS

Minneapolis

High jinks in the Highlands

My husband, Jamie, and I were married in May 1999 in Chicago. We went to Scotland for two weeks after the wedding. Some memorable things that happened along the way:

• At a tiny pub in the far north Highlands, upon asking the proprietor for some salt for our chips, we received this warning: "Crazy for salt, crazy for women."

• We drove miles out of our way to see the Hill o' Many Stanes in the Highlands, expecting to find awe-inspiring standing stones, but instead saw a field of stones that were all under 2 feet tall. We now refer to any disappointing tourist attraction we come across as the Hill O' Many Stanes.

• We climbed Liatach in Torridon. We scrambled to the top of the ridge, with me in front and Jamie close behind. When I peered over the ridge and saw the straight vertical drop on the other side, Jamie asked, "Do you see the path?" I said, "Path?!" My heart came up into my throat and then I managed to carefully pull myself up onto the very narrow path that did run along the ridge. We've found that there are many moments in a marriage where this scene plays itself out in response to the tenuous moments that daily life brings.

CHRISTINE FRASER