Malteaser
Rife with good space and healthy thoughts, the full potential of my recent visit to the Mediterranean island country of Malta was just never reached. That's not so bad though, because I think I'll go back.
Barely returned from summertime travels around the world, I found myself faced with an early Ramadan in our first teaching semester and thus an early Eid vacation at the end of September. What can a boy do? He can snag a cheap flight to somewhere new and exciting, and that's just what this one did. Doped up on sore-throat losenges I climbed aboard my 4am discount flight out and away from Doha, yawning through an extra two hour stopover in Cyprus (that was not mentioned on my ticket purchase, Emirates air customers beware). Never before had I wanted out of an airplane so badly. I landed, I stepped outside into the Maltese air and started walking.
Traditionally airports are set fairly far away from city centers, and this is not untrue in Malta with the exception that, on an island 30km across, you are never really that far away from anything, and thus was the basis of my decision. No cars, no trucks, no public transport... between flights, this vacation would be entirely powered by my own two legs. What better way to get a good look at the surrounding villages, I thought?
I cinched up my pack and started North(ish). I stopped to change my socks. I was angrily shouted at in Maltese by a very ugly woman(?) in an exhaust-spewing car. I thought perhaps my bare feet were offensive? Based on the often bikini-laden beaches surrounding every coast, I later learned this likely wasn't the case, but it's one of those things that you wonder about ten minutes walk into a strange new countryside.
I made an indignant face at the world and started up again.
Four hours of twisting streets and massive, yawning churches later I rolled into Sliema, my home base. Ancient, powerful buildings lay along the fortified coasts of the capital Valetta across the water, laying lazily in the fading sunlight. Hundreds of tiny watercraft of all sorts bobbed in the bay. I luckily checked in to a two-bedroom room with no one else in it at six-bed dorm prices due to overflow. My own kitchen and bathroom, I joyfully stalked the local markets snapping up fresh pasta, wine, breads and cheeses all of fine quality (I guess it doesn't hurt being at the tiptoes of Italy) and then joyfully stocked it in my cupboards. Then I rented a stout mountain bike to be my transportation for the next week.
Note to self: Unlike Qatar, other places get rain.
In my excitement to go off exploring, I set out bright and early the next day only to get extremely lost and covered in mud. Intermittent bursts of rainstorm made for slippery travel in and outside of town, whooshing vehicles splattering mud on my intimidated helmetless head, I sped along freeways and through back roads in search of my bearings. I learned after a few hours that often roads in populated malta are dead ends, or are closed, or are circular, and that frequent peninsular sections of the coast can lead a stray cyclist in the wrong direction quickly. I had to retreat when I saw familiar landmarks, and headed back to my hostel tired, wet, bleeding, muddy, and without reaching my planned goal of the Dingli cliffs... but armed with a way better understanding of Maltese streets and terrain.
The next day was far more successful, the scorching sun was less of a challenge than the slippery streets. My familiarity with the land was complemented by sun-lounging old men only too willing to advise a crazy tourist which way to go. A circuitous route taking in the blue grotto on the south coast lead me atop my goal, the western Dingli Cliffs by mid-afternoon. I didn't make it back to my hostel until late, and I couldn't get into the Maltese Falcon training center, but most of the day had been a success! I crashed, exhausted.
The next three days were off and on with sometimes fierce rainstorms, leaving me and my bike-rental costs cowering in awnings and sipping way too much italian coffee on the coast. When sunny I explored where I could, but my plans to circumnavigate the island by sailing were foiled by dark clouds in the mornings and canceled charters. The final day with my bike I explored Valetta and some surrounding towns, enjoying the quiet afternoon sun and fascinating architecture. I even took in a cathedral or two, luminous in their sunset sprayed stained glass.
I decided I couldn't leave without checking out the rediculous all night, no-cover, girls get free drinks club scene in nearby Pashaville. I joined up with some Slovenian girls who I had helped find a place to stay in Sliema earlier in the week and we hopped from one rediculous dance floor to the next with tequila in hand. The next day was mostly spent sleeping on the rocks by the water thanks to that, but late lunch in the cafes and long walks along the coast were the perfect way to wind down my trip.
The next day I woke up, cinched up my pack, and hiked my way back to the airport. Although I didn't get to experience a giant list of things on my visit to this tiny island country, I appreciated every moment, and learned a valuable lesson about the Maltese while waiting out rainstorms. With enough big grins and friendly chat, one can crack even the gruffest old man's stoic exterior and unlock a cynical story or youthful laugh.
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