Last day in Malta. I slept in a little, since the early hours were a little grey. No hurry to rush out into that. When I woke up, I took a nice hot shower and ate an orange. Like a person. The instant coffee my hosts had provided had run out, so I boiled milk in the kettle and drank it hot and foaming with some brown sugar. The home had a little open-air balcony, which I climbed to. From that vantage I could see the horizon showed some blue promise, so I got my act together.
No one was home as I crept down the stairs, but Bones the family dog came running up with a huge blanket in his mouth. We played tug of war for a while. He snapped and growled with delight. I gave him a few affectionate punches and headed out.
Walked down to the ferries area where, my guide book swore, I would be able to catch a bus to Mdina, known as The Silent City, in the center of the island. Had breakfast at an hilarious "football club" bar on a skinny side street. Men smoked and played a casino game. Men drank amaretto for breakfast. Men binge-watched Homecoming, getting very excited at any abduction scenes or any scenes featuring a "murderous Arab."
It was almost liking watching cartoons with children. When I asked for food, the exchange went like this:
Do you have a menu?
"I am menu. We have hamcheese sandwich."
Haha. Ok, one ham cheese sandwich, please.
"With butter?"
Haha. Ok. With butter. And a latte, please.
"No latte. Only coffee."
Ok, and a coffee. "Two euro."
Ok. Thank you.
The sandwich arrived cold, buttered white bread with ham and cheese. It was delicious, as was the coffee. I sat in my plastic chair, read The Historian, and listened to the old men cry out at the sound of electronic coins "falling" after a big win. The book is good, cheesy and charming, with great cliffhangers.
Finished up and paid. Some...things lay suspended in liquid in a jar on the bar's surface. I couldn't tell if they were eggs, mushrooms, or chestnuts. I wondered how drunk you would need to be to reach into that jar. How many breakfast amarettoes. It was getting close to bus time.
I'd thought before about how much like a British colony this place felt, but never more so than on the bus with all the elderly British tourists. It was like being on a little cart from Ambleside to Barrow in Furness. Muttering and cooing. They were a perfect ambient guide for me when the rain came. The bus windows fogged up, so I couldn't see, but when they all got off I did too. Surely they were all also going to Mdina.
They were. Wet little village area led to a small park leading to a marvelously peaceful and impressive walled city. The entrance was used as a surrogate for King's Landing in Game of Thrones. Ah! I tried to imagine being a location scout, seeing this place and making a panicked call to the producer. "Book it, book it now. I've found it." Old stone and seclusion. Romantic and ancient-seeming.
As I entered, the rain came down in earnest. I couldn't pretend it wasn't dangerous for my camera and books. Ducked into a gift shop and bought some hilarious, tacky souvenirs (including a Maltese Falcon!), and swam over to a quiet "trattoria" for a coffee and hamburger. Just like the ancients! Read more of the buttered ham and cheese charm of The Historian and waited out the rain.
Which soon stopped.
And then the day was perfect. Clean, cool air, and everything sparkling and new. An absolutely peaceful walk on the old stone roads of a twisting, magical place. Mdina is highly recommended. It's like a tiny Dubrovnik without the population of war criminals. I was seduced by its demure charms.
The guy who got rich writing Six Feet Under moved here and has the "most Instagrammable doorway in Mdina." I could not find it immediately on my own, but a guide in a little info booth helped me get my bearings. Hilariously, he had a sign on his desk reading "I do not help with treasure hunts."
It was nice, the door, as was this whole place in the post-rain, pre-spring air. I would have been very happy to have spent more time there. Bused back and marveled at the dome of a city called Mosta. It looked like another dazzler to visit, but since I was... mosta the way home already, I didn't disembark.
Some thugs boarded around Paceville, Malta's crime and club district!, but mostly just menaced one another. Their muhers took selfies and crowded one another. I took a great liking to the cove of St. Julian with its small, colorful fishing boats. The sky was huge and the Adriatic reflected a pink, glittering bridge of sunset.
Around a turn, Valletta bristled with invitation. Come back, come back to me.
At the ferries in Sliema, I got off and made my last walk from the shore to my room. Farewell, Malta. You were an interesting place with many strange influences.
Bones greeted me again, the long trailing blanket in his mouth. A barky, wrestling reunion.
It was still very early evening, but I packed for the morning ferry. My beard and mustache are a frightful pair of Paceville rogues. The former growing in like a Detroit herb garden and the latter resembling the lazy, drooping teeth of a carnivorous plant. I looked like a fly-eater. Went out for scissors to trim with and a final meal. Brought the book with me. I'd ripped off 200 pages already today. Really responding to its "intelligent beach book" flair.
Found the scissors at an hilarious mini-mart overflowing with fruit and maxi-pads, celery and shampoo. Rotisserie chickens turned and spat in a little oven on the floor. They were selling very briskly. I considered it.. but went for tortellini at a nearby cafe. Quietly reading and eating.
Then home where the host family all waited in a peaceful scene with Bonesy at their feet and little blankets gathered around them. We had a very nice long conversation about the world and everything in it. The hostess noted that Malta was shaped like a fish. I agreed that it was. They begged me to come back. I pledged to return. Supremely friendly people in a very beautiful home. I hope Brexit doesn't cause them any difficulty.
Early sleep, which came easily.
A taxi collected me in the dark and took me to the remote ferry pickup. It was pretty far away, but we made it. No traffic at this unearthly hour. The radio played Tina Turner and not a house cover of Tina Turner, for which I was grateful.
The ferry itself is an enormous floating shopping mall, a Duty Free Shoppe of the Sea. And yet it had its charms. I was bound for Sicily, the tail of Malta's fish slowly disappearing behind me. Thank you, old Maltese Knights for saving it from the Saracens. I return now to Italy many books lighter and one falcon heavier.
They are showing a short film on the ferry and the passengers, strangers to one another, are laughing and sighing as one, touched by the same moments.
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