Home, for some

Last night eight of us gathered in "Black Gold" where one of us supped black gold the rest had whatever. Of the eight, five hail from home, one of the five lives here most of the time and the other three were Americans living on a tug locally at present but they could be anywhere soon.

We were all of the opinion that Malta isn't a bad place. It's certainly better moored in Marsa than Mount's Bay. Living here is OK but far too hot in summer but he may already have spent his last summer here. The couple on holiday have now flown back but they enjoyed their stay and we concluded that Malta is a very interesting place but pretty, it is not.

Today dawned cloudy with streaks of blue. The streaks were driven by a hard SE wind of over 40kts even here sheltered on an inlet. Venturing forth it became obvious that 40kts may have been a bit of an underestimate but it wasn't cold. Still not warm enough for shorts but easily shirt sleeves and fleece if needed.

Our wander to the more exposed side of Sliema saw a quite disturbed sea which was intent on replenishing the many swimming pools in the rocks of the foreshore.

We had lunch with our friends from up north who are flying back tomorrow in a "Surfside sports bar!" which is distinguished by a banner offering 50% off everything till March and a menu with meals named after footballers of whom I have never heard. Fortunately a brief description of the offering was included.

Over a delicious lunch of onion rings and pancake rolls with dips and carbonarra without spaghetti the skies became leaden, the wind went more to the south and freshened noticeably. The warm edge somewhat blunted, I elected to return by way of back streets that were as fascinating as all the others. This time I found a shop selling rosaries and the prayers of a priest.

Our friends from the north have found Malta interesting as well but not pretty. I think it highly unlikely they will return.


I keep remembering walks along a deserted beach in Spain and leaving our footprints over a kilometre of sand then to turn and retrace our steps finding that they were still the only footprints. Not on a solitary occasion, either.

You wouldn't call  that part of Spain a beauty spot but it has little of interest either. A few torres to scare the Berbers but now disfigured beyond redemption by graffiti. Graffiti scars most of the places we saw in that region. Towns of some charm but all rather similar, I exclude Voldemort from any consideration and fortunately nowhere like that exists here or anywhere else. Having said that we do have a corner of this place which bears some similarity.

Dogs mess everywhere made a coastal walk, or any walk an anxious navigational challenge if one was to avoid it. Here dogs mess is in evidence but on a far smaller scale and only in one or two particular spots is it almost as bad.

It was quiet, though. No one tried to sell you the same harbour cruise fifteen times in 300 metres, you could cross a road at leisurely pace, the food was different and cheaper and the beer better. The local reds are pretty similar but there's something so much more relaxed about being in Spain.

Maybe the prettiness to which I am tuned lies in the blueness of the sea when the sun shines and the boats reflecting their stripes of colour. And the historicity of every part of this place. There is a beauty in the fortress walls, the massive arched domes, the ancient steps, shallow of riser and wide of tread to permit an armoured knight to walk up them as I found out at lunch.

Beauty, too, in the geography as from our fifth storey viewpoint we can see all the major landmarks of this islands past, most of them at least. The grandeur of warm winds driving steep seas at irregular shores whilst safely dawdling along the promenade above.

There is also beauty in being on an island as a finite lump of rock. Eventually the corner you look around has brought you back to the start. An hour on a bus is as far as you can go. Short cuts are by ferry and foot.

And yet. I conclude that I'd like to be in Spain next winter but with a south facing balcony like ours and with hidden gems around every corner, a documented history that excites, exhilarates and drives you to find out more.


What I want is Malta with less than a tenth of its population and for them to be Maltese with Spanish tastes but without dogs and spray paint.

And I want to reside for the winter in this flat with this balcony and an instruction book for the TV box.