Tuesday 2 February 2010

Tuesday 2^nd Well the last full day has arrived, down to breakfast early as ever, already there are Sandy, and another retired couple going back today Betty and Ron, they have been as lucky at bingo as M&S twice to my knowledge winning two games back to back, betty used to be a school teacher and has regaled us with some of her stories over the last week or so.

I get to the bus stop the weather had looked promising an hour ago, but now threatening black clouds are rolling in from Gozo, there are soon spots of rain, but no use giving it much thought there are things I need to do, and today is the only day rain or no rain.

Arriving in the capital, the clouds are not so black now, unfortunately it is as cold as I can remembering it being since my arrival, I’m wearing my crocs again thanks to an improvement in the foot department, and my feet feel cold, I walk down Republic street with my arms folded to try and keep warm, I’m heading for the Malta experience café again for the email ritual, not looking forward to it in this cold, the only place I can guarantee a good reception is in the shade.

As I get there better get a cup of coffee if I’m going to us their table and chair, as I get my drink I notice there is a WIFI sign inside the café, so I ask if it will be alright to sit inside, yes, would you believe it my last day and now I discover I can be inside.

Even thou it is a free service I have always bought something, but sitting outside while the connection has been good, the glare has not been, even in the shade, I have lost count of the amount of times I have been unable to find the curser in the outside light, whole minutes have passed as I vainly scanned the screen looking for it.

All is done in a quarter of the time it normally takes, coffee finished I leave the café, and walk towards lower Barracker gardens, I go and take a closer look at the siege bell, it rings out every day at noon to salute the fallen of the second world war, the bell is very large to say the least, there is a warning sign telling you not to stand under it while it chimes, I’m sure some fools have, they are now walking round looking like Quasimodo and uttering those famous words the whisky the whisky, or was it bells?

I decide to carry on walking round the outskirts of Valletta, I have no other plans, it is then it dawns on me that there has been a marked improvement in the weather it is now warm and sunny, I walk into an area I’ve not previously been, it is soon obvious it is industrial, there are factory units quite a few fork lift trucks dodging about the smell of steel being cut, something I recognise from my days in engineering.

A short walk in an area called Hamrun, it appears a little run down but as always on this Island it has a magnificent church, someone told me there are 365 churches on Malta one for every day of the year, my impression is there are far more than that, there can be no doubt this is a deeply religious country, you only have to be around to see how many attend a service, when mass is over, there is broad spread of ages young guys jumping into their supped up cars and speeding off mix with the older generation.

Now I enter Masada this is area where I thought there was an African university, well now I know the truth parts are industrial and the large influx of Africans are migrant labour, heading back towards the centre I take advantage of my bus pass and jump on one, now all that’s left to do is stop off in Mellieha and pick up a last gift, that done I step off my last Maltese bone shaker.

After coffee and biscuits‘, settling down does not come easy even at this late stage, I pick up my camera and wander along the sea front, it is sunny but there is a stiff wind it’s then I notice that there is no sign of the ferry, there is not one in port, or crossing, when I look over at Gozo I can see both the ferry’s are sheltering from the wind, I’m glad I was not crossing today the sea looks very choppy, people commute between the two Islands, so there must be real difficulty at times in just getting to and from work.

The sun is starting to set behind a collection of different shaded clouds, this is creating a free light show I find myself and my camera drawn to, maybe the last time I’ll see a Maltese sunset.

After dinner I get my final carafe of wine, sit with a large bar of dark chocolate donated to me by Betty and Ron, there is a film being shown at 9pm in one of the hotels large lounges, I decide to have my own film show by watching my own favourite “As good as it gets” with Jack Nicholson on my laptop.

Monday 1 February 2010

Monday 1^st Have decided to stay fairly close to the hotel today, firstly I wander down the bay by the Rivera hotel, that most people have walked to so they tell me, as I get to the bend in the road I notice a four by four jeep on it’s side and parallel with it is a container wagon lying there like some dead dinosaur, there are no people about, I walk down to the bay, it is pleasant weather wise like a warm day in May or September in the UK, as I return back to the main road to catch my first bus of the day, a large mobile crane has arrived on the scene and there is now a small crowd in attendance.

Now I have a theory as to how this happened, before the bend where the beasts lie there is a straight piece of road about three quarters of a mile, at the start of that straight is the ferry terminal, I along with many when stood at the bus stop near the hotel have watched some times in open mouthed astonishment as heavy lorries, vans, cars and motor bikes roar off the ferry from Gozo as if at the start of a grand prix, the prize is being first to the bend, the reason being once you get to the bend you are faced with a steep twisting road, obviously no one wants to get stuck behind a slower moving vehicle.

On the bus and up the hill, I jump off by the Red Tower as I’ve notice a road sign ever since I arrived pointing in the opposite direction to the tower, one kilometre to Armier Bay it says, now is the time to see it as soon it will be too late, should take about fifteen minutes, I start off walking I’m the only one walking in the area, a few cars about, otherwise just me, the solitude can be calming, the road seems never ending, I see a sign in the distance could this be it, when I get there it’s for a place called Ramla Bay, so it’s not this unless it has two names, this feels a long kilometre, then I spy a small traffic island just ahead covered in signs, one of them is for Armier Bay, first left, when I look down the road it looks about half a mile at least, good job my feet are improving, I get to the end of the road, I’m still not there, turn right and another hundred or so yards to go, I don’t know what I expected but Armier bay turns out to be a one horse town, that ends up having no horse, I’m wondering how long it has took me.

I decide to time myself on the way back, also I resort to help in the shape of my Mp3 player, Nick Drake with the River man helps for three minutes of the twenty seven it takes me, no way was the sign right, later I notice Ramla Bay was 1.2 kilometres and I passed that a good twelve minutes before I got to Armier Bay.

I have a stoke of luck I get to the main road just in time to catch the bus, I plan to get off in Mellieha there’s a shop I want to get a gift from, when I get off I find the shop is closed till Tuesday, what to do now? I had no plans to go to Valletta today, so that must be the reason why I end up there, it is now tee shirt weather.

I decide to have one last walk round the harbour part of the capital, but anti clockwise this time for a different perspective, it now starts to dawn on me, I shall soon be back to winter condition in the UK, just like M&S who leave for home at midday, they are glad to be going back, myself not so much so.

The lure of another tuna and spinach pie from the Capri café is too strong, it is well over a week since I last had one, I dully hand over my Euro and in it’s place I get a piece of heaven, they really are delicious

I sit on the wall of the bombed opera house, woofing down my pie in-between swigs of coke.

Time to catch the bus back to base, well that was the plan until we reach Xemxija (yes I know four million points in scrabble) the bay here is as great to look at as that pie was to eat, up till now I have always viewed it from the bus, not now the impulse is too strong and I’m off the bus, letting my eyes indulge in the beauty before me.

My battered feet are soon in the sea water, soothing if a little cold, then I finally do get to the hotel, sitting outside with a pint taking in the last hour of glorious sunshine and a brief chat with Sandy who will be leaving early tomorrow morning.

I go down for my last dinner in Malta, I shan’t bother tomorrow, I was seventy eight kilos when I left London, I really hate to think what I weigh now, we shall soon know.

A group of us get together for a few drinks while listening to the evenings entertainment the guy who can’t sing the word thing, but is very pleasant to listen to never the less, I get up to hit the sack almost make the stairs, when he starts singing “A whiter shade of pale” so I stop to hear, he really is quite good, then time for bed.

Sunday 31 January 2010

Sunday 31^st I’m up really early I have intentions of going to Mdina again, after breakfast I set off buy a three day bus ticket, not here long enough for a weeks one now, the weather looks fine, clear blue skies if a bit on the cold side, I want to film some of Mdina and later Valletta, while I have close on thirteen hundred photographs it would be nice to have some moving images.

Arriving in Mdina I find the streets almost deserted, I’m sure the church is full, but I hardly is anyone, that’s a plus when it comes to filming, as previously stated the view from this high vantage point is to die for, must make sure I capture Mosta Dome for future viewing, the weather could not be better for the purpose.

After filming I venture into the Mdina glass shop, Mdina glass is world famous, the prices reflect that, my meagre funds allow me to purchase a small but beautifully formed token, I have filmed all I wish of Mdina and a little of Rabat so time to leave.

Taking a new bus route I arrive back in Valletta the bus terminus is manic, hooting horns the pungent smell of diesel, I capture what I can on film, people will have to imagine the smell, then down part of Republic street, cut across to Market street, filming on and off as I go, I then have a thought, it’s Sunday would St. Paul’s the Shipwreck church be open, I’ve seen it from the outside, also read that this a hidden gem of a place to visit, this may be my last chance, it is getting easier to navigate around the city after three weeks, so I soon find it, my luck is in, it is open.

Once inside it is amazing, for those that like Dr Who this is like the Tardis, from the outside you could never in your wildest dreams comprehend the size of the inside, one chapel and alter, after another, the book was right, I wonder how many tourists miss this gem.

The time is moving towards midday, I could capture the firing of the noon day cannon in Upper Barracker gardens, I get there in plenty of time, another objective accomplished, I then spend some time filming from the gardens across the bay, the view of the three cities is picturesque in the bright sunlight, I then wander down to the old opera house ruin bombed in the second world war, It’s not long before my memory card is flashing “card full” at me, now I have to resort to photos only again. I’m really feeling the pace now every day out first thing determined to explore,Old Opera Hous the odd lie in would not have gone amiss.

I return to the hotel and settle down for an early evening.

Saturday 30 January 2010

Saturday 30th Before I do anything today I need to do some, do it yourself surgery on my left foot to relieve the pressure, the details we will leave out.

The morning is not too promising weather wise, in fact I get as far as the door in reception, but see the rain, and remember the previous day, so return to my room to do some writing, forty five minutes pass, I decide to make the best of it and head for Valletta, I plan to see Fort Elmo, my first port of call is the Malta Experience to send off some emails, I walk down to Fort Elmo, the weather has improved markedly, on arriving, Fort Elmo is closed for renovation, but the war museum is close by and that’s open, I part with four Euros, the exhibition is well laid out, I’m also surprised and impressed just how many exhibits there are including the George cross and the letter from the King awarding it to the Island on the 15^th April 1942 when you see what those brave Islanders had to endure who could argue with that award, it is well worth visiting.

The holiday is defiantly winding down now as I run out of days and money, almost everything I wanted to do, I have, every day I have been out of the hotel early of a morning on a mission to see as much as I could, the fact I decided to record everything has now become an added burden, I almost look forward now to getting back to the UK for a rest, if in the future I decide to record my exploits, I shall do it by Dictaphone then type it up at my leisure.

I decide to return back to Cirkewwa my base, my weeks bus ticket runs out at 14.48pm I board the bus at 14.10 driver sees and accepts the ticket, if an inspectors is going to get on, get on soon I think, I soon forget about this then just five stops from home, you guessed it, one gets on, it is now 15.10, I’m sat at the rear of the bus, he gets to me looks at my ticket, then looks at his watch, I point out when I got on the bus my ticket was valid, he takes my ticket from me and puts a large cross on it, it’s expired he says, I will buy a ticket now if you wish but I intend to buy an extended ticket tomorrow, he smiles and I continue free gratis for those precious five stops.

The nights entertainment is as last Saturday, two guys playing middle of the road music, but they are half decent, the Maltese are down in force, from the first song played they are on the dance floor strutting their stuff, they show the British up with their prowess.

The duo then play a Mavericks song, dance the night away, a lone Maltese woman dressed in country and western style takes to the floor, tight black trousers, black cowboy boots, black cowboy hat, red blouse trimmed on the full length of the sleeves with white tassels, and a black waist coat, she is spellbinding in her performance, I am mesmerised by the speed of her foot movements, she draws thunderous applause, deservedly so in my opinion.

I stay a few drinks longer, the same pattern continues, the Maltese dance the polish off the floor, and every now and again, the cowgirl gives a demonstration, others joining in with her now as they grow in confidence, I then depart for bed having enjoyed the spectacle.

Friday 29 January 2010

Friday 29^th Days are beginning to ebb away at an alarming speed now, still have a few boxes I intend to tick before time is called, I want to return to the Three cities they are Vittoriosa I visited there a couple of weeks ago, but have yet to give Senglea and Cospicua a good viewing, in days of old they were known as Birgu, Isola, and Bormla in that order these were the names given by the Knights, many of the locals still use the old names.

I catch the 45 you will know I am beginning to find this journey a chore, well it gets worse I decide to count the bus stops between terminus to terminus, how sad, off through town after town, Mellieha, Xemxija, Burmarrad, Mosta, Birkirkara, Iklin, Floriana these are now imprinted on my brain, in my mind I try to guess how many there will be should I be asked in some strange quiz where I get to pick the questions I’m asked, you know the easy ones like what’s your middle name, I know that one, I come up with a number, sorry must concentrate I’d hate to miss a stop, and have to start again, when we pull into the terminus, it has been sixty three stops, and that unbelievably is the numbered I guessed, I feel like telling the whole bus, surly that’s worth a prize.

I set off for the Cities, the weather is fine blue skies overhead and behind me, but when I look in the direction I’m heading for , it is distinctly black, I plan to stay on the bus for as long as possibly, so why do I get off by a church ?, that turns out to be in the middle of nowhere, quick look at the church then start walking, I had planned to do very little walking due to painful blisters, the black sky is now overhead, it dawns on me there is no cover should the heavens open, not too long and the first drops of rain hit me, for someone who wanted to do very little walking, can you tell me why I’m now jogging for all I’m worth, I spot a parked cargo container, I take cover underneath at least until the rain that’s now a shower let’s up a little, it abates a slightly so I’m again legging it up the road, why did I get off the bus? I see what looks like a bus shelter ahead so increase my pace, I get under cover, to soon be joined by a couple of locals, the rain stops, they leave, looking around I see a sign for “Fort Rinella” the fort construction started in 1878 and was completed in 1886 so obviously in the Victorian era, the fort houses the Armstrong 100 ton gun, so with the weather as it is this could be a good place to visit, it was not on my agenda, but the rain is changing my plans.

I enter the fort through the solid steel doors and notice that are re-enactment displays at 11,12, and on the hour for a few more, as it is eleven, I think what a stroke of luck, so I buy my eight Euro ticket, then I’m told there is no show until this evening, one o’clock, there it is again just like the policeman yesterday, evening, just when does evening begin ? Do the Maltese not have a word for afternoon ? Out of luck again I feel like asking for some of my eight Euros back if there’s no show.

I start discovering the fort, outside to look at the gun, it is a monster, there were four of these made, two came to Malta in 1882, another two went to Gibraltar, the gun could fire a one ton shell that would go through sixteen inches of steel up to four miles away, now that must have been impressive, but this one was never fired in anger, in fact it has not been fired since 1906, of the four only two still remain, even if it doesn’t fire it looks the business.

The museum is next, full of old uniforms and nick knacks from Victorian times, the weather is at least dry now, so soon I’m on my way again, but where to? I retrace my steps and end up back at the church, no sign of any buses, and the feet are now starting to feel more uncomfortable.

On my previous visit I had seen a sign marking out Notre Dam gate as being of interest, but was unable to find it, again I see the sign so I set off in pursuit once more, it’s all up hill, that will do the feet the world of good, just then the heavens open once more another heavy shower, luckily for me I’m able to take cover within the minute, so not too wet this time, a few minutes pass and so does the shower, I continue up the hill will this never end, and just how far is it, it occurs to me it might well be a couple of miles for all I know, my feet don’t like that thought, I stop an ask a local who of course speaks English although after speaking to her I’m not that sure, she seems to have no idea where the gate is, and I’m asking her outside her home, so just how far is it then, or maybe she does not care about the gate that is worthy of a sign.

A few yards further on and a car pulls into a drive, a young lady gets out, lets try again, I strike gold, she knows what I’m talking about, what’s more it’s not far, just follow the road round I’m told, well I do within a couple of minutes at last I’m there, I hear my feet saying, can this be it? Don’t have anymore bright ideas, worst of all it’s no great shakes compared to some of the things I seen, photographs taken, I head back down the hill, then the heavens open with a vengeance, this time it is no shower this is full scale downpour, guess what no bloody cover, I try to shelter under some guttering, it sticks out from the wall about four inches, in seconds my shoes are soaked, most of my trousers are soaked, the rain is running off the peak of my baseball cap, there is very little point staying here, off I go running again, if my feet could kill me they would, if I get any wetter I’ll let them!

I make it to a bus stop, I have now decided to abandon the day, on the bus within a short time like a drowned rat, sitting in soaking wet clothes is no fun at the best of times, knowing I will not be back in my room for at least almost two hours fills me with deep joy, not.

Heading back into Valletta I try to take my mind off the wet damp feeling enveloping me, no I’m not counting bus stops again, I do notice a couple of posters in shop windows that have me thinking, the first advertising Macpherson paints over 10,000 colours, 10,000 how many can you think of, surly an exaggeration, the second one really has my brain going at a tangent, The Jesuits educated Adolf, I think well at least he had a good education, just think how he might have turned out with out one!

Two long hours and I’m back, having picked up some more plasters in Valletta, change, shower, down to the bar for a drink I need one, a little later in the evening the Friday pattern repeats itself, the hotel is inundated with Maltese of all ages for their long weekend, I’m sat talking to a guy called William, now he used to be a banker, well to do I would think by his manner, he has had a brain tumour removed and part of the one side of his face has dropped a little, but he knows what’s what that’s for sure, we are taking about his love of all things to do with railways, when a large group of young Maltese pass us on their way to the restaurant the noise is deafening, I comment to William that I don’t think young people of a volume control, I base that on the fact of the noise I can hear but also when I was walking back down the hill from Notre Dam gate before the downpour I passed a school, there were a group of about six or seven year olds in the playground, maybe twenty of them and again the noise was of ear defender level, it’s been as bad a day as yesterday was good, so after taking with William and his wife Lyndsey for an hour about his love of music, four thousand albums mostly first edition he likes all sorts of music except rap well we have that in common, says he would find it hard to pick twelve records if he were ever invited on to desert Island discs, but he would take a tractor a red Fordson, Lynsey tells of her love of walking holiday without William, I head off to bed.

Thursday 28 January 2010

Thursday 28th I have been waiting to open my curtains and find a clear blue sky, so that I can invade Gozo again, this looks like that day, breakfast done and on the ferry by 9.00am along with a large group of Japanese, I’m struck by the wonderful bone structure most of the women have, even thou the majority are well into middle age, they are quite beautiful and have stunning smiles.
The ferry starts it’s short journey, about twenty five minutes, the sea is calm, everything points to me having made the right decision to travel today, I had so far taken nearly a thousand photographs, I hate to think how many the Japanese have taken, their cameras are going into overdrive, both men and women.

Off the ferry in the port of Mgarr on to the number twenty five bus, up to the capital Victoria also known as Rabat, now to find the Citadel that I failed to find on my last visit, I have no trouble locating my prey this time, it is closed but I really only wanted to see just how impressive it was as a façade, it really dominates the area, a little like the Mosta dome back on the mainland, photographs taken view looked at, must move on I intend to see as much as I can, in a short time, back to the terminus, my next stop is going to be Gharb (drop the G for pronunciation) there is a flamboyant 17th century baroque church there another photo opportunity, I catch the 91 bus, and after some fifteen minutes I arrive, the church is as beautiful as it looks in the travel book.

Now this is an out of the way place, but yet again I’m struck by the fact there is a public toilet, Malta does you proud this way, I have never been to another country that provides so many free toilets, this one is like so many it is clean and tidy, and unlike the UK not vandalised.

I pop in to the church, small but then again there are no houses in the area, so it must serve it’s purpose, there is no one around but on display are many religious gifts for sale, they trust you to put the money in a slot, I purchase a candle for my Aunt and drop the money into the slot, something else you’d not see back home.

Nearby to the Azure Window I should be able to find Fungus rock, this large rock was much prized by the Knights due to a red flower that grows on top of the rock they collected it and used it to treat blood diseases, to staunch wounds and other medical purposes, guards were placed round the rock, locals were forbidden from going onto the rock under pain of death.
So valuable did the Knights think this plant was they even sent it to Royal families across Europe, sadly in modern times it has been proved to have no medical qualities at all.
On finding the rock it stands at least a hundred foot high, it must have been a real trial just to get to the top, I have had to walk along the cliff edge to get here no beach long this coastline, as I pick my way over the undulating surface I’m suddenly truck by the amount of fossilised shells half buried in the rock, I’ve never seen the like before, I spend some time inspecting and photographing, then to take a good look at Fungus rock, after recording my visit with my camera, I begin making my way back up the rocks towards the road, over to my right I notice another watch tower the flag is flying that usually means it’s open.

The place is called Qawra Tower it has been well preserved also there is no entrance fee even thou it is manned, all they ask for are donations’ to help with the upkeep, this done, I climb the staircase to view the surrounding area from the ramparts, it’s worth the climb, breathtaking, looking out at Azure Window to my right and Fungus rock to my left, more pictures taken.

Behind where the church is situated lies a small bay it has been created by a fissure in the wall of rock separating the sea from the low lying land behind, local guys take visitors for boat rides through the gap and then out to sea to get a close up view of the Azure Window, weather and sea conditions permitting, no one is sailing today, the weather is lovely but the sea is very rough.

After feeding my senses to the full I make my way back to the road now apparently a bus does run this far, because I can see a bus stop, but I have not seen hide nor hair of a bus, since the one I got off some two hours earlier, so I set off up the steep road this time I’m going up the incline, so instead of leaning back now I’m leaning forward, it’s a long old haul, but you get some sort of satisfaction doing it the hard way, onwards and upwards, at least I know where I’m going, having trod the path on the way down, I get as far as San Lawrez I have been walking for thirty minutes and have not seen a soul, still no bus, San Lawrez is empty like a ghost town it’s a strange feeling, nothing for it but to press on to Gharb, it is now a full fifty minutes since I left Dwejra Point, but at least I shall be able to get some transport in Gharb, I get into the town and still I’ve seen no one, I take another couple of pictures of the wonderful church, there are no cars by it now, so it resembles the picture in the guide book.

I see the bus stop I got off at, almost two hours earlier, but can not see one on the other side of the road, so wonder if it travels on a one way loop, noticing a police station, I enter and ask the question, the officer tells me they run both ways, but then he tells me they don’t run of an evening, now I have only just looked at my watch and it was two in the afternoon, he tells me the buses stopped running an hour ago, I haven’t seen one for two hours.

After starring blankly at him for some seconds he added it’s a lovely day you’ll be in Victoria in ten minutes, well he is right on one count the weather is lovely, but as for his second comment, after walking for some fifteen minutes I spy a large town far off on the horizon, hopefully that’s Victoria, but it has to be at the very least three miles away, I have now been either walking ,climbing or clambering for the last three hours, and I’m becoming aware that the crocs I chose to wear are starting to rub my left foot, both the sole and one of my toes, with every step my foot becomes sorer, the town in the distance does not seem to be getting any closer, am I walking on the spot?

My mind drifts back to the police officer and his ten minutes, was he an Olympic athlete, or did he think I was Usain Bolt, if I had been and was able to maintain my one hundred metres world record pace for ten minutes I would still be no where near Victoria, if in doubt ask a policeman, I don’t think so.

Both my feet are hurting now, I make the town on the horizon, it took forty five painful minutes, the good news is, it turns out to be Victoria, I look for a pharmacy for plasters, almost everywhere closed, I do find a bar close to the terminus, so if I can’t get some plasters I’ll go in here and try to get plastered!
I have a pie and half a pint of local beer, beer just in time to refresh everything except my feet, the pie was hard and not over tasty, but I really am too tired to care, I finish both and limp back to the terminus just in time to catch the bus for the ferry, soon I’m crossing back to mainland Malta, take the feet out of the equation and I’ve have had a truly super day.

I hobble back into the hotel just in time for tea and biscuits‘, also questions on my gait, luckily for me two women offer me plasters, any future holiday, plasters will be carried in my ruck sack, and the second thing crocs are great on the feet, even for all day, but not for a three hour plus forced march, or maybe I’ll just look naff, socks and crocs.

On the evening Cyril and Monica have organised diplomas and cakes and Champaign for Sandy who is sixty three today, and a couple who have not long arrived at the hotel, who have been married for sixty years, after much drinking and dancing I retire for the night.

Wednesday 27 January 2010

Wednesday 27th I have been booked up for a few days now to go on a mystery tour organised by Cyril and Monica, it turns out fifty two other people have the same idea, so it’s up early quick breakfast and meet in reception at 9am, it’s a lovely day, I’m looking for a slim person to sit next to, Irene fit’s the bill and is good fun into the bargain, so we set off and everyone is asking the same question where are we going? It’s a mystery tour!!

We start winding our way through towns, I’m not sure if Cyril is trying to be surreal or just is because he takes the microphone and starts a running commentary we such little gems as, that building there used to be a car showroom, but it isn’t any more, and there’s a church, over there is a brewery we had a fantastic time there the last time we did this trip, most of us were drunk with the free beer, even the driver, but were not going there today, well thanks Irene and I mutter, suddenly Cyril gets the coach to stop, below the wall of the road he points out cattle, there are probably about seven cows on a narrow strip of land, all tightly controlled, he also imparts some information I had long been suspecting, you see crops being grown in very fertile earth yet surrounded by barren rocky terrain, well it turns out the soil come mainly from Italy, so one minute you are walking on Malta earth the next Italian.

Soon we view Rabat and Mdina on the horizon, now I would put money on us going there, it’s beautiful as you may remember my comments the last time I visited here, I’m right, we pull into the square just outside the walls of the silent city (Mdina) Cyril tells us all to get on the wheeled tourist train, what a stroke of luck, I was going to hop on this the next time I came here, so that’s three Euros saved, all aboard and off we go, it takes on a ride through the centre of Rabat, and round it’s outskirts, it is much larger than I had thought, the whole journey takes about thirty minutes is most enjoyable, even with Cyril soon to be joined by other shouting to the locals “bon-jew” good morning in Maltese, they either shout back “Good morning” or look at us as if we are on a trip for special people with social services, I can well understand them thinking the latter, I’m beginning to feel a special case myself.

Back on the coach, well that’s a good start most of us are thinking, where next, Cyril promises us all the next thing will be something different, I don’t think you will have seen this before, expectancy is high, then we enter Valletta, well I’ve seen this nearly every day I tell Irene, we pull up outside the Malta experience, I’ve seen that as well I further comment, we then cross the road and are almost stood out side the Knights Hospitallers, now come on I was in here two days previous.
Cyril puts us out of our suspense we are going to see the making of Carnival floats, in February each year there is a Carnival parade through the streets of the capital this is a big event in the Malta calendar, he has got permission for us to watch them building the floats, we all follow Cyril, then he stops and starts taking to locals, this goes on for some minutes, we follow, he stops and talks to locals, it’s not long before the penny drops, the mystery tour has now become a mystery to the guy who organised it, we follow him even further, he looks as if he’s beginning to panic, now we notice Monica’s not with us.
We are now at St. Elmo’s fort Cyril goes into the entrance, says there is some sort of a problem and promptly vanishes up the hill, leaving his charges alone and bewildered, some of us lean against the harbour wall in the sunshine, thinking what else we could be doing on such a beautiful day, I for one could be on Gonzo,
The banter is in full flow now, we have been deserted for some fifteen minutes, we spot a metal trailer for towing behind a car or van, so jokingly some of us pose for photographs at the side of it claiming this must be the Carnival float Cyril had promised us, then coming down the road we spy our coach with Cyril standing up at the front, it goes pass us and disappears out of sight, a few minutes and it’s back, we all pile on waiting for an explanation, the facts of the matter are the person Cyril had to see was not there and the person who was there would not give him a ticket to see the floats, this somehow has a follow ring to it, before we know it the coach pulls up for a loo break we get off get back on again, then the coach goes a few hundred yards only and stops again, what is going on? Cyril then orders the people from the middle of the coach to the back to get off and follow him, the rest of us sit there nonplussed, then we are ordered off the coach, are we all to be executed I wonder aloud, but no we are going to see the Carnival floats after all, they are in a rather large warehouse, there are many such places all working on a different theme, the choice of this warehouse was Scooby Do, so there were weird and wonderful ghouls and the like, we all snap away, then back on the mystery tour so far it’s not as magical as the Beatles one.

Next we pull into a large car park outside a shopping complex, we are informed that we will be wine tasting inside the supermarket, then the magic words for free, this is the end of our magic carpet ride, we are given two hours to shop if we wish, there is a restaurant so most of us after sampling one or two snorts of wine and a few nibbles venture upstairs to said restaurant, I settle down to a couple of pints of the local beer “cisk” cheap at just two Euros twenty at this place, prices have varied elsewhere, Irene, M&S, Sandy and I band together like the famous five round a table, and try to put the world to rights on a whole raft of topics.

We return to base without anything of further interest taking place, most of us agree all in all we have had some laughs and the day has not been a waste, epically Irene who wins the whisky in the raffle.

Tuesday 26 January 2010

Tuesday 26th On Sunday I wore my shorts for the first time, Saturdays weather had been so good I thought now is the time to tan up, well I have promised myself the first nice day and I’m off to explore Gozo properly, well today’s not that day.

Today is an indoor day, me thinks, I set off to the capital, while on the bus I’m struck by the sky the light is filtering through the clouds as if in some religious painting almost making you believe there is some high power it is quite spectacular, there is some blue sky but a definite chill in the air, while travelling as you look out to sea you can see why this Island was so important during the second world war, not matter what time you look all you can see on the horizon are oil tankers going to and fro, this must be one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world.

My first stop in Valletta is the National Museum of Archaeology in Republic street, housed in a magnificent building, inside I get to see the “sleeping lady” found at the Hypogeum I’m surprised at it size, photographs had led me to believe it was much larger, then I see the statue of Malta Venus it’s no bigger than the replica fridge magnet I have bought.

I’m slightly disappointed with the museum as a lay man, there does not seem to be a lot to see, maybe it’s a case of quality over quantity, but never the less what I do see is of interest.

My next port of call was the Bibliotheca this is the library, but no ordinary library this is a building of magnificence, I would think not many tourists venture into here, it really consists of one room, but what a room the ceiling appears to my eye to be maybe a least seventy foot high if not higher, the books are stacked almost to that height , to the full length of the room on all side, the length would be in the region of one hundred and fifty feet, around the top of the room are displayed pictures of Grand Masters, the in alphabetical order under large golden letters A to Z came the books, their spins crumbling with age, in fact most of the books look as if they are in desperate need of repair, but never the less this is an impressive room, in this room is housed the letter from Henry V111 telling Rome he was setting up the Church of England.

I had to show my passport, and register as a visitor, wear a visitors badge, no fee was involved, although I could view all the room I was only allowed to venture to far into the room as a visitor, researchers were allowed to actually handle the books, there was tight security here and rightly so, history should be safeguarded.

Later I sought and found lower Barracker garden, while not as spectacular as the upper, they still give a grand view of Valletta harbour, by now I am beginning to feel this is the coldest day since I arrived, the last to days are like a cold day in March back in the UK, it is now about time to return to base and seek some warmth.

People I have come to know from all over the UK are now drifting home in twos and threes, to be replaced by complete strangers, all of a sudden in one mass influx some rather large individuals appear on the scene, when I say large I mean LARGE, three to the point of being unable to walk unaided, needing a wheeled frame to lean on, this stimulates many a discussion amongst a few of us, at their first dinner any idea that this largeness may be down to glands is soon dispelled, the amount of food they take is truly staggering, not content with feeding their faces we watch in amazement as one of the women wraps food up in a napkin and takes it out of the restaurants, one of the men has four breakfasts, yes four, Sandy tells us of a Scottish comedian who said while portraying a fat woman, “I have a glandular problem” “It’s called the greedy bastard gland”
What we have witnessed brings up a point we are all in agreement on, why when travelling by air do people of a normal size have to pay excess baggage charges when grossly obese people are allowed to travel with no financial penalty.

Monday 25 January 2010

Monday 25^th Some days ago I went to the National Museum of Archaeology to book a ticket to visit Hal-Saflieni Hypogeum, and today is the day, visiting this place is strictly controlled, your given a day and even a time slot, and well betide you if you miss either, there are no refunds.

The hypogeum means underground chamber, in this case there was a temple on the surface and two chambers below, one underneath the other, they were built 5,000 years ago, for burying the dead.

I have to take two buses to get to the Hypogeum in to Valletta then catch anyone of the following, 8,11,13,15,or 27 almost a winning line on the lottery, my destination is in a town called Paola.

I get on my usual 45 for Valletta and from the start the bus is packed, it reaches a point of being as squashed as those proverbial fish, the only difference being that the Sardines have nothing to moan at, they have the oil to lubricate their discomfort, do Sardines say “as squashed as a 45 bus to Valletta”? we are so jam packed we no longer stop at anymore bus stops, we reach Mosta with it’s famous church dome, you can be miles away from here and still make out this dome on the horizon, I digress, on reach Mosta there is a mast exodus off the bus, it’s market day, all that discomfort, for a few bargains.

It’s lucky number eight bus to Paola for me and the driver “Charlie” will be good enough to tell me where to leave the journey, I pass though an area I have many times before but have never notice the name before, until now that is, Marsa is the name, and what’s striking about it is, you could me in another country, unlike any other part of Malta this one is full of African or people of African descent it is quite striking you are transported to the dark continent for just a few brief minutes as the bus flies, I think there must be an African university in the area as most carrying satchels’ as if they are off to study or returning.

I soon find my way to the hypogeum, they have built a purpose built structure over the site so it’s all under cover, and tightly controlled, no smoking, cameras, and they limit the amount of people who can enter at anyone time, hence the booking in advance, it would appear ten people per time is the quota.

After being booked in we have to deposit our bags in a cupboard that the guide locks, he then shows us into an area where we get to view a film show, these chambers were not discovered until 1902 when builders above broke through while sinking a shaft, these chambers pre date our own Stonehenge by 2,000 years that really is how impressive this is, the large majority of it is below ground, built out of solid stone, there were no metal or iron tools at this time, the whole complex is built using just other stone and antler horns, it is beyond my comprehension, what on earth did they do for adequate light, it is truly a marvel of engineering skill from 5,000 years ago, one chamber is known as the Holy of Holies, they even carved lintels and pillars out of the stone for no apparent reason it would seem than decoration, we are told that 7,000 bodies were buried here, it seems they left the bodies to rot then moved the bones into chambers.

In the Holy of Holies as well as the pillars and lentils there are a set of steps that lead downwards then suddenly stop with a sheer drop, it’s thought this was to trap trespassers, because in the darkness you would not realise you had run out of steps till it was too late.

Inside the chambers they found statues that have fondly become known as the “Fat ladies” one is the sleeping lady, the other the Maltese Venus, they are now on display in the Valletta museum, it is believed they may have been mother earth figures, in other words fertility.

It has been a very interesting visit, glad I took Sandy’s recommendation in doing this tour.

Back at the hotel there is a buzz of expectance today is Robert Burns birthday the Scottish poet, it has been arranged for Sandy to do the address to the Haggis a real Burns night is in the planning, who knows what other delights Cyril and Monica have in store.

Dinner time arrives and even the menu has a Scottish feel to it, there is Haggis being offered along with tatties, neeps, I try the haggis, I did once before was not impressed that time, now this is reasonably tasty, I’m sure it’s in no way authentic,

Cyril and Monica come down to dinner wearing tartan from head to foot, they look a picture, they do there best to involve everyone, my first thoughts of them have changed dramatically, they have hearts of gold.

They have talked me into wearing a kilt and have provided one of those “see you Jimmy” hats the ones with the ginger hair sewn inside, like the comedian Russ Abbott use to wear, now if your going to make a fool of yourself, you may as well go the whole hog, so they also get me some blue face paint and a tartan bow tie.

I paint half my face blue leaving a clear circle in the middle of my cheek and then paint a blue circle on the other cheek, for my sporran I cadged some string from reception and then tied and dangled a toilet roll from my belt, put on the bow tie, and some heavy duty hopped socks I had with me, then down the stairs I go, before I know it I’m lined up with Cyril and Monica for a photo opportunity for half the hotel, now I know what it must be like to be surrounded by the paparazzi, can you lift your leg? Turn this way? Lets have a smile.

Later in the evening it’s time to parade the haggis in, a woman dressed in tartan carries the home made facsimile of a haggis on a tray into the entertainment area followed by Sandy with Cyril and Monica bringing up the rear, then the woman hold the haggis aloft while Sandy goes into this wonderful tribute written by Burns, he really goes for it in a big way, while the large majority of us do not have a clue what he’s on about, there is no denying he is doing it with passion and panache, again the paparazzi are in full flow cameras clicking everywhere, he finishes to great applause it has been a triumph for him, he is a nice guy and deserves his moment in the spot light, we all carry on in the spirit of the occasion, a good night was enjoyed by most I’m sure, then it’s time for bed but first I must remove the paint, I make the mistake of not taking most of it off with a tissue, I go straight for soap and water, and even after many minutes of washing I appear to have more on than when I started, I have to resort to a full shower, frightened to get into bed in case I’ve missed some and turn the bed sheets blue.

Sunday 24 January 2010

My third Sunday (24th) in Malta, it looks as if we are in for another fine day, not sure what to do, but must do something, another box needs ticking, so why not Anchor bay and Popeye village, I now think I have a good idea as where to go, I board the bus with two women from the hotel, as we set off one of them asks me where I’m going, I tell her, she says she has never been but then proceeds to tell me how to get there, I tell her I’m getting off at the second island, no you need to get off at the first and walk down the path, so I get off at the first, unable to find the path, a passer-by tells me take the next road, that’s the second island, what possessed me to take advice from someone who hadn’t even been there!
I get to the second island, how far up this duel carriage way will I have to walk I wonder, still hoping I’m on the right road, I steel myself for a long walk and it’s all up hill, it’s steep with no footpath, but as I reach the bend, I see in the distance a traffic sign, and while I’m unable to read it I can make out one of the directions is printed in brown and white meaning a place of interest, so there is a change, and so it turns out, a long stretch of straight road and I’m there, Anchor bay aka Popeye village, I have to wait for twenty minutes for the place to be fully manned, then I pay my eight Euros as a Senior, on entering the old film set I am met by a Maltese girl dressed as Olive Oyl who gives me the low down on the site.
I find myself in Popeye’s house his old tin bath, typewriter, pictures of Marilyn Monroe does Olive know about this?

I go inside the Sweetwater (the name of popeyes village in the stories) fire station, then it’s a fifteen minute film showing the history behind the making of the movie, funny have not given the film a thought for close on thirty years, now I want to see it again, I take a dozen or so photographs, it is early in the morning and the place is empty except for the film projectionist, Olive Oyl and me, some how it does not have the right feel to the place could be something to do with the piped music in the background, The lonely goat herd from the Sound of Music, I ask you.
The bay itself looks beautiful the water looks crystal clear with a blue and green tinge if that makes any sense.
Leaving the complex I notice people gathered on the cliff top outside of the village, when I exit I walk a few yards to where they are standing, the view of the bay and village is a sight to behold, they are getting this for free, and numbnuts just paid eight Euros, so be advised unless you have children, because there are things for them in the village, keep your money in your pocket, I make the thirty odd minute walk back down the carriage way and catch a bus heading towards Valletta, I have no real plan now, not after Popeye, but then I remember seeing a sign, Wignacourt Tower, now I know he was one of the Grand masters of Malta, so should be worth a look, off the bus again somewhere near where I think it is, it does not take too long for me to find it, while it is not on the scale of the Red Tower it was also part of the Knights defence system, take my photographs and then notice I’m again in St. Paul’s bay, I ended up there last Sunday without planning to, I make a hasty retreat and refined my bus route, off again still without any idea how to spend the rest of the day, other than staying on the move.

On another bus, and quickly off it, there’s a statue I have seen many times, it has connections to the second world war but I need a closer look, another photo for the archives taken another bus caught, this time I go all the way to the capital, there is plenty to see here, the city itself is never boring the journey to it is another thing now.

I end up as I knew I would at the Malta experience café, more drinking and internet, while the sky is as clear as yesterday, there is a marked few degrees drop in temperature not cold by British weather standards for this time of year, but I’m a local now.

Soon I feel the urge to return to the hotel for tea and biscuits, god I’m starting to worry about myself, when I finally get back, I think I’m in the wrong place the hotel is bursting with Maltese it’s fuller than Gatwick was when we were all held hostage there for two days, it turns out four hundred came for lunch, yes four hundred, and they all stay and play bingo, it’s bedlam, I stand for one game then retire to my room for a soak in the bath with a Baileys and the TV turned up in the other room so I can listen.

Dinner comes and goes, the evenings entertainment is very quiet, comprising Cyril playing some well worn favourites, more drinking and off to bed.

Saturday 23 January 2010

Saturday 23^rd It’s up and at them, breakfast over by 7.45am on the bus by 8.05 bound for, you guessed it Valletta, I intend to squeeze the last drop out of my seven day bus ticket it expires at 9.12, I get on the 45 in the harbour, first time ever it has been almost full from the off, loads of Maltese get on from the Gozo ferry off to work, we fly passed the first few stops, would appear I’m the only holiday maker up and ready at this time, the funny thing for me is it’s reasonably warm with a fleece on but when the Maltese got on they were visibly cold, try a British winter I think to myself.

More locals get on the bus, exchanging nods and smiles, and then it dawns on me I’ve seen this before but have yet to comment on it, I have a great affection for these buses as you will have gathered, but many Maltese have very little faith in them, otherwise why are most of them making the catholic sign of the cross no taking their seats, do they know something I don’t? I arrive in Valletta at 9.12 to the second my ticket expired, planning or what?

Today I will find the Lascaris war rooms, I see sings about Valletta but as yet have had very little joy in locating them, the signs appear to take you so far then abandon you to your own devises, when in doubt the old adage ask a police man comes in handy, so I do, he tells me it’s down that road on the right, I look at the road, by the bus terminus I reply, no before that, well I had just walked up that very road, and not for the first time, if this is such an historic site, how come I see no sign posts on that road, back down it I go again, still no joy, I ask a local, he tries to tell me it’s on the other side of the Island, even I know it’s not, did he think I was a German?

Wandering around determined to find it, I come across a travel guide and her group, she’ll know thinks I, she tells me where she thinks it is, but not the direction of the signs, so I thank her and totally ignore her advice, I see another police man, let’s try again, they are closed he says, for how long I ask, indefinably says he, for renovation! So that’s why there were no further signs.

It turns out I’m on the door step of Barrakka gardens as I enter through the arch way, I’m struck by it’s serenity, and the views of Valletta harbour are truly splendid, another reason for today’s visit was to see if I could hook up to WIFI I had noticed some days earlier while visiting the Malta experience film show, that the café attached and part of premises advertised a free WIFI hotspot, so I make my way there in anticipation, arriving I purchase a few goodies, coffee, coca cola, sprite, minstrel chocolates, thinking I wont look like a free loader, to be told that the WIFI area is outside the café anyway.

I make myself comfortable and try connecting, immediate access achieved, not a problem, I manage to view two weeks of emails, the lottery win I had hoped for was not amongst them, I spend a good thirty minutes doing all I wanted to, all this proves is that the hotel WIFI for which they charge five Euros for a hundred minutes in as much use as a chocolate fireguard, I have wasted close on six hours being connect then disconnected for nearly two weeks, when in Malta visit this hotspot that’s my advice.

I set off back into the centre of the city, it’s close to noon now, they fire the midday cannon from Barrakka gardens every day, I have yet to see this spectacle, now would be a good time, I hurry there, on arriving I can pay four Euros and go down to the lower level where the cannons are situated or stay on the top level and look down with all the other cheap skates, I pay my money for a birds eye view and better photographic opportunities, I’m not disappointed, the cadets in their blue uniforms with red piping and what appear to be white pith helmets look impressive, they go through their military routine with absolute precision as you would expect, the cannon goes off with a tremendous bang as the bells of the churches ring out their twelve chimes, glad I chose to see it, I’m one of only three people who bothered to pay.

A quick walk round and I’m back at the WIFI hotspot for a little more emailing, the weather is beautifully warm now, as I take my seat I notice a guy who is obviously German by his voice being interview by a young lady doing a survey, this guy really does think a lot of himself, I can hear him blabbering on, in fact it’s hard not to hear him, businesses here there and everywhere London, Malta and Germany, her interviewing of him is soon reversed as he turns the tables and the chatting up begins, is she free tonight? No strings, he will show her an excellent time, he knows all the best places, yes he has plenty of girlfriends, I start taking real notice now it’s like a floor show, he is wearing a dark suit but has discarded the jacket over a chair, white shirt open all the way, I would think he was in his late thirties early forties maybe, bejewelled with fancy rings on both hands, and an array of bracelets of all sorts silver, jewelled ones, looks like a jewellery shop on legs.

He is trying to get her to give him her phone number, she asks for his, he uses the lame excuse I don’t know my number, would be easier for me to call you, she leaves, I’m not sure who has who’s number.

Just a few minutes pass when another young girl takes the vacant seat backing on to his, this guy is a serial operator, within seconds he has engaged her in conversation, she is Australian, the real amazement soon follows, her husband or boyfriend comes out of the café with food and drink and sits at the table with her, the German does not break stride, he still carries on chatting her up with complete indifference to her guy, he even phones up on of his many girlfriends his words, who is also Australian and passes his phone to her for them to speak, as if to prove he really does have a girlfriend.

The Husband/boyfriend is showing great restraint, because this went on for some ten to fifteen minutes, he now tells them he can show them a great time guaranteed , I hate to think what he means, he is on about night life he knows all the best nightclubs in Sliema (well of course I think) but very soon they make their excuses and leave, I did not see the guy kick her under the table, but I’m sure he wanted to.

I stay a little longer writing the warmth of the afternoon sunshine, there really is a good view of the harbour here.

Making my way back through Valletta at a quarter to three on a Saturday afternoon, it is hard to believe your eyes the capital is almost deserted, has there been an air raid warning? The place was a hive of activity just a few short hours ago, markets, shop buzzing, crowds milling, now the town is empty, like a western town waiting for the gunslingers to shoot it out.

I’m soon heading back to the hotel with a satisfied glow due to my success on the WIFI, it will be a quiet night after dinner, two guys on guitar are the entertainment, they play middle of the road music, it’s fit’s the age group I suppose.

Friday 22 January 2010

Friday 22nd If it’s a nice day I have arranged to take the Ferry to Gozo with M&S and Sandy, and a beautiful day awaits as I open the curtains.
We all board the Ferry, though there is some what of a sea swell, so I’m a little apprehensive about the crossing. Some twenty odd minutes later and we're there, it went well.

A soon as we step off the Ferry we are surrounded by taxi drivers trying to get our business. One guy in particular starts lowering his prices, this is haggling in reverse. In the end he offers to take us to the main centre of the capital Victoria. We end up paying two Euros, the same as the bus would have cost us, and he's quicker.

We walk to the bus terminus, M&S decide to go off to see a part of the Island they visited many years ago, will meet back here in two and one half hours, that now leaves me with Sandy, who as I’ve said is not in the best of health suffering from terminal cancer, on top of that the poor guy, who is always cheerful, broke his femur not too long ago and is forced to use a stick, this has impeded his ability to make due progress.
We walk down a few streets looking for the Citadel we find a place we think we are looking for are not impressed and move on (we were wrong I shall find it on my return). We do see an open backed lorry with vegetables on it the biggest cauliflower I have ever seen they are massive, I wonder if there’s a nuclear reactor near by. It is not too long before he needs to sit down for a rest, and he fancies a drink, so we find a bar and get ourselves a pint. Two and a quarter hours later we are on our third, while chatting away to a Sunderland supporter born in Newcastle. He has been in Gozo since November, and intends to see out his years here.
I have intended to get round the Island and see what it had to offer, but feel unable to leave Sandy to his own devises, so Gozo will keep for another day.

The ferry return is fine, I look forward to going again if it’s this calm. Back at the hotel it’s the last rays of sunshine by the pool, then another session of bingo. This has to stop, I win no money but in the free draw at the end I win a packet of pompadom crisps. Now that sounds great except M&S won them two days ago and have given them back, I make it clear there is no way I will be second-hand Rose. I swap them for a packet of custard creams and then donate them to the tea and biscuits session the next day. Monica tells me I might be unlucky at bingo but I’m full of charm, this woman knows what she’s talking about.

Dinner time I choose the chicken in honey and mustard sauce, every one else raves about the battered cod, am I ever going to make the right choice? This is followed by a rather boring evening in the lounge, I soon retire to my room, and more fruitless attempts to connect with people via the internet, then Baileys and bed.

Thursday 21 January 2010

Thursday 21st Up nice and early, quick breakfast then off to Hagar Qim a prehistoric site. I set out from the hotel get as far as the road just a few yards from the hotel entrance, and the heavens open. The rain is coming down at a forty five degree angle being whipped up by a fierce wind. In less than a minute I'm crossing the road and I’m soaked from head to foot. I stand at the bus shelter, I’ve only just left dry and fresh now I’m a drowned rat, I feel it’s silly not to return and dry off and change. So I cut short my trip, back inside shower change into dry clothes.

An hour later I start my day again off to Valletta. The roads again in some villages have turned into rapids, we pass a parked station wagon and our bus throws up a spray of water and deposits about four gallons of water into the vehicle. It crosses my mind if the owner leaves the wagon there much longer he will have a swimming pool in the back when he returns. Now in Valletta I catch the 38 bus where I find the 138 also goes to Hagar Qim, it soon arrives at the well preserved site which has had a large cover a bit like a giant umbrella fitted over the top, so even if it’s raining you would be able to view these ancient temples in the dry. A good idea the way the weather has been lately.

The Blue Grotto is close by so I decide to kill two birds with one stone. I take the coastal road, it's a fair trek and takes about half an hour. Then there is a long sweeping road down to the grotto. The sea is too rough to take a boat out but even so the view is worth the hike. Now its back up the sweeping road but the wind is now so strong that staying on the pavement is a struggle, it's a case of head down and putting one foot in front of the other, by the time I reach the top I have worked up a sweat.

I return to the hotel on the bus from hell, there is a point where oldie worldly and quaint cross over to become tardy and almost squalid this bus had made that transmission many moons ago. One of the double seats had collapsed in fact the whole seat was missing, the leather on the rear seats is held in place by cable ties, the windows are partly open so that when the bus starts off the wind blows through the bus like a gale. You close the windows as I observe people doing, then the vibration reopens them within a few yards. People are pulling up the collars on their coats, pulling hoods up, putting hats on, it is bloody cold, if you are going terminus to terminus you have these conditions to put up with for an hour, it is not a pleasant journey.

After dinner it’s quiz night, two quizzes in one, music of the 50’s then the 60’s I team up with Sandy again, who has had a few days resting in his room due to not feeling too well. The 50’s music we feel we have not done too well on (after all I am a child of the 60’s). We score five out of ten, but even with a room full of duffers no one else can better that, so we are joint champions! We are fractionally better on the 60’s quiz, we score a creditable seven out of ten, only to find no one else is even close we win by a clear two points clear champions. We get a bottle of wine for our troubles, Sandy is not a wine drinker so I get the prize, just one problem no corkscrew.

Wednesday 20 January 2010

Wednesday 20th I awake early with a zinging sensation in my head. I’ve had this in the past, and I realise I’m dehydrated. When I analyse my daily intake it amounts to two medium size glasses of milk at breakfast plus the milk with my cereal, and that’s it the other liquid is wine, have to put that right and buy some water me thinks.

It’s another fine morning weather wise, two days back to back a bonus, I have decided to visit Marsaxlokk (Mars-shlok). Reputedly the prettiest fishing bay on the Island, I’ll be the judge of that. I have to go into Valletta and then catch the number 27 to the bay.

I have made a very early start so am hopeful of getting to the capital early. Just as I’m getting the feeling that going into Valletta for an hour of your life following the same well worn path is becoming just a little tedious, the bus is directed off it’s given route by a traffic warden. A change of scenery that will make a change, was someone listening to me moan?
The new route novelty soon starts to wear off, there is one hold up after another, we get back on track then divert off again, the bus is now packed to the rafters. A swarthy looking guy had got on the bus early in the journey he was also a little unkempt he sat directly behind me, very soon a not too pleasant odour began to waft passed my nostrils, is that what that guy was smelling the other day. I laugh to myself, but this I turning into anything but a joke, the driver it is now apparent is lost! He goes round an island twice then follows another bus, every set of traffic lights are against us, we then get stuck behind a refuse cart for street after street.
Far from being early the time is slipping away. To cap it all we grind to a halt because there has been a traffic accident a man and woman are stood arguing in the middle of the road. We are unable to pass the two cars in question for some six or seven minuets, I’m beginning to feel I have been taken hostage.
Is my love affair with the Maltese buses over? It's not over but I’d like a separation soon, very soon, what should have been an hours trip is now way past that. When we finally pull into the terminus it is thirty five minutes late, I will never moan again about the tedious journey, promise.
Find the 27 stop and I’m soon off viewing new horizons’. This journey is not overlong, about half an hour, but it’s worth the trip. Marsaxlokk is indeed a pretty colourful fishing village, I find a bench, sit, take a swig of orange juice and consume a banana and take in the view. After a stroll, it’s off to pastures new. I fancy going to Marsascala another fishing village not too far away, but it would appear I have to go all the way back to the capital to catch another bus.

On arriving in Valletta I learn the following buses will suffice 17, 19, 20. While waiting for the driver to return to his locked bus (17) along with a small crowed of others waiting for the service, a woman walks by me then slips off the kerb and falls in slow motion between kerb and bus. She hit’s the road face first. I would guess she was in her late forties early fifties, another guy and myself are first to react, we lift her up and sit her down resting her back against a lamp post. There is blood all over her face, it seems to be coming from her nose, she is obviously distressed. I quickly go off seeing if there is anyway of getting her assistance. I come across a bus driver who I explain the situation to, I show him where the woman is propped up he takes a look then hurriedly moves off. I follow to see if I can be of further help, he had hurried off to get a cup of tea and a pie!! Would you Adam and Eve it.

The woman is now on her feet has cleaned away most of the blood from her face with the help of water supplied by someone who did give a damn. I’m now on my way, another thirty minutes and we’re in Marsascal. Again pleasant enough, this like the last place is to share with someone special, and as I’m alone and not wanting to be a gooseberry. I snap away for a couple of minutes, then jump on the next bus leaving, it’s the bus I came on.

The last two days I have been in and out of towns faster than Henry Kissinger’s whistle stop visits in the 1970’s. I’m in and out faster than your average burglar.

I mentioned I’d seen no beggars or graffiti, don’t worry that’s still the case, but something else is conspicuous by it’s absence, livestock. I have been to most parts of the country through quite a bit of the country side but have yet to see one cow, sheep, or any form of farming of cattle. Saw a few pigs at the festival last Sunday but that’s been it. Have the Maltese hidden all their cattle because we Brits have a bad reputation in their minds for animal fondling or what.

Visiting a country for the first time always throws up quaint and different practices you have not seen before. For instance, here you can be walking along the main street and come across a row of four or five petrol and diesel pumps just standing there on the pavement with an attendant sat in a chair, nothing else just him and his pumps.

When I return to the hotel M&S are outside soaking up the last hour of sunlight, I join them for a natter. They again try and tempt me to play bingo, I tell them I’m worried about my street cred, if my children find out I’m playing bingo they will have me put in an old folks home.

I get talking to the guy I met on the first day who gave me directions to Shangri La. Turns out he is here for those eight weeks under sufferance well that’s how he makes it sound. He lives in a static caravan the rest of the year, apparently you can not take up permanent residency in the fact that you pay no council tax, but part of the agreement in living in this fashion is you can only live this way for ten months of the year, the other two months you have to go else where, he tells me he is not the only at the hotel doing this.

I have my first afternoon tea and biscuits session I’m really getting into the swing of being a duffer. Then I relent and play bingo, it's interesting listening to all the sound effects to certain numbers, such as two little ducks 22, you get the gist. I win no money, at the end all the losing tickets are thrown in a bag with your room number written on the back, I win a bar of chocolate, one of the prizes was a Valentines card!

There is very little to do of an evening, the hotel is in the far north of the Island any further north and it would be in the sea!
The buses stop running at eight o’clock at night in the winter, there is nothing close by, so really it’s a case of making the best of what ever entertainment you can find. Tonight it’s a quiet night listening to Cyril being a DJ. In fairness the music is middle of the road pop, an improvement on the waltz I hear on the first night, I even fancy some Barry White and he obliges. I listen to more music, then retire to my room to being my battle trying to connect to the hotel WIFI another waste of an hour for sure.

Tuesday 19 January 2010

Tuesday 19th Sunshine on the menu again. Great that means it’ll rain for the following two days, but lets make the best of it. Forget the gym, quick breakfast out and onto the 645 today we’re off to Sliema and St. Julian’s. Soon the bus is hugging the coast line, this is a pleasant drive into Sliema. It’s a busy resort very commercial along the front, people trying to sell you boat trips to here there and everywhere. I wander away from the bay area up a side street, I’m not getting a feeling for this place. I abandon the city after about thirty minutes, jump a bus, then off at St. Julian’s. This is the night life place to be on Malta they say, only it’s day time and I’m totally under whelmed by both these places just not what I had hoped to see. I give this less than the thirty minutes I gave Sliema, I try to make a quick exit hopping on a bus which I have no idea of it’s destination. It stops a few minutes later at it’s terminus in the middle of nowhere, I have to get a return bus just to be back where I started from.

I wait for a bus who’s destination I do know, lets try and find Anchor Bay again. I leave the bus at the entrance to Mellieha where yesterday I had seen a map telling me “You are here”. I work out I need to get off the next bus at the third traffic Island and walk up the road to the right. This I do, but as I walk up the road to the right I appear to be in a hotel complex. Noticing a gardener I enquire if the road only leads to the hotel 'yes' he replies, any idea where Anchor Bay is 'yes' he points in a totally different direction. Well I do know which side of the Island it’s on and it’s not where he is pointing. Anchor Bay will have to wait for another day, and it better be worth it!

Head back to the hotel with a feeling of having not made the best of the day. I sit in the lounge having a drink and listen to the conversations all around me. A group of five women all here on there own, all have been here before up to eight times in most cases, they are haranguing the hotel manager about the fact there has been no butter at breakfast time for two weeks they claim. He thinks one week, there is diet butter and if you ask me one or two of them would be far better off sticking with the diet version.
The conversation turns to a planned a Robbie Burns night to commemorate the Scottish poets birthday on the 25th January. Two of the women say 'we leave before then can’t you change it to this Saturday?' 'Do you want me to change his day of birth he replies?'. Nice one I think, I’m sure they did, I get the feeling they have been coming for so long they feel they partly run the place. I can well understand why men die before women, if these women are par for the course!

After dinner (Beef Maltese style with aubergines) I am exposed to a woman who if I believe everything I have heard about her, is ninety five years old, has five properties in Knightsbridge London, and has laid out £66,000 to be able to stay at the hotel for the remainder of her life. She had apparently been asked to leave another Hotel on the Island for being too difficult to deal with, bossing the staff around.
The lady stops on her way out of the restaurant and begins talking to one of the staff. I’m sat having another drink, I can hear her going on and on about her life with servants and the like. She goes on in this manner, 'never even sat in a taxi until recently', she is a well dressed lady, twenty minutes pass she is still talking - it’s an hypnotic drone. I feel my eyes closing, I have yet to hear the guy speak yet, it’s a one way conversation.
He is shifting from foot to foot, three times he try’s to break away from her, but she has her prey and there is no escape. The poor guy is exposed to a further five minuets of this whine. As she finally runs out of words I look at his face, it is the face of a man who was losing the will to live, she has made me so tired I go off to bed and it’s only 8.45pm!

Monday 18 January 2010

Monday 18th straight out of the bed, now come on get down that gym. I step on the scale, half a stone increase since I last stood on them four days ago, with all the walking I’m doing! Yes and all the eating your doing I think. I hardly eat between breakfast and evening meal apart from the odd roll or pasty, no midday meal, what’s going on, is the “Blob” feeding himself when I’m not looking? I get on and do the first set of arm curls, then off with the tee shirt eyes closed and on the stepper. A few minutes into my routine, the door opens and a youngish cleaner of African origins enters to sweep and mop. Now here’s some good advice never try using a stepper and also try holding your stomach in at the same time, it’s excruciating believe me. I think she’s gone so relax, then she returns, deep breath. Finally I’m alone I cut short at six minutes and not the ten I planned. Sit ups, second set of curls, then Carol Bayer Sager comes on the Mp3 singing “Your moving out” inspired again I jump back on the stepper and complete that ten minutes.

I go for breakfast and conscious of my weight try rice crispies instead of sugar puffs, like eating sawdust, won’t do that again. Then take one sausage and not two, I have not made a pig of myself, I stopped having toast days ago. There is also fruit available, the food here is excellent.

I have no real plans for the day, the weather will dictate what I decide. Today it’s overcast with a rainy look about it, I’ve heard about Anchor bay (close by is where they shot the film “Popeye” with Robin Williams), so that’s the plan. I hear I will find it close to Melliena, sign posted off one of the traffic Islands. I catch the bus with eyes peeled for Islands, I see one and jump off. No Anchor bay here. So I walk on a bit and jump on another bus. Off again but still no luck, then I see an information board it’s on the other side of the Island from where I am!
I retrace my steps bus wise, and head back to the centre of Melliena and try the air raid shelters again. I walk down the street towards where it is, thinking please be open this time, and it is praise be. As I enter there is a wizened old Maltese chap sat on a rickety old chair no mod cons here, I pay my two Euros thirty and head down the main passage, it’s lit well enough for you to see where your going. I can hear sounds but I can’t make out if there other people in here? Off the main passageway there are side chambers, some have props in them old beds, tables, manikins and the like. One passageway leads off to another, this is far larger than I could have ever imagined. I start taking pictures but soon realise that it is a waste of time taking the passageways as the flash will not penetrate further than a few yards in the gloom. All the pictures look the same, I will just concentrate on the chambers.
One chamber has the manikin of a priest sat with a bible, there are sound effects, so that’s what I could hear. I turn round and nearly jump out of my skin on a ledge above me is another manikin, there appears to be three entrances to the shelter excluding the one I entered, they are all roped off. This must have been a massive undertaking it has been chiseled out of solid rock, I exaggerate not you could get a few thousand people down here at a push. I’m sure if you were in danger of your life from dropping bombs you would not be moaning about how much room you needed.
It is quite eerie down here and I am the only one visiting at present, more chambers and more manikins, it has been well worth a visit to see what other generations had to endure.

It was third time lucky finding the shelters open, will my luck hold for the Red Tower? I set off to find out. I'm off up the gradient again, soon puffing and panting, where did my fitness go? As I turn the bend is that a flag I can see? I had been told by other guests it’s only open when the flags flying, well it is, one Euro fifty can’t moan about that. Once inside I find the real name is Saint Agatha’s Tower, named after a woman who had both her breasts hacked off by her rejected admirer and was then burnt at the stake. I think we get the point he did not take rejection well!
It is one of thirteen towers built by the Grand Master of the time Lascaris in 1647 that are spread the length of the Island to warn against invasion. It was manned by four troops in peaceful times but forty nine in times of alarm. I climb the spiral stair way to the top, the view is spectacular, the guy on ticket duty said it was restored in 2000 but no one knows why it was painted red. I would hazard a guess it was a look out tower that had to communicate with other look out towers, you wouldn’t want it to blend into the background would you? Or is that too obvious?

It was a good job I did not meet this guy on my first day, he was British over here again on holiday, and likes to act as a volunteer by opening the Tower and selling the tickets and handing out information about the building and anything else he can help you with. Very laudable, but he then started taking to me about the Maltese who he did not have a high regard for, not interested in their own heritage, let their monuments fall into disrepair, think they can visit here without paying because they are Maltese. Then he gets onto the buses and their drivers, belching out foul black smoke due to mixing the fuel with muck to make it go further, and most of the drivers are ignorant and very rude, and the people on the land around the Tower are really objectionable. Now had I met him on that first day he might well have coloured my thinking of what lay ahead, because other than the landowners who I’ve never met, the large majority of people and drivers have been polite and helpful.

I make my way back by conventional transport, this time bus, not overland exploration.

Once back at the hotel I take a couple of hours out for feet up time, hoping the knee will settle down. The weather seems to have brightened up late afternoon. I get my second wind put on my sturdy shoes and decide to explore the surrounding area. I turn right out of the hotel walk to the end of the road, it turns out to be the end of the Island, so I come back and walk to the rear of the hotel, far more promising. Soon I’m walking along the cliff edge, there's about a hundred foot drop I would guess. Below and in the distance I see a small bay with some amenities so I plan to head for there - should take about twenty five minutes is my estimation. The walk is as before (Red Tower) rocky underfoot but in better footwear and no slope to contended with is far easier. Eventually I get there to find an upside down sign proclaiming Paradise Bay, there is some sort of a beach bar there but it is obviously locked up for the winter. Its deserted, it is quite pleasant now, warm enough to remove my fleece. I take a few snaps, then notice a swarm or is it shoal or some other description of Jelly fish, this must be common because I also see a notice board warning what to do if stung, wash with sea water not unsalted water, also apply alcohol to the infected area. I think stick a dead one in my mouth and run into the bar of the hotel, see if they pour drink down my throat for free, some hope. After a further few minutes I make my way back to base, adventures over for the day.

Back in the Hotel I’m sitting having a few drinks when a really hip woman who’s name I later learn to be Irene joins me, I also later learn she is (or close to being) eighty, but sharp as a knife. She asks me a few questions about myself, then Cyril starts handing out quiz sheets, not biscuits again I think, no and it’s not Cyril’s quiz, another guy staying at the hotel has put together a quiz on Malta. It is Irene’s first time here and mine, so initially we are not going to do it, after all we are up against a table of five woman who have been coming for the last fifteen years, some chance we’ll have. The quiz starts and the guy running it barks out the rule and what he will and wont stand for, he could give Fidel Castro a run for his money as a dictator power crazed or what.

The questions start and I think why just sit here so I’ll fill in the answers with the first thought that comes in to my head. Name the three cities he asks , McDonalds, Burger King, and Pizza Hut I answer, this gives Irene a laugh and before I know it she has taken over, what is the name of the eye that is a symbol often seen on the Island? Spec savers she answers, we go on in this vain for the sixteen questions, Irene is a little worried the others may see our flagrant disregard for protocol and quickly folds the paper up and secrets it inside the book she is reading as Cyril approaches.

Quiz over now it’s time for bingo, Mike of M&S fame joins us, are you going to play he asks. After him telling me just how much he has won I have visions of carry piles of gold and silver back to my room like the conquistadors leave south America. So I’m sucked in, far from winning I end up four Euros down. I swear Irene and Mike to secrecy to the fact I was ever there let alone played bingo!

Off I go to get ready for evening meal. I have lamprey, then retire to the lounge to do a little writing and later listen to the Maltese guy who was here last week playing the guitar and singing. He is not to bad at all, then it’s trying to send my emails through Facebook (a total nightmare), if it’s not being able to connect to the hotel WIFI it’s not being able to get Facebook to work properly. If I see one more “Oops sorry try again” I’ll throw the laptop in the swimming pool, except I’ve only just bought it. I turn in for the night exasperate beyond belief I’m supposed to be relaxing, bloody technology.