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.