Cruising the Mediterranean. Part 3 - Malta

Bear 390 Valletta



July 22, 2015

Arriving in the Grand Harbor of Valletta is a delight. I watch from my balcony as the Equinox positions itself along the sun-drenched water front. Once we receive notice over the loud-speaker that we are cleared for disembarking I am one of the first to leave the ship.



But it hits me immediately, the first layer of fumes from tour buses. They leave their motors running; tourists like air-conditioning.
The second layer of fumes begins right after the tourist information stand - taxis
The third layer is a more natural selection - horses with their buggies - I suppose you could call them "basic horse power smells."
The fourth layer is a continuous one, constantly revving up, speeding away, replaced by the next one - it is the hop on hop off fleet.



I am on a hop on hop off bus which has as its main goal Mdina and Mosta and I am sitting on the top deck, wind-blown and sun-beaten, and still, I think I made the best decision right after I left the Equinox; realizing that heat and exhaust might knock me out before I reach the city of Valletta by foot, aided by my cane. I have nodded to the first ticket vendor who approached me. The price is great - ten Euros for a two hour drive and one hour free time in Mdina. I have read about Mdina, an ancient walled city and once the capital of Malta, a gem of medieval and baroque architecture, a place not to miss.




The walls around Mdina probably save it from automobile exhaust, but when we arrive at its main gate only two passengers hop off; I don't move from my seat; briefly I unwind the towel, wet it from the water bottle, then drape it around my neck again. I know I will later regret my decision not to walk in history's footsteps, but I am too afraid of the heat to hop off for an hour. And so I admire the limestone beauty from the fume zone, wave at passengers from other buses, and hope I will make it back to the Equinox without passing out.



On the return trip to Valletta I shift the wet towel from neck to head and back, with an occasional rub down of the arms. I drink the whole big bottle of water I have brought along. We pass vineyards and arts and crafts shacks, an abandoned airfield, farmland and olive trees. I watch the two teens to my right frown at each other, bored with the canned information that reaches us via headphones. The bald man in front of me covers himself with a green and white striped bath towel and pours bottled water over himself. A young woman is about to cry, but is calmed by her companion with an apple. Which reminds me to pull a pear from my backpack to energize my throat. Very few tourists seem enthusiastic about the history of the island or even the prospect of shopping; only two get off in downtown Valletta. Most of us are eager to speed back to our air-conditioned ships, or at least, to the stores and restaurants at harbor level.









Malta is supposed to make the best bread in the world. I hear the tour operator (I keep the mike plugged in the whole time to hear about the things I would miss) mention a drizzle of olive oil and roasted tomatoes on this bread. It almost makes me stop at an outdoor restaurant at the end of the tour, in what has been called the most beautiful harbor in the world, but the cold water and ice towel tent, fifty feet before the Equinox, has a very strong pull. I forfeit the taste of Malta in favor of the taste of cold water. The few buses still picking up tourists are far enough away, with their exhaust pipes pointing in the other direction.

On a cool October afternoon I most definitely would have wandered around Mdina, and I would walk along the main street of Valletta, admiring the massive buildings that remind me of Prague in their elegance and faded beauty. I would visit churches and monuments and sit in a cafe tasting local pastry. But, feeling as if a heat stroke waits for me just around the corner, I retreat into the safety of the ship. Never mind that Valletta has been awarded the title of European Capital of Culture for 2018. Never mind that I barely took any pictures. Never mind that I will probably not have the opportunity to visit this UNESCO World Heritage site again.

I spend the rest of the afternoon admiring Valletta from my balcony, sipping an afternoon cappuccino, reading about those who populated Malta until its independence in 1964. It is a long line of rulers, defenders, occupiers, much defeat and many conquerers - Greeks, Phoenicians, Romans, Muslims, Christians, Normans, Spanish, French and British.
Soon disappointment with myself sets in. I send apologies across the blue waters below. But when I look at the photos I have taken, I smile again; here is a nice shot of Mdina. The vineyards. The harbor.

In the cool interior of the cabin my energy returns; I take a shower and get ready for dinner.