By Christine Swan
In 2018, I travelled flight-free to Malta, to visit my daughter who was studying there under the Erasmus scheme. I spent the whole of Easter there and managed to visit two of the three islands. My daughter joined me at my hotel for breakfast, with the permission of my hosts. We decided to take the ferry to Gozo on Easter Saturday and from there we took an open-top bus tour of the island. The weather was gorgeous with warm sunshine but a brisk wind We took an open top bus tour which conveyed us around the rocky coast and seemed to navigate roads that appeared far too narrow for a bus but, like Harry Potter’s night bus, somehow, we seemed to squeeze through. The bus took us to an olive oil wholesale shop and we were instructed to disembark and purchase items to take home. I bought some flavoured dipping oil but didn’t want to laden myself with too much as I still had a long journey to travel, carrying everything with me.
Gozo comes into view from the ferry
The best view across the island of Gozo
Small scale agriculture is everywhere on Gozo
When we arrived back at the port late into the afternoon, the queue for the ferry back to the main island was considerable and would have resulted in a long wait, standing in the sunshine. The local seafarers had developed a solution. They would, for a few Euros per head, convey us back to Valletta in their speedy motorboat, taking in Comino’s blue lagoon and St Mary’s Tower, a fort featured in the 2002 film adaptation of the Count of Monte Cristo. This seemed to be a great option however, a number of people had the same idea, resulting in the boat being very heavily laden. The journey was indeed swift and precarious, or so it felt to me. Stopping in the blue lagoon caused the boat to pitch and rock, causing a few soakings. I was quite pleased when we sped off and Valletta’s skyline came into view. After gratefully disembarking, we walked around to St Julian’s bay and found a good spot for dinner, recounting our busy day and rather too thrilling boat ride.
Hard to take a level photo on a rocking boat! Comino’s Blue Lagoon and St Mary’s Tower
Easter Sunday was my last full day on the island. We had planned to visit St Paul’s Bay by bus. I was rather surprised that the bus service would be so frequent on Sundays but I was assured that it was so we agreed our time of departure and the bus arrived on time. The bus hurtled off in the direction of St Pauls, picked up some more passengers on the way, before taking an odd turn. By this I mean that it again tried to negotiate a road that appeared far too narrow, indeed was too narrow. Recognising his error, the driver attempted to reverse the bus, hitting a bollard in the process. My daughter and I had engaged in conversation with a lovely old English gentleman who was visiting the islands on a solo holiday from Newcastle upon Tyne. The collision seemed to enrage the bus driver who decided that he would abandon his journey to St Pauls, and instead return to Valletta. Some of the older ladies on the bus objected to this and moved forward, handbags at the ready, to accost the driver. A loud argument, in Maltese, ensued, all the while, the elderly gentleman was continuing to compare Newcastle to Malta, even though I saw no similarity. The tension was rising, the bus screeched to a halt. The elderly ladies, still brandishing their handbags, disembarked, still shouting at the driver. I told my daughter that we were getting off too, before anything else happened. Thus, we abandoned the elderly Geordie gent and I still feel just a little bit guilty about this all these years later.
Slots cut in the rock for producing sea salt near Sliema
Cat statue at Sliema
We were now halfway between Valletta and St Pauls so I suggested we walk the rest of the way. We had a good look around and then, by some miracle, to have an uneventful, calm bus ride home. “Oh it’s always like this!” my daughter said, and she was correct. The previous Christmas, she had phoned to say that she had arrived back in Malta, the taxi driver had had an accident but she was OK and she had just woken up the bus driver who was now taking her back to the university accommodation. My faith in the Maltese transport network was somewhat shaken! My daughter got off at the stop closest to her accommodation and I snapped a photo as she walked away. It was nearly the end of my break and I had loved spending time with her. Precious memories indeed.
Not a landmark, or a tourist attraction, just my daughter walking home
Easter Sunday brings another huge parade to the streets of Valletta, with heavy statues carried in front of throngs of spectators. The atmosphere is more celebratory and, as I discovered, the best vantage point was at the top of hill where the statue-bearers, cheered on by the crowds, run up at impressive speed. The church bells ring out and the whole island celebrates. It is a wonderful spectacle. The restaurants and cafes were doing a brisk trade and I felt that I was part of something joyous, traditional and significant. The community was there in its entirety. I returned to my hotel after midnight and gazed out across the island from my hotel window.
The entire population on the streets for the holy Easter parade
The moon over the Parliament of Malta
The following morning, after a hearty breakfast, we visited Valletta’s old town before I returned to my hotel to gather up all of my bags ready to depart. We walked down to the port and ferry terminal. I said goodbye to my daughter and told her that I loved her and would see her again soon. As I walked into the ferry terminal, hot tears sprang to my eyes and a wave of sadness swept over me. At the check in desk, boarding the boat, I wanted to turn back and hold my daughter again. I didn’t want to leave. I can’t explain why, in this moment, I felt as strongly as I did. Was it foresight that in just five more years, I would lose her forever?
Military band parading in the main square, Valletta Old Town
Leaving Valletta
I was grateful to be travelling alone. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I wanted to feel sad alone. As the ferry left Valletta, I watched the island recede into the distance wondering if I would return and when but for now, I was returning to Sicily. The Mediterranean was as calm as it had been on my outbound journey. When the ferry docked in Pozzallo, our coach was not waiting to take us to Catania. I began chatting with a Polish lady, another solo traveller. We carried on talking when the coach finally arrived and I was struck how her itinerary was so fluid while mine was rigidly organised with timetables memorised, tickets in electronic and hard copy backup versions, hotels booked and paid for in advance. My new companion was bound for Naples but hadn’t prebooked any transport to get there. I, on the other hand, was booked onto a sleeper train from Catania to Rome. During the coach trip, we discussed the various routes that she could take but my immediate concern was where on Earth would she sleep that night.
We eventually arrived in Catania at about ten o’clock. My new companion decided that she may as well see if she could book onto the same train that I was due to catch so we began walking towards the station. Two other women were also catching the train but only as far as Taormina. They asked for directions to the station and I suggested that we all walk together as it was getting late and there would be safety in numbers. Catania is quite a lively place at night and the port area attracts purveyors of the oldest form of entertainment. We were viewed with suspicion until they realised that we definitely had no intention of muscling in on their pitch, we continued on our way to the station. Our journey caused much amusement which lightened my mood.
When we arrived, the two ladies going to Taormina were in luck as their train arrived quite quickly, but I had a longer wait. Sadly, my Polish companion was unable to buy a ticket for my train so she had to go back to the town to find a hostel place for the night. I know that I couldn’t manage such uncertainty but I admired her fortitude. I had about an hour to wait so settled down in the waiting room with my book. A young Italian man asked me a question, unsurprisingly, in Italian but, I did not quite grasp it first time. I explained that I was English but spoke a little Italian. He explained that the sleeper train was delayed by twenty hours. That’s almost a day! I was horrified as this would impact on my onward journey too – my carefully planned schedule would be ruined. I decided to check my app before panicking. There train was indeed delayed, but only by twenty minutes. I managed to explain this in my rudimentary Italian and we laughed together. The train arrived after the aforementioned delay. My bed was set out ready and although I tried to wake up to enjoy the ferry crossing back to the mainland, tiredness washed over me and I fell asleep very quickly. I was still sad that I had left my daughter but more adventures lay ahead before I returned to England and she would want me to enjoy the rest of my travels. The snow white sheets and pillowcases were inviting and the gentle rocking of the train lulled me into slumber.
Awful Rigours and Wretched Pay 