SEPTEMBER 2019
Somewhere in the mists of time, when I was around eleven years old, my then best friend, Graham Moon, and his parents, Brian and Margaret, graciously took me on holiday with them to Malta. Being the only place outside the UK other than northern France that I’d visited at the time, I’ve always held something of a soft spot for the place. Not least because I have such fond memories of myself and Graham spending many an hour paddling around various bays in a bright, yellow, inflatable dinghy. It didn’t take much to keep us amused in those days.
So when one of Sue’s friends recently visited Malta and produced some rather nice photos, and Sue decided she wanted to go too, I was more than happy. Although I doubt there’ll be any plastic dinghies this time. Incidentally, Brian and Margaret recently celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary, and I realised that that holiday took place over forty years ago. Which made me feel rather old.
Back to the present and on the day on which a ton of boxes which apparently constitute a new kitchen were deposited in the space we believe may one day be a kitchen-cum-dining room, we wished the builder good luck, and buggered off to Heathrow for a flight to Valletta.
A pre-arranged taxi picked us up (always a nice thing to arrive at a destination and find someone holding up your name rather than having to run the gauntlet of public transport/touts) and transported us to Sally Port Suits somewhere in Valletta, as at this stage I have to admit to having little or no idea as to where we were. I’m usually quite well-read on where we’re going but house renovations had distracted me somewhat. And so to bed. (250 words and we haven’t even done anything yet. Not bad.)
Come the morning and we’re set for a day of relatively aimless wandering around Valletta. Started off with a short walk to the Upper Barrakka Gardens, primarily in search of some breakfast and a cup of coffee. Although it’s indicative of what a slow start to the day it was, that having had said breakfast, and a wee stroll around the Gardens (which are quite wee in themselves), we were more or less in time for the firing of the Noon Day Gun (and we previously thought that was unique to Hong Kong eh?). And from the ramparts of the aptly named Saluting Gallery, overlooking the spectacular harbour towards Vittorioso, with a bit of pomp and ceremony the Maltese could only have inherited from us pompous and ceremonious Brits, it is a brief noon-time boom worth taking the time to see.
Heading north from Barrakka Gardens took us past a bewildering number of sights and monuments in a matter of a few hundred yards. The Malta Stock Exchange. The Auberge Castille, now the Office of the President. Our Lady of Victories Chapel and its stunning interior. The Church of Saint Catherine of Italy. The Royal Opera House, the ruins of which were redesigned by Italian architect Renzo Piano in 2013 to restore it to a functioning venue. It amused me that as we walk past the open-air stage, its sole occupant was a tortoiseshell cat, sitting strangely erect, centre-stage and facing the audience as if preparing to perform. Tonight. For one night only…
Turning right onto Republic Street and the Church of Santa Barbara sits sandwiched between a long-abandoned jewellers and a chemists, on Valletta’s equivalent of Oxford Street. It’s as if Valletta has so many churches and historic buildings that it doesn’t have enough room to fit them all in. There’s time for a spot of shopping, before stopping for some lunch on Merchant Street, then wandering on down past a newly opened food market, which the manager from the Suites had enthusiastically informed us contained Malta’s one and only international supermarket. It also housed a huge tv screen showing Newcastle to be leading Liverpool 1-0 in a match I had totally forgotten about. I had the prescience to allow tourism priority over sport as we carried on strolling and Newcastle duly capitulated to Liverpool’s dominance and lost 3-1 (the only surprise there being the 1).
After countless more spectacular old buildings and equally countless photo opportunities we arrived at the National War Museum and Fort St Elmo. With a modest admission fee of €10 per person it is something perhaps best visited before two or three hours of walking in the hot sun, not afterwards. The WWII sections were interesting, but the medieval and Knights of Saint John stuff, well, that was a bit too ancient for my liking.
A restorative cup of coffee and an ice cream later in the Lower Barrakka Gardens and we just about managed the walk through the heat back up to Sally Port Suites, which in truth, was not very far and had lovely views of the harbour most of the way.
Evening time saw us heading back down Merchant Street to enjoy some dinner in one of the many outdoor restaurants. But what’s with all the rabbit on the menu? Malta seems like such a dry and arid island you can’t imagine it being over-populated by rabbits, yet there they are, proudly displayed as a local specialty on every menu. Still declined the offer.
Also declined to visit the bar a few doors down pumping out some high-energy Euro-pop in celebration of the Pride march which had been taking place in Valletta today. There are lots of rainbow-bedecked people around and numerous flags adorning buildings (we’ll even find a very cool rainbow-coloured pedestrian crossing) in what is clearly a very gay-friendly country. Although it still seemed relatively low key. While a Pride event in London will close off large parts of the West End, and the Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras in Sydney (presumably now renamed into an alphabet soup of inclusivity) is one of the events of the year, Valletta barely seemed to bat an eyelid.
Which left us only to head back to Asti, a family-run guest-house adjacent to our Suites, whose bar spills out into the street and which hosts live music on a Friday and Saturday evening. And while my musical snobbery will normally turn its nose at an old geezer playing such universal tunes as Guantanamera, and then a batch of Queen songs, it’s the kind of evening which brings the neighbourhood out and cannot fail to put a smile on even the most cynical of faces. And let me assure you, that can take some doing. The elderly Doris who was presumably once the Asti’s proprietress before handing over the reins to the next generation, did not stop grooving all night.
Day two in Valletta and it’s a short ferry ride over to an area known as the Three Cities, although we will manage to visit only one, Vittoriosa. Or is it Birgu? Why do these places have more than one name? It’s a wee bit confusing for your already confused tourist. Whatever it’s called this is one place in which the super-rich park their yachts. Nestled next to a three-masted vessel as long as an entire street, was something that looked more like a stealth bomber with four levels and a freaking helicopter on top. I mean, come on. The running costs alone are probably more than those of a small African country.
Beyond that ridiculous opulence is a delightful marina of mere millionaire yachts, alongside which we strolled until we reached Fort St Angelo. Conscious of yesterday’s underwhelming experience we opted against paying €10 to see what is held within and instead found ourselves on the rocks in the forefront of said Fort. There were just three or four other people basking in the sun and taking a dip in the harbour in what must be one of the most spectacular swimming spots imaginable. Across its many miles of waterfront Valletta harbour is truly spectacular and here is a spot in which you can easily immerse yourself in its pristine waters complete with a magnificent view of the sandcastle city itself. Why on earth it isn’t more populated is a mystery equal only to the question of why we didn’t we bring our swimmers?
Sans swim we headed back around the fort and into the myriad of streets that are the ancient town of Birgu. And I honestly couldn’t describe our route as even with the subsequent benefit of map, I still haven’t a clue. But we found ourselves at Victory Square and settled in to BeBirgu for a spot of lunch on a lovely terrace overlooking the square. After which there was a little more aimless but very pleasant wandering, no major sights of any note, and eventually a return to the ferry terminal that would take us back to the main city. Eschewed the lift back up to the Barrakka Gardens (free to go down, €1 to go back up) in favour of the surprisingly short walk up through Victoria Gate – as in Queen Victoria – and back to Sally Port.
Sadly the old lady and the rest of the staff from Asti have a day off on a Sunday – as it seems do large parts of the Maltese population – so there’s no dancing in the streets tonight, and we set off into town in search of something to eat. Found a hip-and-happening street corner on the intersection of Strait Street and Old Theatre Street and settled in to StrEat for yet more pasta and a few glasses of local vino. (It’s a good job we came on holiday after doing the Great North Run and not before it. The volume of pasta and white wine must be adding on the pounds.)
Monday morning. Now you’d expect a church to be open on Sunday of all days (or is that a demonstration of my religious ignorance?) but St John’s Co-Cathedral, by all accounts Valletta’s number one attraction, was closed on Saturday afternoon and Sunday, so we’d better squeeze in a visit on Monday morning before we depart Valletta this afternoon. As we stood outside its rather plain facade, Sue wondered whether it’d be worth €10 entry fee. Upon stepping inside, it takes about one second to validate that. Forking hell, it is magnificent.
The first impression is simply ‘gold’, and we’re not talking gold in a Spandau Ballet sense here. Every wall, pillar and niche is richly decorated in gold brocade. There’s Christian history galore here, far too much for me to attempt to describe. It is lavish, colourful and absolutely stunning. You could spend hours understanding the stories and appreciating the artistry of each of the dozen or so chapels that border the nave, each of which is a marvel in itself.
And it contains a Caravaggio, or two. Now I know eff all about art. But I took the time to listen to the audio commentary, not once, but twice, and actually began to appreciate what I was standing in front of. The painting depicting The Beheading of Saint John the Baptist, is considered to be one of Caravaggio’s masterpieces, the largest canvas he painted and the only painting signed by the painter, apparently his name is etched in the blood flowing from St. John’s neck. I’m nicking stuff from Wikipedia here but “it is one of Caravaggio’s most impressive uses of the chiaroscuro style for which he is most famous with a circle of light illuminating the scene of St John’s beheading at the request of Salome”. And aside from all that clever stuff, it is over four hundred years old. You honestly get the feeling you are in the presence of something special. It’s a privilege to see it.
Indeed, much of Valletta is a pleasure to see. It’s a delightful melange of narrow streets and dissecting alleyways, modern international brands and quaint old shops and cafes, laddered streets and overhanging balconies, and all soaked in a rich medieval, military and religious history.
It’s a shame then that all we have left to see is a taxi, an airport and a hire car. Next stop, Mellieha.
Go to: The North West of Malta
Links:
Sally Port Suits Valletta: https://sallyport.com.mt/lodging/valletta-sally-port-suites