Malta - A Last-Minute Holiday

I will need to preface this section by declaring disappointment with the island of Malta. I heard myself saying, on several occasions, "It will be great when it’s finished." In my view, Malta needs some real TLC—a proper tidying up and a commitment from all not to dump discarded goods randomly across the island. There were cars abandoned over cliff tops (our guide said these were the result of insurance scams), rusty oilcans declaring field boundaries, building debris and a jungle of discarded litter. We saw rats roaming the town! On the loathe-it-or-love-it continuum, we were nearer the former.

But there were memorable experiences, such as the bus journeys on the municipal bus, which careened through the busy Maltese streets, and the impressive sight of them assembled at the Valletta terminus. Hang on to your hats; these rides will compete with any that you’ve experienced in Disney parks!

Make sure you visit the Knights of the Malta Museum. This is crammed with interesting historical facts in a fairly impressive building. There’s just less than half a day’s viewing, and there have been attempts to liven up historical facts with static displays and canned voice-overs. A short walk out of Valletta, and you can visit Fort Elmo and the War Museum. We had coffee at the top of the hill overlooking the harbour.

If you have any interest in architecture, Malta has several fine churches and boasts the oldest working theatre in Europe. The Manoel Theatre, built in 1731, is a timber building seating 600 people. Guided tours are available.

Malta is the setting for several films, and to the far north is the preserved village set for Popeye’s village, constructed for the 1970s flop movie "Popeye". It looked moderately impressive from a distance, but our guide suggested that she would not go out of her way to visit.

I would highly recommend a trip to Gozo—this was a refreshing contrast to the grubbiness of Malta.

Shopping in Malta was an experience—perhaps we missed the shops, but I spent very little, and even my wife did not want to go in search of the odd bargain.

A lasting impression of Malta is the apparent prejudices that still exist—we are English, so we "were okay", but the locals do seem to have "less than favourable views" on other nationalities.

Quick Tips:

We found the most efficient way to see Malta was to seek "a deal" on organised tours. Firstly, note the offers made by your hotel, and then ignore them. Out and around, there are a large number of tour-shops vying for your business, and they don’t want to be outdone. We inquired casually about the available tours and fast discovered that the discounts were just waiting to be claimed. In the end, we settled on three tours for the price of two (all with lunch and pick-up from the hotel—this is not always standard, so you need to be insistent or go elsewhere). The crazy thing is that this worked out cheaper than a three-day car hire, and we were guaranteed that we’d be shown around, rather than having to pick our way through the mass of traffic, find places to park, and follow maps.

The streets of Malta are littered with discarded pamphlets telling you what’s on or offering deals on "pub happy hours". We tried not to add to the morass of paper by ignoring the frequent offers. There are signs a-plenty, so extra leaflets are not really required.

Best Way To Get Around:

There’s a notorious bus service in Malta, known affectionately as boneshakers. Most of the buses are probably past their sell-by date, but there’s never a shortage, although it can be confusing to know which one to jump on. However, pick up a bus timetable, and you won’t go far wrong. We were pleased to find out that most of the drivers are sympathetic to the tourist’s plight, so they will readily give advice. Have plenty of small change, because although the drivers give change, they really "don’t do large currency."

Car or motorcycle rental is the other option—we didn’t try this, as the roads seemed pretty chaotic and we had read that Malta has one of the highest per-capita accident rates in the world.

Taxis are expensive and generally, we were told, fares are randomly set, dependent on the mood of the driver and their assessment of how much they can "take you for." That may be unfair, but we stuck to local buses.

Although you can hire bicycles, I would not recommend it—Maltese drivers don’t seem to recognise many driving conventions, and you’ll be extremely vulnerable on a cycle.

Our last minute "allocated on arrival" holiday was cheap. The courier told us that the St Georges Park Hotel was in a lively part of town, with easy access to the whole of the island.

The entrance to the hotel was impressive but not grand, and the tired 1960s foyer suggested to us what the rest of the hotel was like. We slowly, as the lift only had two speeds (extremely slow and stop), rose to the eighth floor and trundled our luggage along the dark and dismal corridor to our apartment. I use the term advisedly because the room was fairly grim. Its cold tiled floor housed two single beds that would not have been out of place in a local homeless centre’s dormitory. They were covered with bedding that I think must have been purchased when the hotel was built. It was clean but extremely thin and in need of replacement. There was a TV balanced precariously on a well-used table and a lumpy bed settee pushed alongside the veranda window.

On the far side of this large room was the kitchenette, with a table for four covered in a plastic tablecloth with numerous skirmish cuts from the bread knife. The cutlery and crockery was not matching and confirmed the belief that no one managing this establishment really cared. An ancient two-ring electric cooker had pride of place on the well-worn worktop next to a "well-hammered" stainless steel sink. Ill-fitting kitchen cupboards adorned the wall. What had we come to?

The view from the spacious veranda was unfortunately totally uninspiring. At a push we could see the sea, but the predominant view was that of large cranes, nightclubs, and grubby streets. But the sun loungers were comfortable and did catch most of the day’s sun.

The hotel boasted two swimming pools, but one was closed, and the tired uninspiring breeze blocked terraces of the apartments surrounding the other. Additionally, the hotel charged for the privilege of using cushions for the sun loungers. I was not impressed.

At night the sleepy streets of St Julian’s Bay came to life, and the streets pulsated with young bodies intent on having a good time in the local nightclubs, whose signs were now flashing brightly to attract the customers. Indeed by the time we were going to bed, they were just starting to get going! The first night we made the mistake of leaving the widows open – the noise kept us awake. Okay, we closed the window and turn on the apartment’s fan. It’s large and effective, but I reckon its bearings have gone. We’ll never sleep! Then the sun breaks through - we have slept and conquered the noise factor.

To be kind, I’d say the whole complex was tired and in need of renovation, but in reality, it echoed our general impression of Malta – it was neglected and in need of a total re-fit. It is not to be recommended unless they’ve done a lot of work over the years.

BJ’s was a place we frequented fairly often. We’d have a leisurely meal, enjoy a bottle of wine, and then adjourn to this nightclub/piano bar to enjoy some live jazz. It is a typical ‘60s jazz club that has a small inconspicuous entrance under a simple illuminated sign; a narrow and dingy staircase with several black and white photographs of jazz icons; and an unassuming reception area.

BJ’s is described as the only true jazz club on Malta, and as a nightclub, it does seem to cater for a more mature audience. Be clear that it is a nightclub and the action does not even begin to happen until at least 11pm, and like the jazz clubs that I remember from my youth, you can never be absolutely sure when the session will start. There is a laid-back, chill-out feel to BJ’s, and although it promises to be slick and well organised (that is, they have a programme), our experience was that the "best laid plans" do not always come to fruition.

A small bar area welcomes you, and you can either balance on the bar stools, find a small table, or make your way to the main hall. I think "hall" suggests a size that BJ’s doesn’t have because the stage area is extremely compact and the audience can relax on comfortable upholstered seating. It’s hard to estimate how many the place can hold, but it can best be described as an intimate venue.

One of the surprising features about BJ’s is that we were never asked to pay an admission charge and the price of the drinks was extremely reasonable. Indeed we have paid much more in less salubrious establishments. There was not a fantastic choice of beers, but at least it made no attempts to pander to British tourists by stocking badly kept fizzy English beers. This is a "what you see is what you get" club with a friendly staff who will want to chat and are in no hurry. If you’re in a rush for a drink, don’t go to BJ’s.

We saw some great local acts. Some regularly played together, but one night it was a drop-in jam session where individuals formed a band and played for their own satisfaction. Music was being formed in front of us with an outstanding array of local and imported talent. It seemed from some of the introductions that these musicians had travelled, with their instruments, in the hope of finding an audience. Four on the stage was one too many, and it seemed as if the enthusiastic drummer would cause so much vibration that the performers would be shaken off the dais. The only problem was that there had to be an awful lot of discussion between numbers, as the musicians decided on their performance protocol for the next piece. Still, it really didn’t matter – this is a club with ambience and with attitude. To be cool, don’t rush anywhere!

Our day trip to Valletta was made courtesy of the "boneshaker" buses, and once we arrived, it was really easy to walk around the town. Leaving the bus station behind, we headed for City Gate (sounding more inspiring than it really is) and then into Freedom Square (best described as a paved area surrounded by shops), which was rebuilt after its destruction in World War II. Not really a place of celebration, but more a large parking lot!

Next we head off to the Upper Barakka Gardens. These formal gardens were created in the 1660s, and after several modifications, they are now a haven in an otherwise noisy city. There’s a stunning view from the terrace out to the three cities and the harbour, and if you’re brave enough to look over the edge, you’ll realise how high up you are. Take time to examine the many sculptures and enjoy the colourful flora.

The town has been developed on a grid-like basis, and following the Triq ir-Repubblika, or roads running parallel to it, will take you in the direction of Fort Elmo. It’s virtually impossible to get lost with the town’s layout, so we followed our instincts, and if we saw an interesting building, we headed for it. En route, we saw signs of a bustling market, but on closer inspection, it was a fairly tatty set of market stalls selling second-hand goods, cheap clothing, and obviously copied CD's. Yes, yet another Maltese disappointment.

St Paul’s Shipwreck Church was dedicated to the alleged shipwreck of St Paul in 60 AD (a befitting name, don’t you think?) and is so unremarkable on the outside that we almost missed it. It is said to be one of Malta’s oldest churches (built in the mid-1500s), and we entered by a small side entrance. This small church is rammed full of icons and artwork, and I don’t think there’s a square inch that hasn’t been decorated in some way. The dark church’s lighting seems to be by way of its silver chandeliers, and the small chapels are delights, with their paintings and frescoed ceilings. The priceless relic of a bone from St. Paul’s wrist is on display, but you will need a certain amount of imagination to identify it.

St John’s is perhaps the most bizarre cathedral I’ve ever seen. It is baroque in the extreme, and the arched cloister around the nave is heavily carved. Make sure you give detailed attention to these, as there’s a mass of gruesome skeletons and hidden skulls giving symbolic warning to non-believers with triumphant messages for the pure and unsullied. I could not accuse St John’s of being understated!

St John’s Square has the most cannons I’ve ever seen outside of a museum, and it’s here that you can rent a horse and carriage for a tour of the town. We didn’t bother, but the sight and sound of the horses brought some added interest to Valletta.

In the centre of Malta is the particularly uninspiring town of Mosta. But despite its unattractive nature, Mosta is heavily hit by tourists because everyone wants to see the 19th-century church of Santa Marija. This gigantic church is affectionately known as the Mosta Dome and can be seen from miles away, but it has a somewhat chequered history.

The original traditional church needed to be replaced, and Georges Grognet de Vasse was commissioned to design a new place of prayer. His circular design was not approved of by the archbishop, and building work commenced despite the lack of approval by the clergy. In 1833, the building work commenced, using the old church as scaffolding, and almost three decades later, the dome was complete and the majority of the original church was removed. Locals claim this to be the third largest dome in Europe, although Gozo’s St John the Baptist heavily contests that claim.

The entrance is guarded by a series of sculptures, a short staircase, and a double row of six columns all overlooked by two belfries. I must admit that I was struck as we entered with the vastness of the place and speculated that it would easily house a football pitch with some leftover. There was a constant hum as local churchgoers recited the rosary, and the acoustics of the place suggest that any performer would be happy to give a recital in this vast celebratory edifice. Despite the hushed incantations, it was really hard to get a feel for this church and we did not feel the need to whisper. Other than its sheer size, this church does not demand that you are awestruck, nor does it implant any spiritual feelings in the minds of the visitor (well certainly not in mine).

Below the dome’s massive central lantern light, a row of sixteen windows illuminate the church, reflecting the sun’s rays onto the lightly chequered marble floor. Hundreds of gilded stone carvings of flowers decorate the inside of the dome, but the carefully painted mural by Giuseppe Cali, above the tall arches, is really too high for intensive scrutiny

But the church claims a miracle. During the Second World War, a German aircraft dropped a bomb over Mosta as a congregation of 300 waited for Mass. The bomb penetrated the dome, hit the sidewall, and bounced to the floor – it neither exploded nor injured a single person. The Miracle of St Mary is now firmly embedded into history and the bomb, alongside a dedication to the event, is housed in the sacristy (part of the original church).

Having seen the photographs and read the scripts, I now wanted to spot the bomb damage. I have to say that it was not easy, and if I hadn’t overheard a guide’s description of the event, I would have left with my knowledge of the dome far from complete. Having spotted the repairs to the ceiling, wall, and floor, I felt contented!

We’d heard of the Blue Grotto and people had raved about it, so given one trip incorporated a boat ride around it, we decided to give it a whirl. The Grotto is on the southeast coast of Malta, and our guide was anxious to make sure that we arrived before 11am. This was the estimated time that the sun’s rays were at the correct angle to flood the caves with its turquoise hue.

The mini bus picked its way carefully around the slopes to the Grotto, and we were left to walk the short distance to the jetty. Small, insignificant signs pointed us in the right direction (there really was nowhere else to go!), and we cautiously selected our footholds down the steep, uneven steps that led to the boats. There were no others in the queue, and the weather, our guide told us, would give us an ideal viewing of the Grotto.

A fleet of small colourful motor-powered canoes waited for us, and we gingerly clambered into the one nominated for us. Each boat takes around a dozen people, and we were soon chugging towards the caves, and although the sea was extremely calm, the vessel did struggle a bit as we rode against the current, kicking up a pleasant spray as we approached our destination.

The water seemed black as we entered the first cave, but we soon were looking at crystal-clear water and marvelled at the gradation of colours in the walls of the cave. Just below water level, a deep amethyst colouration was clearly visible, changing through to lilac. Farther up the wall were bands of orange and a deep slate blue – magnificent. Outside of the caves, the overhanging rocks showed pinks and peaches as the sun reflected off the clear-blue waters onto the craggy rock surface.

We now headed for an immense arch (Il-Hnejja) and dipped into another cave – this time the surfaces were absolutely smooth (a contrast to the pitted coral-like surfaces of the other caves we’d seen). As we left this cave, the turquoise surfaces shimmered round the side of the cave entrance whilst the rest of the water appeared jet black. As we were emerging, the distant cliffs were revealed in all their glory carrying magnificent hues variegated from the sea surface to their very summit.

The sea trip took almost an hour, but I’ve never heard so many expressions of wonderment as our cave guide meandered the canoe through these rock formations. We’d timed the trip spot on, because when we returned, the queue was backed up to the top of the hill.

As we wandered back to the car park, we stopped at a couple of the village’s shops – not overly inspiring, but if you fancy buying some "rock," here’s your chance. I believe, however, that this purchase will never be able to emulate the splendid colours that we’d experienced at the Blue Grotto.