Picture Courtesy CIA World Factbook

https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/geos/mt.html

Except the arrow.  That was all me, baby.

High above the Atlantic, somewhere in the fading hours of night that fell into an indeterminable blur of indistinct times and time zones, a plane raced eastward.  This was a very British plane, being a member of the very British fleet of planes owned by Virgin Atlantic.  And it had a very British flight crew that was clearly there to help everyone on the flight feel the overwhelming and, for those heading back home on this flight, refreshing return of upright, prim, proper, well-groomed Britishness.  And all of us were heading to a very British place: Britain.  The most British of airports, London Heathrow Airport specifically, was our destination and the head flight attendant was doing her utmost to give us great heaps of Britishness that would help us to navigate the Britishness of all that we would encounter upon arrival. In fact, it seemed as though the head flight attendant was instructed to, "British it up," lest the passengers somehow think we were flying some inferior airline of a former subject state.

However, I and the exceptionally American woman next to me were not destined to stay in Britain long.  Instead, we were heading to someplace that used to be British but was now a place that belonged to itself.  It was a tiny place; an almost insignificantly small, 121 square mile set of islands in the Mediterranean that are home to some 400,000 people.  Our final destination was the island of Malta.  And how we ended up with that as our destination takes some explaining.

Why Malta?

It happened upon a recent time that I should find myself embarking upon a journey toward marriage and, in the anticipation of the celebration of said event, my wife-to-be and I had begun our discussions for that traditional, post-wedding departure from the common surroundings of our normal life.  These departures tend toward destinations of a different and less stressful region where the common and routine are left mercifully behind.  This departure is popularly referred to as a "honeymoon".

As it is the traditional duty of the groom to prepare and plan the honeymoon, my soon-to-be wife Chris and I decided to go someplace neither of us had ever been to before: Rome.  And, as I was in charge of the organization and planning of the honeymoon, I began making investigations into accommodations, trip planning, flights and all manner of other arrangements required for constructing a vacation suitable for my exceptionally wonderful wife-to-be.

However, as it was me, I did not actually book anything, since I am exceptionally good at procrastinating and I'm cheap enough to wait for some deals.  And I have never seen a situation where too much research turned out to be a bad thing -- particularly when involved with a vacation occurring roughly one-fourth of the way around the globe.

But the biggest reason to wait was that every bit of planning we had done for the wedding had always ended up with a unexpected but very welcome change to what we had anticipated.  As this had been a consistent theme, I had a feeling that the honeymoon planning would not be any different.  This turned out to be an accurate assessment because of the unexpected factor of bowling.

Why Bowling?

The bowling to which I refer occurred during an outing with Chris's company.  During this company outing, we were discussing our wedding and honeymoon plans with a few folks and we had a remarkable stroke of luck: we were told that Rome was a horrible idea for a honeymoon.

This came from a woman who was both recently married and previously spent a semester studying in Rome.  Thanks to her experience with both honeymoons and Rome, she informed us that, during a honeymoon, relaxing is more important than seeing the sights in a city as chock-full of sights as Rome.  Thus, if we were to go to Rome, we would be racing around from place to place the entire time, rather than enjoying some time together unwinding from the stress of the wedding.  She recommended that we skip Rome and just go to Cancun and hang out on the beach for a week.

Why not Cancun?

We appreciated her input, but neither I nor Chris are really beach people.  Or, I should say, neither of us is really the sort of person who can hang out on a beach for an entire week without getting bored.  As I result of this, what we needed was a place where we could both see a few sights and have some time to relax and just hang out for a while.  Some sights and some beach and some history and some swimming pools and, in all cases, the availability of a lot of drinks.  And, because of the drinks, someplace where we could sleep in regularly would be nice too.

Also at issue was the fact that this was a honeymoon.  Yes, places like Cancun are nice, but we can go there anytime.  To me, it seemed like our honeymoon should be some sort of movement into something new, if for no other reason than the fact that our wedding was going to be a movement into something new and this would be a good opportunity to get used to the idea.  And because we are both experienced foreign travelers, I felt like we should stretch our exploration boundaries into someplace neither of us has yet experienced.  That was the allure of Rome, but Rome had become a question mark.  So if not Rome, where?

Beaches, sun, relaxation, but still have things to do.  This is difficult, since precious few places have all of the above.  I explored some of Spain and the French Riviera for some ideas, but nothing seemed quite right.  Corfu or perhaps other of the Greek islands also looked tempting.  Yet that tiny little marble of thought just kept rolling around my head without finding anything quite right.  And to make matters worse, I had little clear idea of where to turn.  However, it was then that something else unexpected occurred: I remembered my World War II history.

Why World War II History?

In a rather engaging and educationally illustrated book entitled Great Battles of World War II, I previously read about a rather important theater in World War II that is often overlooked in the sweeping tale of said war: the Battle of Malta.  This was a protracted and very important engagement that stretched out over a few years in the war and greatly affected the outcome of the vital North African campaign, thanks to the location of Malta right in the middle of the Mediterranean.

That's when that tiny little marble rolling around my head fell into a tiny little hole with a pronounced click.  In the middle of the Mediterranean.  Something suddenly felt very right.  Righter than Rome, one might say, if one were looking to create their own clichés.

Malta:  Why not!

My research proved to be confirmation of what I had expected: a land that was conquered by virtually every power to sweep through the Mediterranean since the beginning of sail, Malta is a land that has proven a crossroads of the Middle Earth Sea.  And it is a land that has an epic prehistory as well, thanks to tombs that have been around longer than even the Egyptian pyramids.  Yet it is also attempting to fashion itself as a resort destination, so there are some very nice hotels to be had for the tourist looking to kick back and do some nothing for a while.

It had sights, but not so many as to leave us overwhelmed.  It had nice weather, so we could enjoy some sun and fresh air while we were there in October.  It had some nice hotels, so we could just hang out by the pool if we wanted.  And, to top it all off, it was a former British colony, so English was one of its official languages.  Yes, unfamiliar languages are nice, but this was our honeymoon and we didn't want to have to spend the entire time talking very loudly and slowly so that foreigners could understand us.  With that, we had a honeymoon destination.  And London was the last stop on the way.