|
|
Contents |
Day 1 |
Day 2 |
Day 3 |
Day 4 |
Day 5 |
Day 6 |
Day 7 |
|
Twelve or thirteen hours after going to bed, I found myself being roused by my very attentive wife, who noticed that there was a lot of light coming in from under the curtains. She took this to mean that it was morning and I assumed she was correct. Following the opening of the drapes, her suspicions were confirmed and I crawled out from the sheets at about 10:00 in the morning. Among the several perks of springing for the club-level room was the exceptionally pleasant prospect of the free breakfast. Not only was this a money-saver (should you choose to ignore the cost of the room), but it was an excellent time saver in the morning. European waitstaffs have proven notoriously slow by American standards and it seems like they had actually slowed down even more since the last time I was there. I assume that the idea is that we should sit down and savor the meal. But it's rather hard to savor a meal when it's still not in front of you after an hour of waiting. By that time, you could cover a phone book with gravy and I would eat it happily. Come to think of it, this may say something about European cooks. Fortunately, there was much to savor from the Intercontinental's buffet: smoked salmon, cereals, salami, a variety of fruits, slices of toast, fresh loaves of bread, a broad variety of preserves, jelly-filled pastries, six kinds of juice, something that looked like it was a substitute for either milk or milk of magnesia, and -- for the Germans -- tasteless hard rolls that were tougher than tire rubber. They knew their audience and aimed to please. Or at least to provide all the annoyances of home. And they had a cappuccino machine where we could have lattes every morning. This allowed me the opportunity to learn that latte can get old when you have it all the time. By the end of the week Chris and I were both pining for some plain, unspectacular, horrible-tasting American coffee. I feel genuine shame in admitting this. While enjoying our delightfully extensive collection of breakfast foods, we discussed our plan for the day. We decided upon Valletta as our first destination, since it was the one place where things definitely happened in Malta. And, of course, the thing we needed to do next was get on the bus to Valletta. The Romance and Adventure of the BusBusses are not hard to find on Malta, they are painted a very convenient shade of bright yellow with an equally bright red stripe down the side. However, that is the beginning and end of any similarities between one bus and another. From what I can tell, they never get rid of a bus once it is purchased and they never buy a bus until they need a new one. The most consistent design is something that seems to have been in the service since sometime around 1951. However, we also rode on models that reminded me of school busses, city busses, Greyhound busses and one bus on Gozo that somehow ended up with a ticket booth from a movie theater. Furthermore, the busses were cheap, even considering the ridiculous exchange rate of over $3 for 1 Lm (Maltese lira). For instance, from Paceville, we could go to Valletta for 0.20 Lm each way, which came out to about $0.65 each way. But, and here is the part that absolutely blew my mind: the drivers give change. I have taken public transportation in somewhere around five different countries and probably fifteen different cities and not once have I ever seen a bus driver give change. When I saw our bus driver doing that very thing for some other folks getting on, I think my jaw actually dropped. What in the heck kind of country is this where bus drivers have the decency to give change on the purchase of a bus ticket? What is this place? Upon boarding the perfectly operable, yet entirely ancient form of transportation, we set off on our winding way along the bays and inlets that mark the shores between Paceville/Sliema and Valletta. Along the coast, the buildings turn to more familiar designs and materials, but they were very tightly set. Narrow-fronted shops and restaurants lined the sidewalks on one side while vast fleets of small watercraft filled the harbors on the other. In fact, the density of the boats led to some question as to just how people got to the boats that were anchored in great numbers with nary a dock in sight. How they got the boats out of the crowded harbor once they actually got on board was a challenge we didn't want to even think about. With every new road and every hill and every turn, we got continually closer to our destination. Mind you, we had no idea what to expect when we got there and neither of us had any idea what the hell Valletta looked like, so I had no idea what the look for around the next turn or over the next rise or... Good God this hill is steep! Please tell me they take extra care of the brakes on these things! Over another hill and around another bend. And then, finally, I saw our destination. For there was no mistaking that for anything other than Valletta. |
Malta - Day TwoThe Plan to Valletta |