The Saturday was spent wandering around Ta’Xhiex and Msida, stopping off at bars, taking in the impressive views of the fortified city of Valletta and wondering what Malta would be like to sail to and spend the winter in. You could probably do worse, though I have to say Malta’s biggest downfall is the traffic. We hired a car for a few days and spent most of it battling through near-stationery exhaust fumes.
This was made up for by the party on Rama on Saturday, which basically involved stuffing our faces on sushi in front of a a load of posh Maltese berks, watching the skipper get arseholed and have a row with the deckhand (or was it the other way round?), and getting stoned with the owner on the top deck. Or something like that.
Sunday was a pleasant day. We started with a proper Sunday roast in Rodney’s local pub, which closed up shop and just served Gordon, Rodney, Liz, Taz and myself. Their roast potatoes are worth commenting on. Apparently Malta has a potato that is exported because it tastes so fine. Roasted, in a weird kind of way in that it has no roasted skin, it is a real creamy delight. The Lonely Planet doesn’t make reference to it so you’ll just have to take my word for it. What does the Lonely Planet know anyway?
Not only do the Maltese siesta for most of the day, Malta completely shuts down on a Sunday so they can spend seventeen hours in church worshipping some bird in a blue dress. This was the perfect opportunity to drive into Valletta and wander the ancient streets, though it was made a little frustrating what with every tourist site being closed for the day! The one time you don’t mind looking like a tourist twat with your camera round your neck and they go and close everything.
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