Walking Malta
New Year, New Expedition.
I had a week of free time before I needed to snap back into university mode, so I went to Google Flights and searched where I could fly to for under €10. Of course, the results were exclusively from Ryan Air, and Malta was one of them.
I'd heard a lot about Malta, the fact that they speak a variety of Arabic there, the great parties, the thousands of ex-pats, and the stunning landscape. A €10 flight was definitely worth it.
There was a catch to my flight, however. I was on a luggage restriction that would only enable me to carry 10L of baggage. I bought a cheap backpack, inside of which I could barely fit my down jacket and a small airline blanket I had picked up on my flight from Australia to the Netherlands.
It was at that time I read The Guardian's obituary for a hero of mine, Wilfred Thesiger. After seeing some other Western explorers blowing up air mattresses, he called them 'pansies'. I'd experiment by traveling as Thesiger did, although I would be alone. Thesiger always traveled with the locals.
So with a nerve-racking lack of kit, I boarded my flight to Malta international airport.
My Kit List was as follows:
10L Backpack
Compass
Map
Blanket
Warm Jacket
1x Shirt
1x T-Shirt for sleeping in
1x Underwear
1x Trousers
2x Socks
Powerbank and charger lead for iPhone
Book
Diary and Pen
Water Bottle
That was it.
Off the aeroplane, I stepped; onto the open road, I walked.
It was about 1500hrs when I made it out of the airport. I got a compass bearing for the village of Iz-Zurrieq and trodded south in trepidation of where that night I was to sleep. Who knows? Was I to experience the same hospitality I had previously in the Holy Land? Would people offer their houses to me for a night? I couldn't expect such generosity, that would be wrong; but deep down, as the late afternoon, chilly gusts of wind blew across me, I certainly was hoping for it.
I arrived in Iz-Zurrieq after an hour of walking, bought myself some lemon-flavoured water and a bread roll, and walked to Blue Grotto, a rugged canyon that spectacularly meets the Libyan Sea with its powerful waves crashing against the hardened limestone cliffs in the caves of which the Seagulls rest in their nests.
There was little use in staying too long at this place, despite the beauty. I picked up my backpack and walked to the village of Il-Qrendi, arriving just after dusk and laying out my blanket on a bench outside the parish church. It seemed like a great place, sheltered by the wind, quiet, and safe.
It was too cold to sleep. My shivers were likely audible for the entire village. Young Maltese lads also use a particular spot to rev their cars and do doughnut-skids.
I left before dawn and decided to walk to Gozo. My first stop was at the town of Siggiewi, where I rested for five minutes before continuing onto the ancient and historical town of Rabat, where St. Paul's Grotto is. According to local tradition, St. Paul stayed and preached for his three-month stay on the island.
"Once safely on shore, we found out that the island was called Malta. The islanders showed us unusual kindness. They built a fire and welcomed us all because it was raining and cold" (Acts 28:1-2)
Another great feature of the town of Rabat is a pie shop, where I feasted on a beef pie for lunch. It was the first thing I had eaten in Malta. I decided to fast on the day I arrived.
From Rabat I continued to the north, walking through the picturesque and stunning hills to the north of Rabat. It felt like I was in heaven, that was- until I was stung by a bee whose flower I had accidentally brushed with my trousers. Luckily, gingers have a higher pain tolerance to stinging pains, so this wasn't too bad for this lucky ginger!
I reached the ferry terminal at Cirkewwa just before sunset, and by the time I reached the smaller island of Gozo, it was practically dark. I walked to the village of Nadur which sits on a steep hill I first had to climb; and went to the local supermarket to buy a packet of crisps and a carton of orange juice.
"What brings you to Nadur?" asked the store owner.
"Jien mixi madwar Malta u Ghadex." I responded, eager to show that I had taught myself a bit of Maltese before coming here. He started laughing, so I continued. "Where would you recommend I sleep tonight? I have no money and need to sleep outside."
"No, it is too cold!" he replied. "I have an apartment above this shop. I don't stay in it. You can sleep there tonight."
I thanked him sincerely, as he grabbed the key and showed me around the apartment.
Just as he was leaving, I asked him, "What's your name?"
"I am Paul." he responded.
"Thank you so much, Paul. God bless you." I said before he returned to the store.
That night I slept for fourteen hours before waking up at 0900hrs the next day.
Paul offered me a tea in his store before I would go on circumnavigate Gozo. I bid farewell to him after drinking my tea.
I walked all around Gozo, swimming at Marsalforn before continuing along the north coast, cutting inland at San Lawrenz to see the capital of Victoria and climbing up to the top of the crusader citadel that was sacked by the Ottomans in 1551. At the top of the citadel, I was greeted by beautiful, late-afternoon 360 views of Gozo. The old villages and churches, the rolling plains characterised by the protruding limestone boulders, the rugged cliffs, the dark blue of the rough seas to the North, South, and West; and to the East, the main island of Malta.
Descending the citadel, I walked back to the ferry port at Mgarr and boarded the great boat crossing a moonlight Mediterranean sea.
That night, I decided to walk to Mellieha and slept in the courtyard of a convent. Absolutely freezing, I was woken in my half-sleep by a rather angry looking man who had brought me another blanket to sleep under and told me to keep it, but was rather angry at my apparent stupidity for choosing to be homeless.
That blanket was an absolute gift. I could finally not shiver under my mattress, resting my muscles from the endless, rapid contractions that prevent one from sleeping.
I woke up the next morning and pulled out my map. Where would I go next? I wanted to be in Haz-Zebbug at night, as I had promised a lady on Thursday I would attend her church. Her name was Jennifer, and the church was a Born-Again evangelist church. Despite being a Christian, I hadn't been to a church service since Christmas 2017, and it was one of my new year's resolutions to start attending church.
The service wasn't until late that night, so I had plenty of time to explore the North-East of the island. WW2 forts, mesolithic temples, more churches, it was a beautiful morning. I decided then to walk to Mdineh, the ancient capital of Malta and the location of some Game of Thrones scenes (so I hear, I haven't watched the series). I was relishing the freedom of this expedition. I had no plan, unlike previous trips. I would just walk until I no longer wanted to, then find a place to sleep. The peace and solitude I found were amazing too, I had no option but to start singing 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams' at the top of my lungs.
"I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known.
Don't know where it goes, but it's only me and I walk alone."
Some people hate being on their own, sometimes I do too. But there is a difference between loneliness and solitude. The latter is liberating.
I arrived in Haz-Zebbug, and made my way to the River of Love Christian Fellowship. It was nothing like I had experienced before. Although I left Protestantism over a year ago in favour of Oriental (Coptic) Orthodoxy, I could not help being forced to tears by the ceremony. I had somewhat of a religious awakening. It was amazing and has changed me for the better.
After the service, I left and said goodbye to my newfound brothers and sisters in God. I slept at a park in Qormi, warm not only by the blankets over me, but also by the Holy Spirit inside me.
I woke up the next morning feeling greater than I had in a long time and walked to the capital of Malta, Valetta. I spent a few hours in this rustic and beautiful city, exploring the churches, drinking a few coffees and walking up and down the cobblestone streets among tourists and wealthy Maltese people shopping at high-end fashion stores. My stench would have prevented me from entering any of the stores. I truly stunk. My second pair of socks had become crispy, and my shirt reeked of B.O. Oh well.
I followed the coastline to Marsaskala that day, where I spent the night befriending some hilarious Scots and Irishmen who worked as scaffolders in Malta. Kevin was from Edinburgh, and Keith from Cork. After watching Manchester United loose to Liverpool, I left, but as I was leaving, Kevin told me to wake up every morning grateful to be alive. "Such a simple daily habit can revolutionise how you see the world." he said.
I slept under a park bench that night in the outskirts of Marsaskala. To make sure I would wake up grateful to be alive, I told myself that tonight I would die. Strangely I didn't feel at all worried or anxious about death. I was ready to die. If I was to die tonight, I would die a happy man in a beautiful land. What else could I want? Acceptance of death is a liberating thought, it encourages you to live each day to its absolute fullest.
It was now Monday, and after crossing Malta twice and circumnavigating Gozo, I decided to finish my full circumnavigation that day by walking back to Iz-Zurrieq. As I packed up my blanket for the day's walk, a lady came up to me and handed me a bag. She said she saw me sleeping last night and wanted to give this to me. I thanked her from the bottom of my heart and walked on. Sitting down, I opened the bag and was brought to tears by the generosity of this lady. Inside the bag was a thick double blanket, milk, three muesli bars, a 2.5L bottle of chilled water, two egg and sausage sandwiches, coffee, hand sanitizer and best of all: a clean, fresh pair of socks! I wanted to save the socks for later, so I kept on walking after devouring the sandwiches.
I wasn't in a rush, so I decided to take it slowly, and have a swim in the chilly, winter-morning waters of the Mediterranean. I reached Iz-Zurrieq later in the day and went to the local Labour Party pub, where the village workers conglomerate to smoke their cigarettes and drink beer. I had a beer myself before sleeping in yet another park.
The following morning I walked back into Iz-Zurrieq to charge my phone at a cafe where I met the same men from last night. Sitting down, drinking my sweet coffee and reading poetry from a book my Grandad had given me, a G.K. Chesterton quote popped into my head as I saw these men drinking coffee with their left hands, smoking with their right and talking about Italian football, whilst their wives were walking their children to school.
The most extraordinary thing in the world is an ordinary man and an ordinary woman and their ordinary children.”
It was extraordinary indeed. That extraordinary sort of ordinariness is not as prevalent today as it may have been in the past, and still is in places like Malta.
I spent the morning wandering around Iz-Zurrieq before walking back north to Qormi, where once again I observed more ordinary men drinking their beers. The romantic in me had that precious last breath of fresh air before I returned to the airport that night, sleeping there and catching my morning flight back to the Netherlands.
