Amongst Malta's medieval history is some ancient history - ancient temples, predating the Greeks or the Romans, sit on the western side of the island. Oddly enough they're often the target of vandalism, and one of the temples was closed because of this when I visited. The other one was a rather impressive little structure, obviously restored a little, but still a curious structure to see in little old Malta. Even more interesting than the structure was the view of the sea, and a gravestone, apparently for a former governor of Malta who was buried at sea. This area of Malta was preferable to the one in which I was about to dive.









Bugiba is Malta's tourist trap, with piles of resort accomodation, fast food dives, bars, kitsch, and European families trying to get away from it all. There isn't a whole lot to recommend - even for the escapist tourist, a pack of hotels and bars doesn't seem like a good reason to come out here. The good reason is on the other side of the inlet - there is a large statue on the tiny St. Paul's Island, and a trail that takes you away from the exhaust- choked road, along a quiet farming road into the mountains, and then to a tiny bay. Follow your own trail up the hill, and you're in bird hunting territory. There are fine views across of the Bugiba sprawl, and you can get nice and close to this statue of St. Paul. This little enclave also hosts the remains of old British outposts from World War 2 - I am unsure why they demolished them, but their foundations remain. Oh yes, and if you're lucky you'll see a local washing his or her horse. But only if you're lucky.






It became dark before I could complete my desired trek across to the ferry terminal that leads to the even tinier island of Gozo; and aside from that, the mountainous terrain did not exactly reveal a clear path from my hilltop to the next. Amidst the tall hills, though, were plenty of tiny terraced farms where locals were growing small crops. I continued along the hilltop and reached the governor's palace, in the dark; a giant mansion, it was not guarded at all, unless you count the barking dogs of the people who live around it. I found a bus stop, and waited a good hour for a bus, before attempting to read the schedule: apparently the last bus of the night had left a few minutes before I reached the bus stop. I had been listening to the karaoke restaurant across the street for a full hour for nothing! Frustrated, I walked along the main road, which lacked a sidewalk, back to Bugiba, and found no buses going to Valetta from there either. It was eleven in the evening, and things were closing up. Which I suppose makes sense - although I had assumed since this is a touristic place, one could find a little public transport around midnight. I was wrong. I wandered through the wasteland of middle-aged hotels and drinking establishments - the people are middle-aged, that is. It was rather alienating. And I was getting blisters on my feet again. I resigned to hailing down a taxi, ready to pay the USD30 cab ride back to Sliema where my hotel was - I'll be a wreck tomorrow if I attempt to walk the 8 kilometres tonight, and I think I'd get lost as well.

The taxi driver spoke decent english, and spoke to me as we wound around the eastern shore back to Sliema. He was Maltese, and not to keen on the fact that I was staying in an Arab hotel. I asked him what was wrong with the Arabs. "They cause trouble. And they sneak in." The story sounded familiar.

Malta, though, despite being such a touristic place, has many political chainsaws to juggle. I had seen a newspaper headline in Floriana: "Next EU Expansion Excludes Malta." This was not good for the Maltese - it seems as though they desperately want to be in a club with the Europeans, but are forever bound by the spheres of influence of their Arabian neighbours; Libya, Tunisia, even Saudi Arabia and the UAE play a strong role in influencing Maltese politics. The Maltese are more European than Arabian, but still not European enough to satisfy the elite standars required to join those coveted European clubs. And thus they sit in the middle of two great cultures, not European enough for the Europeans, not Arabian enough for the Arabians.

I got hosed on the cab ride back to Sliema, although the taxi driver's conversation was valuable. The Libyan hotelier was surprised to see me so late, and I quickly crashed into my bed. Tomorrow, before I leave, I would like to visit Malta's second largest island - the tiny Gozo, and its tinier "cities".

Gozo



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