I spent a week in Malta back in 1987. Malta is a big rock sticking out of the water just south of Sicily. It supports a few farmers, a few fishermen, and lots and lots of tourism.
I flew there from Tunis, on a small plane. We were flying low enough that I could see the ripples on the surface of the Mediterranean. Then, suddenly, there was Malta, a huge black cliff looming out of the blue water. There were cows grazing on the edge of the cliff. I could see the cows. I could see the spots on the cows. Oh my god! Too low! Too low!
Malta is a strange crossroads between Europe and North Africa. The Maltese language is mostly Arabic, with a lot of Italian vocabulary and tons of English borrowings (it was an British colony for a long time). I speak both Italian and Arabic (and some English), so Maltese was surprisingly transparent to me. One evening in a restaurant, a loud tourist woman complained to the waiter that her steak wasn't properly cooked, and she wanted a freshly cooked one. The waiter smiled, told her (in English) that everything would be taken care of, and said to another waiter (in Maltese): “This cow in the red dress would like a new steak.”
I nearly choked on my mixed greens.
Malta is littered with prehistoric remains. There is an underground cave full of strange carvings, accessible through a back door in a bakery in Paola, near the capital. The entire island is paved with Neolithic standing stones and circles and monuments. Thousands of years ago Malta was home to a breed of tiny elephants, whose bones are still found in caves and riverbeds. I remember looking at their delicate little skulls in a museum and thinking: Poor things.
I stayed in a pleasant cheerful place called the Hotel Plevna. After dinner I'd go down to the lounge and read the Times of Malta. There was always a frail old lady there, no matter when I got there. She napped a lot. Once she farted in her sleep, which I found both amusing and endearing. And one evening I heard her talking to a British guest about dinner, in a very high-pitched tone: “When I eat cauliflower it must be piping hot! With a nice cheese sauce!” Someone later told me that the old lady was the widow of the former Greek ambassador, and a part-owner of the hotel.
It was twenty-four years ago, and she'd be well over a hundred now, if she were still alive.
I choose to believe that she's still there.
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