No wonder there are so many Maltese in Australia, because it's a shithole. There's barely a tree in sight. The tiny island is built up - in the best case a jumble of stone buildings sitting cheek by jowl; in the tourist ghetto it's virtually all concrete highrise.
Okay, so I was expecting a lot. I thought Malta would be a mix between Sicily and North Africa. It did have the African mistral, a very hot, dry wind. It has miles of coastline, towering baroque cathedrals, walled cities and archaeological sites. And we were here for my little sister's wedding... what's not to like?
Plenty, as it happens. Driving is a colossal headache. There are no navigational signs, and curved city walls and built-up peninsulas are a recipe for aggro. Gerard and I very nearly killed each other between the airport and our hotel. Then there was the Valletta Incident, when a carpark attendant smashed our rented Peugeot but refused to admit responsibility. Add the $600 insurance excess to the total sum of money wasted visiting this overrated archipelago.
Now that I've blown off steam, let me say it wasn't all bad! Our Le Meridien hotel was a dream. A chic, beachy palace on aquamarine Balluta Bay.
We loved lounging and reading by the rooftop pool with ocean views, the bowls of rose petals available on the room service menu, and the French ambience.
We were blessed to be at the quieter part of St Julians, instead of the ghetto of English pubs (reeking of salt and vinegar), highrise hotels, pumping night clubs and lazy pasta and pizza restaurants at the Paceville end. We did find some terrific food one night... take a bow, The Kitchen Restaurant in Sliema. The menu screams of an ambitious young chef flirting with fusion tastes, but he pulls it off - just. It moves beyond the usual Maltese fare of Italian seafood: fresh pasta with crab meat and spinach in a mild curry sauce; black squid ink tortelloni filled with salmon mousse, on caramelised mango puree with a kaffir lime veloute; fresh green asparagus with a white bean puree and vegetable tempura with a tomato "fondue". Tried it with a sauvignon blanc which, like most Maltese wines, was made from Italian-grown fruit.
And, of course, there was Sam's wedding:
which gave us the chance to see Dad again.
We saw all of the prime sites, which doesn't take long on an island which is at the most 30km long. We gasped at the awesome St John's Cathedral with its floor of inlaid-marble tombstones,
we climbed the hilly staircases of the fortified city of Valletta, overlooking the ocean,
and strolled through the silent streets of the walled city Mdina.
You can see the whole island of Malta from Mdina. Here are the Porteous chicks with their husbands atop the massive city walls:
The second-largest island of the Maltese archipelago of three is Gozo, the sightseeing island. Access is by car ferry, which raised our hopes that there would actually be something worth seeing. Granted, there were the 3rd millennium BC megalithic temples at Ġgantija, but don't hope for much in the way of interpretative centre.
After walking around that pile of boulders, most tourists then head for the jutting coastline ... and then you've seen Gozo.
Not every visitor has the pleasure, however, of a stoush with the Bozo of Gozo - a pigheaded young motorist who inspired an explosive display of road rage from Gerard and I. Evidently Lady Luck was smiling upon us, and our pranged Peugeot.
