Rather than dragging our bags a significant distance along rough sidewalks we called up a Bolt car instead (similar to Uber) and ridiculously cheap. A local gift shop conveniently ran a business to store visitor’s luggage so we deposited ours and went off to do more exploring until the ferry departed at 6 that evening. An old green and white Malta Bus caught our eye off to the side of the main plaza … it did trips to Mdina and the connected town of Rabat along the coast – perfect for an afternoon visit. Through the busy town of Sliema past fields and farms to Mdina high on its hilltop. This was the original capital of Malta dating back into antiquity https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mdina Not overly busy – which was pleasant – a few Gharries clopping and jingling through … spectacular views of the whole coastline hereabouts. Suddenly the quiet was shattered as deafening retort after retort thundered and echoed through the streets, giving no indication of direction. Turns out there are canons concealed by vegetation just down the hill but sounding remarkably close … puffs of smoke were visible a few seconds before the sound reached us.

Across the main road is Rabat which couldn’t be more different by contrast. Every street was ablaze with flamboyant, multi-coloured banners … streamers overhead fluttered in the breeze … streets bustled with people. Most of the sidewalk cafes near the entrance were filled – most likely with visitors – but further in we noticed a tiny shop doing a roaring trade in local sandwiches and sweet crepes – only a handful of tables inside which necessitated waiting for someone to leave before pouncing and squeezing in. We selected Maltese sausage as a filling and lemon/sugar crepes to follow (the portions were huge so we shared both). Ftira are like giant crusty round bagels baked daily, and only found in Malta … ours arrived hot and crispy on the outside, satisfyingly chewy on the inside with the most amazing sausage and fried onion filling. We devoured every crunchy delicious morsel. Then with perfect timing, a vast crepe appeared drizzled with fresh lemon juice and a sprinkling of sugar. This was a memorable lunch worthy of 5 stars anywhere in the world and only 13 euros. Outstanding. A amiable, rotund fellow dressed all in navy (knitted hat included) positioned himself in a corner at the rear and appeared to be the ‘bus boy’ … clearing tables as they were vacated and washing dishes. We sat chatting for a bit before leaving to explore a little more.

Figuring the bus might fill up quickly for the return trip (which it did) we arrived in ample time, secured a seat and sat back to wait. People passing by seemed intrigued with the antique bus and many took photos. Don’t know how this fellow makes any money as a return journey only costs 5 euros … maybe he’s retired and enjoys it. Whatever the case it was a brilliant afternoon.

Bags collected, another Bolt car to the ferry terminal … this time our driver was a friendly guy from the Sudan who’d been in Malta 19 years. Came for the work but his family were all still in Sudan so he found it quite lonely.

The ferry to Sicily is a large, fast catamaran built by Incat in Hobart, Tasmania. Capable of carrying 900+ passengers, 23 commercial truck/trailers and a hundred or so cars, it can travel at speeds of 62/63 km/h or more than 35 knots. https://incat.com.au/incat-delivers-large-new-fast-ferry-to-virtu-ferries-of-malta/ This is not the biggest or fastest of the Incat ferries .. there’s one that travels between Argentina and Uruguay at 58 knots … fastest vessel in the world at maintained speed. Conversations in Italy are always conducted at full volume and usually involve multiple family members or friends who then expand into whatever space is available, completely blocking any public access routes. It’s just a fact of life! (grin) Upon arrival, despite announcements to the contrary, everyone surged forward jostling for position, and we then we all stood there, unmoving, for the next 40 minutes. BC Ferries could have disembarked passengers and cars, then reloaded and taken off in the time it took to even begin the process here! Oh well. What made it worse were the dog passengers … transported by loving owners in fancy wheeled contraptions … two and three to a conveyance. A great yapping commenced as Frenchies spotted Yorkies or tiny white Pomeranians objected to the proximity of Sausage dogs. It was quite the cacophony.

Giovanni at the hotel in Pozzallo was picking us up at the ferry, but what we didn’t know is that only taxis were permitted inside the terminal and we didn’t know where he was meeting us. In the meantime we were beset by the ‘Don’ of taxi drivers, insisting we take his cab . . . “only 6km to the hotel … a bargain at $20 euros … for you 15 euros” (turns out is was only about 2 kms!). Giovanni rescued us in the nick of time and whisked us off to the hotel.

Exploring the local neighbourhood was a must… starting with St. Paul’s Pro Cathedral (also referred to as a Co Cathedral) … indicating it has Cathedral status but is not the primary one. This is the iconic dome that dominates the Valetta skyline. An Anglican church with strong ties to the armed forces that defended the island during WWII, Flags from all countries (Canada included) hang along the walls and special plaques commemorate the Merchant Navy and various important personages … including one to Viscount Cunningham. This is Sir Andrew Cunningham – highly-respected Commander in Chief of Mediterranean Forces during 1942/43 when naval convoys struggled to supply Malta with essentials … so in effect, Dad’s boss!

Down to the waterfront … where blue skies and sun-drenched sandstone promontories of The Grand Harbour lay displayed like a glorious oil painting … the old hospital with its cot lift (tower) that used to take patients from boat up the cliff (currently the headquarters of Heritage Malta) … Fort Angelo … the city of Vittoriosa (or Birgu as it is called now) … the hundreds of sail boats nestled into protected marinas and dozens of monstrous, gleaming private yachts worth countless millions or possibly billions. But this is also a working harbour as evinced by all manor of freighters, fishing and tour boats plying in and out along with a colourful fleet of dghajsas (pronounced Die-asas) zooming back and forth between the tri cities … ferrying locals and tourists alike. This was something we needed to try … and what a deal … just 2 euros a person to whiz across the harbour. They would wait in line … their captains maneuvering them in using long oars, gondolier-style, for people to hop aboard. Our particular dghajsa was 60 years old — lovingly restored and gleaming and had been in the family for a couple of generations. Away from the dock a small outboard took over the work that used to be done manually. Two young girls were our companions on this trip, but they only appeared interested in taking selfies and rocking the boat side-to-side!

On the Vittoriosa side a convenient bench beckoned invitingly, so we sat in the sunshine, admiring the views and ate our sandwiches. A wander up to the fort and back then another dghajsa back … this one perhaps not quite so cared for and an irksome toddler who clambered over everything and everyone with gay abandon … always in imminent danger of falling over the side – it was still a delightful voyage back. For a meagre 10 euros (plus tips) where else could two people ride aboard a piece of history – and with priceless views thrown in? Further along the waterfront a lift (elevator) to the Upper Barrack Gardens … where arches, greenery and fountains gave a commanding view of the harbour and battery of cannons, which apparently they fire at 12 noon and 4pm every day, with accompanying marching music and soldiers in uniform and white pith helmets.

For dinner this evening Jelena had recommended a local restaurant just around the corner which specialized in Maltese cuisine. Just as we were getting ready, the power went out. A peek outside the door assured us that the rest of the building was fine … so Glen went in search of the electrical panel to see if something had tripped a switch. Nope. Sam soon diagnosed the problem as the main switch downstairs … apparently a common problem … just as well as we’d resorted to using flashlights.

Tonight’s fare was a tasting menu made from all Maltese food and wine – consisting of 7 courses (oh my!) … starting with a selection of tapas. Bread and dipping olive oil from Gozo – quite spicy and delicious …. braised local vegetables … a tapenade of walnuts … Maltese sausage in tomato sauce … delicate goat cheese with homemade fig jam … and the most wonderful Rabbit pate. 2nd course – a parmesan of aubergines, courgettes and tomatoes; 3rd was a vegetable fish soup; 4th a dish of mussels in cream and white wine sauce plus a platter of perfectly cooked sea bream; 5th was a rabbit and tomato pasta; (we’re beginning to lag at this point) 6th was a slow braised pork rib with roasted potatoes smothered in a tasty sauce made (apparently) from potato skins … we hardly made an inroad — the lady asked if we’d like to take this away with us and we readily agreed – it was took good to leave. 7th and final course – dessert. A choice this time from lemon cheesecake, tiramisu or creme brulee. What an incredible meal!

Apartment locked … Check.  Key in drop box …. Check.  Down the wonky stairs for the last time and onto the street – hope the taxi is on time.  A young father two doors down scooped up his sons and plonked them into the child seats on his bicycle … one in front, one behind … and coasted off around the corner – presumably to daycare or to school.  Ten minutes late.  Windows around were opened … mats shaken … dogs were walked.  Fifteen minutes late.  At last a taxi negotiated it’s way down the cobbled lane avoiding the potted plants and protruding doorsteps.  We’re off.

It’s morning rush hour.  Buses, cars and scooters converge from every street paying not the slightest attention to stop signs,  traffic lights and pedestrians.  Lanes are optional, apparently.  At least 50% of the vehicles are scooters, which unnervingly ride the centre line in a continuous stream – skipping into oncoming traffic when an opportunity arises.  Our driver appeared increasingly distracted – using his personal cell phone at every stop light and throwing it onto the seat in disgust when his texts or calls went unanswered.  Girlfriend … work?  Straddling two lanes gave him the option of both – whichever looked the fastest … and that girl who just passed us … well that certainly won’t do.  A burst of speed to retake the lead and his masculinity!  We arrived at the airport more or less in one piece – a little shaken but not too stirred.

Ciampino is Rome’s original airport … smaller and perhaps showing it’s age around the edges, but it has a friendlier more welcoming feel. It’s now mostly the domain of Ryanair and a few smaller airlines … private jets too.  Our bags were checked in no time, so we found a sunny bench outside to people watch and eat our remaining clementines while we waited.  Here too security was in evidence, but low key.  A pair of regional police in camouflage fatigues, blue berets and machine guns stood amiably under their white canopy/tent.  A couple of city police strolled among the scattered passengers and asked politely to see ID.  Then a brace of Cabinieri zoomed up importantly … straightening their finely-tailored uniforms and adjusting those high-peaked caps to just the right angle, before marching briskly into their airport office.

A short one hour hop over to Malta and the Valetta city bus was there waiting, do we piled on.  There was not an inch to spare … people and bagged crammed in willy nilly, desperately clinging to overhead straps and posts as the bus careened around corners. Half an hour later it spat us out at the end of the line – Malta’s very attractive plaza and fountain.  It wasn’t long before we were trundling our cases over to Old Mint Street.  Through the pedestrian plaza where old and new sandstone buildings jostled and blended perfectly … here a British phone box … there an aromatic Falafel restaurant.  <Gasp> the view from the top of Old Mint Street is quite daunting.  Narrow, cobbled and incredibly STEEP … as it swooped straight as ruler down to the harbour.  Past walls of typical Maltese apartments, their wooden balconies ornate and enclosed, gaily painted in reds, blues and greens …   dozens of shallow sidewalk steps led down to the magnificent domed cathedral (St. Paul’s) at the bottom. Glancing down several of the cross streets, a glint of water beckoned enticing … but we’d have time to explore tomorrow.

Number 42 had a small, white wrought iron gate in front and an old, probably defunct, builders yard door to one side.  Sam, the owner’s son helped us up the stairs with our bags … he lives just below on the second floor.  The apartment looked spacious and comfortable, however the cleaners seem to have been rather heavy-handed with the room freshener.  We opened all the windows before heading out in search of dinner.  There were lots to choose from.  Multitudes of Pizza and Pasta places, but we’d just recently had those … bars … a food court with not much atmosphere … the obligatory McDonalds and Burger King (No!) … a Philippine restaurant which looked interesting … a Michelin star establishment with very tempting and unusual dishes (prices to match) … but then right across the street was Bombilla – a Gastro pub with Spanish-themed tapas and food. 

We started with Las Galinas … slices of toasted bread smothered in creamy potato and chopped octopus … followed by Cyprus Hummus, spears of deep fried eggplant, drizzled with honey … and a finale of perfectly cooked scallops (in shells) on a bed of mashed potato, sprinkled with paprika and rings of pickled shallots.  Every mouthful was a delight and impossible to pick one over another. It was sad to see the last of the hummus mopped up.  And for dessert, you wonder?  Dishes of Tiramisu … a perfection of whipped cream, coffee-soaked sponge and dusting of cocoa.  Oh my!  Our waiter was a delightful young man from Colombia who had come to Malta to better his English … and that he had certainly done.  A German couple at the next table were wondering whether to choose the scallops, and we assured them they wouldn’t be disappointed. 

Back at the apartment the open windows and breeze had done nothing to abate the almost tangible scent which had permeated not only our outer wear, but undergarments through to the skin. There was no way we could sleep here tonight.  Within minutes of Glen sending an email, Jelena’s son Sam was at the door with profuse apologies and an offer for a different place right across the street.  Such a difference – no fragrance.  It was huge, modern, fully renovated and with an elevator boot… and the dome of St. Paul’s – with dominates Valetta’s skyline – was almost within touching distance.