Malta Page 3

In 1565 Valletta wasn’t a place. There were other settlements around the Grand Harbour, a number of fortresses and the most important city on the island was M’dina, high up in the hills. 

Without going into the geopolitical shenanigans of the mid-16th century Mediterranean World, just as it would be in the Second World War Malta was a very attractive base for dominating the sea lanes.

 The Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire – which basically was everything in west and central Europe which wasn’t France or England – gave control of the island to the Knights Hospitaller, of St John of Jerusalem, who in 1522 had been kicked out of their base in Rhodes by the apparently unquenchable onslaught of Suleiman the Magnificent’s Ottoman Empire. The Maltese were neither consulted nor did they give permission for their home to be given to the Knights, who mostly came from the aristocratic families of France and Spain. 

The Ottomans desired the complete domination of the Mediterranean and the crushing of Christianity throughout the region. Much of the time their ambitions were aided by the animosity of the French King for the Emperor which was generously reciprocated. The Knights, although having been defeated in Rhodes were exceptionally able fighters. They expected their new island home to be the target of Sulieman’s ambition.

As you walk along Republic Street, once you have passed the Cathedral (technically the Co-Cathedral of St John) and the Grand Master’s Palace with their open-air café’s the street begins to slow down, shops are less attractive and the building is less grand. Always in your eye line though is the sea at the farthest end of the road. So in the hope of seeing the bright blue Mediterranean close up before the late afternoon chill drove me into a warm café for my pre-dinner at aperitif I follow the road until I could go no further. There in front of me was Fort St Elmo. 

And on the right an exhibition/experience called The Malta Experience. I will never know what the Malta Experience offered as I took the more serious route and paid my €7 to visit the Fort and the National War Museum. The man at the office wouldn’t take cash, was wearing a face mask and had plastic gloves. Suddenly a worm of doubt about being away from home started nibbling at my resolve to enjoy a week in Malta. The Fort and the brilliant War Museum dispelled my concern. 

The museum is spread over many of the buildings in the fortress complex and to appreciate the amount of information available you have to let your inner history geek takeover 

totally – do that and it’s an amazingly productive hour or two. Add to that the discovery that the views out to sea and round the bay towards St Julian’s are spectacular and you have a perfect afternoon. 

Two things dominate the island’s war history, the Siege of 1565 and the defence of the island in the Second World War from June 1940 to November 1942. And piece by piece the museum tells the two stories. For me the most interesting story is of how the pathetically underprepared state of the defences of the island when war broke out in 1939 survived. The air defences consisted of a few Gloster Gladiator fighter bombers, mostly fitted with torpedos. The Gladiator was the last biplane ordered for the RAF and by the day they came into service they were essentially a twenty year old  design that was outgunned by the even least competent of Italian and German warplanes. Although there were more than three planes there never seemed to be more than three in the air and the myth of the planes being named as Faith, Hope and Charity grew up. And who am I to dispel that myth. 

There was a desperate struggle to defend Malta during the year before 1941 when squadrons of Spitfires replaced these brave and desperate fighters. The highlight of my visit to the now almost deserted Museum, and in most of the areas of the museum I was the only visitor, was the exhibit which has the only remaining Gladiator, Faith by name, from the siege. To reach across and touch the solid rubber wheel of this piece of history was a moving moment in this most visitible of museums.

My walk back to the hotel took me – as everything in Valletta does – to the posh end of Republic Street. There’s a nice outdoor café, which is active all day in late (by Maltese standards) into the evening. Before soaking up the dying heat up the fast retreating Sun, I crossed the bridge and braved the automatic ticket machine to buy a week’s bus ticket which would give me unlimited travel freedom. At €21 it was a good deal getting me to any corner of the island of Malta and even across into Gozo. 

Then to buy myself a drink. With early originality of typical tourists I chose the drink that seemed to be the most hyped at the moment, an Aperol Spritz. Apparently it’s the ninth best selling cocktail in the world. Watching the world wander by with this slightly alcoholic soft drink to cheer me took up a pleasing hour till the Sun was out of sight and the big gas heaters were fired up to keep the customers comfortable. 

And then dinner, it easy to get eating wrong when you’re travelling alone and if you read more of my written meanderings there are some magnificent mistakes which I can share with you. In some respects I’m a meticulous planner for visits to new cities. The daft website TripAdvisor provides ideas about restaurants and reviews by past diners. There are, in my universe two reasons for writing a review on such a site, first the restaurant bosses paid me with wine and whiskey to say good things. The second is that I have paid through the nose for a rubbish meal that has made me and anyone else I’m travelling with spend a night vomiting or otherwise decorating my hotel toilet.

If I’ve  had a good meal and a nice evening I just congratulate myself on my choice and consummate  good taste and move on. So I had read lots of reviews and studied lots of the website menus and then I took the easy way out and asked the man in the office of the hotel to suggest somewhere nice for dinner. He did, and it worked as I had my best meal of the trip.