The Gods of the weather shone a little on me this morning – after the mini-hurricane yesterday – granting me a window from 7 AM to approximately 1 PM where the chance of rain fell to 40%. Though they refused to let me keep my hat on.
I came wilfully unprepared on this trip, sacrificing in order to just have hand luggage and manage the necessary, much faster, transfer between terminals at Heathrow. I had picked a place to shop but the weather shut it all down.
Anyway, as is the case in most tourist isles, any scrap of reasonable beach is developed beyond any sense of reason. Having said that, the first part of this walk took me up into the cliffs and hills above Għadira and, apart from the first mile, I saw not a soul for the next 5. Bliss.
Well after a very, let’s call it exciting, trip on the bus – driver believed he’s Lewis Hamilton – a dark and gloomy start – but no rain. Just as well, no rain coat – prat.Trying to catch the large waves coming in. You can see the warning barriers from the floods yesterday.The fruits of the sea.Dinky little trawler.Gun batteries, Pill boxes, watch towers and the like from ancient Arabia, through the Knights of Malta, to the British, litter this place. This one was turned into a music museum?A Blue Fin Tuna store. Then a museum to Blue Fin which are almost gone from the Med now.The seas last night were ferocious. It is still wild and windy and I’m having a small doubt about heading up into the hills.It is still chucking stones up from the beach, but thankfully small ones, unlike these from yesterday.This wall likes to tune into the Chase, especially when Anne – The Governess – is on.Aah! Poor wall. Doesn’t get to watch the Chase after all. There is a mile of these garages built by the government to keep cars off the narrow streets. But, what did the humans do? Yep. Turned them into holiday homes, leaving the cars to get in the way as always.The great Yul Brynner, bald star of the magnificent 7, sneaks to one to escape the paps. Perhaps he would have done better not to get a vanity number plate for his Aygo.The old V. Mary has a chain to keep the worshippers at bay and a handy power point for her hair dryer.Heading away from Yul’s hideaway in Mellieha towards an abandoned WWII lookout tower and the start on the Mgiebah peninsula. Looks like rain ahead.Across the bay is a hint of sunshine.The watch tower.This is the path. Sodden clay. I imagine if dry it would be a nice surface to walk on. But now, it sticks to my boots adding pounds and making things very slippy.Moving away from Mgiebah bay. I’m about 200 metres from the sea yet you can see seaweed thrown up by the storm.I’ve pleased the Gods by chasing down my hat 14 times and have now given up. My reward? A glimpse of the sun.I wondered what they grow in these tiny, impoverished plots of claggy land. In my time in Israel I never managed to see one. This tree has just single fruit left – a nice big orange.And what goes with oranges? Lemons of course.Looking back down this little valley to the bay.The Selmun Palace.Used by the Knights of Malta as a hunting lodge. Frig knows what they hunted up here.Perhaps a underground passage to the kitchens or dungeons.From the path on the way up to Fort Campbell, the town of Xemxija, an unending mass of hotels and apartments.The outside wall of the fort. Still intact (WWII).The inside seems empty ‘cos sneakily, to confuse the Luftwaffe, they put the buildings in the walls.The seaward side of the fort and the islands of Comino and Gozo.Looking north towards Sicily, where I almost ended up, diverted from the storm savaged airport in Malta.I’m back on the clay. miles of it. It looks so innocent.Then it grabs you and won’t let go. I pulled myself out of its succubus embrace. V. Expensive Italian boots ruined.St. Paul’s Island, where he crashed his boat on the way to Rome to see the pope. Nope. To become pope.Pill boxes on the shore protecting the fort. Acres of wet clay.Look like a bit of the path’s gone for a swim.Mistra Battery. Repurposed Knights of Malta defence.Heading in to Mistra bay. The clay down slope was a killer, slipping and sliding everywhere but, managed to stay upright. The Italian boots have developed a squeak. It is as if your new Ferrari’s wipers had a squeal. Still they are much better than those On ones I’ve been using. Well worth the price. Also the sun has come out – Yeah!The unpleasantness to come.I accepted the sea’s challenge and ran the gauntlet. Timing my stops and starts to avoid the crashing waves. Made it all the way to that last bin thing, then she got me. Drenched from head to foot. I can’t even get a drink ‘cos the power’s out and I have no cash. You’d think that this was my first rodeo.Still sunny on the point where I was nearly stuck in the quick clay.In Mistra bay I was walking along the top of the beach wondering what all the pieces of plywood were, didn’t even twig till now. Another little boat smashed to pieces but still vaguely recognisable.The beauty and benefit of a better parking space.A little chapel stuck on the side of the road – just for Cora.A better view across the bay with the Selmun Palace centred and Fort Campbell on the right.The waves still banging into the point where the bit of the path was eaten.Do the children all sit around the edges waiting to be called into the centre for judgement from the V.M.? Paddling pool of course. Sanctified and life-guarded by the big Lady.Just for Alex – the birds most fond. Huddling on the ground in a group after having their shit ripped from them by the hurricane wind.The Wignacourt Tower, circa 1610. Oldest surviving coastal defence tower.Also for Alex – the bad nun from 1923 made it – note the smacking ruler in her right hand.Yep, even here the seas still high.Well guessed. It is indeed a stair to the top of the ridge.Buggibba square. The end and a short walk to the hotel.
