In America you often hear, “You have only one chance to make a good first impression.” Today was my first impression of Malta. It was not particularly good.
We had to get up early this morning. That is not all that hard for me, but getting John out of bed around five in the morning is a miracle on the order of the loaves and the fishes. He somehow did it, and we packed the little Audi for our last drive in Italy. I figured that leaving Taormina would probably be easier than driving into it, and I was right about that. Plus, as six in the morning, we pretty much had the winding roads to ourselves. In less than an hour, we were at the Catania airport. Turning in the rental car was harder. The Budget office did not open until eight, and although we had been assured that there would be somebody there to pick up the keys and the paperwork we were unable to locate anybody who worked for any of the rental car firms. We could not even make it to the proper place to park Budget cars. I talked to the man running the car park. In broken Italian I explained my problem. He smiled and told me not to worry and that they would find it. I handed him the keys.
We were relieved to be in the Air Malta line at 7:30 for our 8:30 flight. But only for a moment. Some woman from the airline came out and began to scold us and several other people in line for being late. “You must be here an hour and a half early. It is not possible to take this flight. Come back later.” We were prepared to really have a fight with her, but we noticed that the other two airline representatives seemed to continue checking people in. So, we stayed in line and we given our boarding passes.The flight was short and I do not even think they bothered to push a cart with cokes up and down the aisle. I would really complain about Air Malta, but compared to the EasyJet or Ryan Air or any of the other low-cost European carriers, they at least gave us 30 kilograms of free luggage.
We were picked up in Malta airport by some English guy. He seemed like a retiree, although as we listened to him more we both decided that he was probably younger than either of us. Like so many expats, he seemed unhappy about both where he used to live and where he lives now. He was originally from Wolverhampton. I could not blame anybody for leaving the Midlands. He complained about Malta. He said that it was way too hot. When we told him we would be cycling he rolled his eyes and said that the island has the worst drivers in the world.
When we arrived at our hotel, I felt that immediate sense of “I have screwed up here. Big time.” We are staying not at the Dolmen Hotel but at the Dolmen Hotel Resort and Spa. It is a huge place, about the size of one of the bigger Disneyland Hotels. As we checked in, I knew immediately that this was one of the places in Europe that caters to cheap package tours. In fact, the woman was confused that I did not have a voucher, though she seemed able to pull up our reservation on the computer. As it was not yet ten in the morning, I was not surprised that our room not ready. We were told that we could wait by the pool, and she suggested that we go to the basement to chang in the spa. Although unpacking your clothes in a public bathroom make you seem vaguely homeless, I found my sandals and swim trunks and went off to the pool. This is where I descended into vacation hell.
There are two very large pools at this resort, and the expanse of cement around them is covered with hundreds of chaises longues. Just about every one of them either had a fat red body on it, or a towel, a paperback, and an ashtray. We located about the last two unclaimed chairs, and we knew immediately why this spot was open. It was right next to the activity hut at the youth pool, and this seemed to cater to kids between ten and fourteen. The played the very worst American and European pop imaginable at a volume probably audible in Tunisia. I tried to connect John's iPad to the wireless here and managed to completely turn off the screen. I was unspeakably miserable. I decided that I absolutely hate Malta and that this is going to be the worst week of my life.
When I get into one of these moods, John tries to make best of it and do the whole “making lemonade” business. So he suggested that we leave the pool and go to beach. I was a little dubious, but nothing could be worse than Katy Perry at the swimming pool. We found our way to a little tunnel under the road that connects our resort to it’s beach.
As I suspected, it was not quite a beach. In fact, it was a slab of cement with more chaises longues by sea. Still, there was the blissful absence of Christina Aguilera and Justin Bieber, so it was infinitely so much better. Rather unaccountably for me I decided to even get in the water. It was not quite as warm as I expected, but still quite pleasant.
We napped and swam for a bit. My mood started to improve, though I still hated Malta.
About two, we decided to have lunch at restaurant by pool. Trying to be multicultural, we both chose Maltese specialties off the menu. I had spaghetti with rabbit sauce. I had read that rabbit was an important part of the local cuisine. It was pretty bland. John had something that looks like enormous calzone stuffed with ricotta, onion, and kielbasa. It was not that good either. I guess there is a reason we have never seen a Maltese restaurant.
After lunch, we returned to the front desk and received the key cards for our room. We are on the third floor. The view is adequate, but not particularly compelling. One thing we have noticed, though, is that the room is pretty hot. We have the air-conditioning one, but it does not seem to make much difference. We finally opened the sliding doors to the balcony to see if we could get a little breeze. That cooled the room slightly, but we also hear the traffic from the street below and the Katy Perry party from the kiddie pool area.
We figured we would go out for the evening. We thought we might like to stroll around Valletta, the capital, in the evening. Here we had another Here we had another rude surprise. We looked looked at Google Maps and discovered we were over an hour from Valletta by public transit, and over thirty minutes away by taxi. Our situation reminded me of meeting poor tourists who come to Los Angeles to see Hollywood and Santa Monica and somehow end up in a motel in Torrance.
We just decided to explore the area using the information we could glean about it from the Lonely Planet Malta guide. The area is called Saint Paul’s Bay in English though I guess Qawra is the name in Malti. It is indeed a fairly large inlet, and provides mooring for a lot of pleasure boats. There is not much of a beach anywhere, but there is a reasonably pleasant promenade around the shore.
That is the Dolmen Hotel and Spa. As you can see, it is rather enormous. On the right side of the building is the casino.
We walked along the waterfront. We heard a number of different language spoken, but English seemed to predominate. Malta, or at least this part of Malta, seems like parts of Spain or Portugal where English tourists seem to have somehow recreated the beachside ambience of Blackpool or Yarmouth.
But it isn’t Brighton or Scarborough. Only a block or two away from the tacky beach attractions and the shops serving fish and chips and advertising “English Breakfast Served All Day” are squat concrete blocks of flats with tiny windows. They look like pictures you see on CNN when somebody does a report from Tunis or Algiers. Fortunately, there were no burning cars anywhere in sight.
We did come across some Maltese culture. There were some of the traditional fishing boats
with the picture to ward off the evil eye.
The area is called Saint Paul’s Bay because the Maltese believe that it was here that Saint Paul was shipwrecked and was kindly received by the local people. There are two small islands where the boat supposedly ran ashore, but these are apparently some kind of nature preserve now. But there is a monument there, and it must be important because it is under scaffolding.
The account of this incident in the Acts of the Apostles also tells how the Maltese built a bonfire so that Paul and his companions could warm up a bit. This church claims to mark that very spot. The signage on the church indicates that it was rebuilt after being destroyed by German bombs in World War II.
It was close to eight thirty now, so we decided to return to the hotel. I snapped a picture of sunset.
Our accommodations here in Malta are “half board” meaning that not only breakfast but dinner are included. So John and I asked at the front desk where dinner was and we were directed to a large restaurant off the lobby. It was set up as a buffet. We found a table, and took a look at what was offered. It was not particularly good. In fact, most of it was pretty awful. It seemed pretty much like the stuff they provide at casinos in Las Vegas. No, I have had better there.
Let’s see how the bike ride goes tomorrow. Maybe I’ll like Malta a little better.
