Georgia's Elective Diary: Part 8 (Gozo frostbite, the Feast of St Paul's Shipwreck and other exciting tales)

I haven't really posted any stories about Malta life, or some of the adventures we've gotten up to on this tiny island so far, but I thought it was time. With people in our apartments from all over the world (Germany, Belgium, England, Scotland, Ireland, Australia, South Korea, Romania, and of course us Kiwis) there are always people around who are keen to go on adventures, or explore some of the different things Malta has to offer. 

One weekend, we planned a trip to Malta's second largest island, Gozo. The ferry to Gozo is an hour away by bus, so very early one Saturday morning we found ourselves at the bus stop, ready for a long day ahead. Unfortunately (?) for us, we'd had a rather large night the night before, celebrating mine and another birthday that happened to fall on consecutive days, with a big night out in Paceville, Malta's party district. For some, this meant one hour of sleep, while for others it meant an early morning beer to get going. While waiting at the bus stop, we realised malta was going to be in for a warm day, with temperatures starting to get close to 20*C (keep this in mind for later). Short sleeved tops came out, and some even braved shorts. Sunglasses were essential.

An hour and a half later, one very full bus ride and a ferry later, and we'd made it to Gozo. We decided a hop-on/hop-off bus was the way to go to make it around the island in a day, and so off we set. We began a tour of Gozo, and an appreciation for the state of the road quality across Malta, hoping that even though the double decker bus felt like it was teetering on the edge of toppling over, the bus would remain upright. We began to learn some delightful, and utterly pointless facts about Malta, such as: 1 in 7 Gozonian's works in the tomato growing business, or that they chose where to build based on where a donkey they let roam freely chose to stop. As we ventured further into Gozo, we got to experience some of the traditional fare produced on the island (sundried tomato paste is delicious, carob syrup is not). We also began to notice a distinctive change in the weather. As I mentioned, we'd left in a near-summer climate, none of us had really packed efficiently, and we all started to feel the cold desperately. Coupled with our lack of sleep, and residual hangover from the night before, and I think you can begin appreciate the mentality we had for Gozo. If not, here is a picture than sums up our enthusiasm for the day:

The day wasn't a complete disaster though, and I really enjoyed some of the sights, such as Calypso's cave, which was where the mythical Calypso held Odysseus hostage for seven years in the Odyssey, and the azure window, a stunning rock formation on the west coast of Gozo. We were all pretty knackered by the end of the day, and all fell asleep on the hour long bus ride home, bar Jonathan who took it upon himself to stay awake (by writing an essay if I do remember correctly) so we wouldn't miss our bus stop. I arrived home ever so grateful to see my bed.

Last Saturday was a glorious day, and we took the opportunity of a sunny day and calm waters to do a much awaited harbour cruise. The ninety minutes touring around the marsamxett and grand harbours on either side of Valletta gave us a view of the cities we passed, and a history lesson that seriously surpassed the facts from the Gozo bus. The water was rather calm, and apart from the not so staunch Irish man sitting in front of us, we all had a great time. The offer of "hot drinks available throughout the cruise" was appealing, especially when cruising through the shadows of one of the three cities, although I'm not sure the €2 for hot brown water, masquerading as "hot chocolate" was really a good deal. 

Tuesday was a public holiday in Malta (yippee!!) and this gave us a chance to experience one of the festas Malta specialises in. Getting a day off from the hospital one day after the weekend was especially nice! The 10th of February is special in Malta as the Maltese, being a Roman Catholic nation, commemorate  St. Paul's Shipwreck, which apparently occurred on the north of the island in 40AD?? We managed to find a schedule for the events, and passing on one of the ten or so opportunities to attend mass, or the fireworks at 9am (why even?) we decided to get to Valletta in time to watch the procession of the statue of St Paul's at five thirty that evening. Using the rest of our day wisely, we decided a hop on hop off bus around the south of the island would be a good idea - and, having learnt from Gozo, we did dress up warmly! Returning to the capital in the afternoon, we began the struggle of trying to meet up with everyone without any means of communication (how did the world exist before cell phones?). Not knowing exactly what was happening at five thirty, we headed in the general direction of people, and came across mountains of confetti lining the streets, and children and adults alike playing in it as if it were snow. Of course we joined in. We saw everyone congregating further down the street so followed their lead, and found ourselves momentarily surrounded by people, and placed right next to the brass band. Oh, I guess we were a part of the procession! We mingled around for awhile, and then the band began to play. A statue (presumably St. Paul) was slowly moved out of the church, and after a few songs, the procession began to move slowly down the streets. As I learnt at some point during the parade, each street or district in Valletta pays for the entertainment on wax street, thus some parts of the procession had the brass band, others had confetti thrown by children out apartment windows and the richest street of all had a westlife-like Maltese boy band, confetti, sparklers and their own fireworks display. Throughout all this, there was the occasional fireworks display, which when they began at five thirty, were visible only as smoke puffs that followed the (invisible) flashes of light, but became more beautiful as evening set in. At each corner, the men carry St. Paul would stop, and lower him onto wooden stilts, to give their shoulders a break, and rotate positions. Some of the looked like they had third shoulders due to bruising from the weight of the statue. 

We followed St. Paul until he made it to the cathedral, then snuck away in search of food, knowing that the busses would be packed when everyone left. 

As my time in Malta ends, I am so grateful for the experiences I've had in this island, the people I've met, and the excitement we've shared.