When Close to Rome...

So there are these broken strips of pavement in Malta, which I wouldn’t exactly call streets. There are also these funny shaped boxes with motors, which I wouldn’t exactly call cars. And altogether, driving in Malta is quite an adventure.

First of all, the roads are crazy bad. Even the locals say that they all love off-roading, ‘cause that’s the only kind of driving there is. And we joke about going into town to go four-wheelin’. I mean, it wouldn’t be so bad if there weren’t those pesky pieces of pavement between the potholes.

We recently moved closer to town and we’re glad to be doing less driving. On the way out to our previous place there was a sign that said “Pavement Experiment In Progress 100M Ahead”, and then it was like floating on air. The pavement was dark black and smoother than hot snot on wet doorknob. I felt like rolling down the window and shouting, “IT’S WORKING!!” But the fact that this beautifully smooth strip of tarmac was only 50 yards long and the only of its kind makes me feel that nobody would care.

Fact is, Malta is pretty much a big limestone rock stickin’ out of the Mediterranean. On a nearby construction site we can see that after six inches of dry, pebbly top-soil, you hit solid rock. The only possible way to run pipes in the ground is to carve out a trench in the street and then fill ‘er in and patch ‘er up. And the look of the streets makes me feel that there never were original roads, just patches, each one beside or on top of the other. The sidewalks are actually worse. But at least I’m not worried about denting my tennis shoes like I am about the rims of our Škoda.

This wonderful family in the church loaned us their extra car. They were going to scrap it, but instead renewed the registration when they heard we needed one. It’s a Czechoslovakian made car called a Škoda Favorit (no, I didn’t miss an e, it doesn’t have one). We’ve affectionately named our car Emil, after the shrink, Dr. Emil Skoda, on one of our favorit shows, Law & Order. Please pray for Emil; he has a bad drinking habit and gets hot under the collar pretty quick. Pray not only for our sakes, but so that this wonderful family from the church won’t be bothered by these needy foreigners too much.

In all, we really love and appreciate our car. And it seems everyone else does too, ‘cause almost one in five other vehicles seem to be the same make and model. Every car here is extremely compact and they have that funny, European look like boxes with the corners rounded off. In our four weeks here we’ve seen two, count ‘em, two SUV’s. The funniest sight was to see a tiny, two-door hatch back towing a ginormous, twin-engine speed boat. There’s simply not room for big vehicles. On an island of 350,000 people, there are 250,000 cars.

In the last couple of years the government has been going like crazy in making streets one-way so that there’s room for the citizens to park. Of course this makes navigation a wonderful, marriage-building exercise. People have several times told us, “Don’t worry. You’re never lost in Malta. You’re always still in Malta.” It’s true; it is a relief to know that we’re never too far away. But even on this small island, it’s amazing how lost you can get. Let me put it this way: We have a book thick as a novel of road maps of Malta. It’s called The Maze. I rest my case.

Of course, the most amazing part of driving is the flow of traffic. I think there must be rules of the road, but either no one knows or cares about them. On a few streets, someone has painted something with faint resemblance to a line down the middle of the road, but it’s apparently just a suggestion. “Um… you might want to lend some thought to keeping most of your car on this side.” But the people have a saying of their own, “Drive in the shade.” I also haven’t figured out if the speed limits have any affect on traffic. I’ve seen folks rumbling along the freeway at frustrating speeds of 25 miles per hour, while others hurdle down narrow alleys at 60. And it seems that the horn is practically used as a gesture of good will, and that the Maltese are very amiable drivers. Oh well! When close to Rome…

Give to Weasel what is Weasel’s

One thing that’s taking a bit of getting used to here in Malta is the money. The Maltese currency is the Lira, like in Italy, but they often call it a Pound, like in England. It’s abbreviated LM for Lira Malti, and its value is hovering around 3USD. That’s an easy enough conversion most of the time, but it’s still hard to get a grasp on the value of things.

For the most part, things are worth the same, and the price just looks 1/3 of what we’d pay back home. But then there are certain things that cost more in other parts of the world and it’s hard to compare the value while trying to do conversions of pounds to dollars and liters to gallons at the same time. Like gasoline - it’s a significantly more expensive than in San Jose right now, just don’t ask me for a comparison.

Actually the most difficult thing to grasp is the value of the coinage. Even a one cent coin in Malta is worth more like a nickel in the States. It’s easy to throw around coins because I never feel like they’re worth much, but a fifty cent piece (LM) is actually a buck and a half (USD). And forget famous presidents or national monuments on the coins… we got a weasel! Here’s the low down:

1c – A weasel.
2c – An olive branch.
5c – A crab.
10c – A fish, lampuka to be exact.
25c – A flower called Ghirlanda.
50c – A plant called Tulliera (which is a beautiful name for a weed known as Fleabane or False Yellow Head in the States).
1p – The national bird, a Merrill
Then the paper money – There are 2, 5, and 10 pound notes, which are simply pink, blue, and green versions of the same design, each slightly different sizes.

There’s another snapshot of life in Malta for you.

Ride the Bus with Us

The bus system here is actually really easy to use. We hopped on one of the orange and white Maltese icons on our very first day and got around easily for the first two weeks. All the buses (except for a couple of routes) go to and from Valletta, the nation’s capital. Right outside Valletta there’s a big round-about with the gigantic Triton Fountain in the middle where all the buses stop. If you need to get to the other side of the island, just hop on any bus, it’ll take you to Valletta, then hop off and ask somebody which bus goes to the other side, then hop on and you’re there. Way better than the VTA back home. It’s a simple matrix.

In fact, I was on my way into town wearing a black trench coat and dark glasses, trying to get on a bus, when I met a little, bald British boy in a toga.
Me: How do you it?
Boy: Do not try to stand in line for the bus. That is impossible. Only try to realize the truth.
Me: The truth?
Boy: There is no line.

He was right. People just sort of form a congregation near the spot they expect the bus to stop. When the right route number comes along, someone sticks out their thumb like a hitch-hiker, and the bus slows down for the most part. But unless there’s more than two people getting on or off (or if the one person could be as old as two), don’t expect the ride to come to a full and complete stop.

Once you get on the bus, you’ll pay the driver the incredibly reasonable fare of 20 Maltese cents. You’ll see the name of the bus somewhere near the front, or maybe it’s the name of the driver. You’ll also see a picture or shadow-box of the Virgin Mary and a sticker of some other favorite saint, and everyone crosses themselves when you enter the freeway (although we’ll soon be discussing the Maltese version of a freeway). You’ll notice that nowhere in my narrative thus far have I said that the door closed. It never does. Maybe that has something to do with everyone crossing themselves.

Half the buses are very recent models with low floors, bucket seats, and a very sophisticated electronic bell indicating “next stop, please.” The historical versions are like school buses with steep steps, narrow rows, and some twine rigged across the ceiling attached to little box that buzzes much more loudly than necessary. But all the buses, old or new, are orange on the bottom, white on the top, and have extremely loud horns (some of which I suspect would play La Cucaracha if the driver would lean a little longer). The drivers also are very helpful chaps, if only I could read lips, since the engines are too loud for any conversation.

In all, we were very happy to ride the bus as it was easy and convenient. But it did take us two hours to go less than 10 miles, so I’m glad someone in the church loaned us a car. But that’s a whole new adventure, so stay tuned.

The 2nd Great Seige of Malta

Day 5.

It’s been a grueling battle of attrition over these last few days, and our forces were exhausted. Their attack was launched from excellent position. Honestly, we knew from the start that there was no hope. We knew that our defenses would eventually succumb to their superior tactics, but nobody expected the defeat to be so soon.

They knew we had to pass along the trade routes through Valletta, and they attacked from there. They didn’t even make any attempt at a surprise ambush. In fact I suspect that their strategy always involves the establishment of an obvious presence to intimidate the competition and assert their authority. And this case was no different. They blatantly mocked us with open defiance.

We had to take that path into the city for supplies and ammunition. Our last trip into Valletta had been easy enough; they were preoccupied with other quarry and we passed easily. But this time, disaster. They began offensive maneuvers from a brightly colored outpost, forcing us directly towards their core armaments. Once we saw their all-conquering, infamous war machine, the golden arches, we knew we were done for.

Thankfully, it was all over soon. My partner was downed with a Chicken McSupremo to the face, and I took a Big Mac pretty hard. But they didn’t leave it at that. Before they were finished with us, our bodies were riddled with french fries. And in some kind of morbid, post-victory ceremony, they doused our corpses in Coca-Cola.

The shame of defeat haunts us now. Not that we expected to go on forever, but we gave in so easily. After just 5 days! How can I ever look at myself in the mirror now? Curse you McDonalds!!