“May . . . Catherine . . . Seaview . . . Patty . . . White Rabbit . . . Antonio . . . Il Perle . . . Aloha,” muttered Charles, our cab driver, peering at each house in turn and jerking forward like the teacups in Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. “Ah,” he said at last, pulling over. “Here’s Victoria. This is where your friend lives.”
When Gloria Mizzi, a television producer here in Malta, jotted down her address, we barely glanced at the scrap of paper. Surely the driver would know the streets of Sliema, a pleasant seaside suburb across the bay from Valletta, the towering walled city built by Europe’s oldest chivalric order, the Knights of St. John (also known as the Knights of Malta).
Malta has played a strategic role in the history of a half-dozen empires thanks to its central Mediterranean location, sheltered harbors and spongelike skill at absorbing invaders. But on this 98-square-mile island, barely half the size of Martha’s Vineyard, getting lost seemed unlikely.
Now we were not only inching along in the dark like a wayward caterpillar, but also late for dinner. As we peered at the spot beside the front door where the house number should have been, a small plaque with black letters said only, “Victoria.”
In Malta, apparently, a man’s castle wasn’t just a number but an animated being, with a name and gender. “Why do people name their houses?” I couldn’t help asking as Charles calculated our fare.
“That’s how we’ve always done it,” he answered with an abashed grin. “It’s the custom.”
What’s customary here is a weave of many cultures. Over the ages, Neolithic tribes, Phoenicians, Carthaginians, Romans, Arabs, Normans, Spanish, French and British all came ashore and left their mark.
St. Paul and St. Luke, shipwrecked on the north coast, were welcomed by friendly, if astonished, villagers. Odysseus, lured onshore by Calypso, dallied for seven years. Now it was our turn to be enthralled by the quaint and curious.
There’s that fast-food favorite the pastizzi, a flaky light pastry filled with ricotta and egg, best eaten warm at an outdoor cafe. Or a hot slice of lampuki pie (dolphin fish), the national dish. Or the grizzled fisherman on the dock at Marsaxlokk Harbor who said he doesn’t go fishing for lampuki, he waits “until they swim by the island and snatches them.”
You could speak English–everyone does–but it’s more fun to decipher Malti, a semitic language related to Phoenician and peppered with borrowed words. “Bongu,” (bon-jew, good morning) says your waiter at breakfast, or “bonswa,” at night, both from the French. From the Italian there’s grazzi and skuzzi. Arabic words pop up as place names: marsa for harbor and mdina for walled city.
One evening we happened upon strange bedfellows: A production of “Pocahontas,” lip-synched to the Disney movie by children in homemade costumes, performed on an outdoor stage set up over the Granaries, huge underground vaults for grain, built by the knights.
But best of all was the wry humor of our tour guide, Tessie Agius, who gave us a glimpse of Malta unvarnished.
“The harbor isn’t full the way it was when the British were here, but we still build ships for the Russians,” she said as we stood atop the walls of Valletta and looked across Grand Harbour toward tankers tied up at the docks.
“They don’t pay us, but we build them anyway. Then after a while they say, `We’ll give you two helicopters,’ and we’re stuck, we have no choice.”
According to Agius, tourism is growing fast on Malta’s three islands–Malta, Gozo and tiny Comino. The Italians, who prefer beach resorts, are followed by the Brits, who’ve been coming since the glory days of Empire (1800 to 1964), when Malta was an English colony and headquarters for the Mediterranean fleet.
For most Brits, a pilgrimage to the War Museum in Ft. St. Elmo, where exhibits detail Malta’s vital role in the defeat of the Nazis in North Africa, is obligatory. But lately it’s the Americans who’ve discovered Malta.
“More than a million visitors came last year, not including cruise ship passengers,” said Agius. “But they all want something different. The Russians shop. The northern Europeans want sand and sun. I haven’t figured out what the Japanese want. But Americans, at least, are interested in art and history.”
We certainly fit the profile. Our first priority was Valletta, with its impregnable bastions and the mystique of its millionaire boys club, the Knights of St. John. When the order, founded in Jerusalem in 1048 as charitable hospitalers, sailed to Malta in 1530, they settled in Birgu (now Vittoriosa), across Grand Harbour.
But after barely fending off the Turks during the Grand Seige of 1565, the knights, members of wealthy and aristocratic European families, decided to build a new fortified stronghold, a planned city on Mt. Sceberras, a high rocky finger of land between Grand and Marsamxett Harbours.
Laid out on a grid, the city’s streets were narrow but straight, to keep fresh air flowing, with underground water storage and drainage systems. Lots were sold only to buyers flush enough to pay for the elaborate palaces worthy of the order. Around the perimeter they built immense limestone walls, tall and thick enough to repulse any invader.
“Everywhere the knights went they embellished their surroundings,” said Tessie. “They had to donate four-fifths of their income anyway, so they spent it on beautiful things. They had their own fleet so they imported everything–marble, wood, tapestries, silver and armor. Even craftsmen.” Only limestone was quarried locally, for walls, churches and auberges, palaces where the knights lived in groups according to nationality.
Most auberges that survive have been converted to government buildings. But the Grand Master’s Palace, a testament to the order’s vast wealth and power, was preserved. Now a museum and the home of the legislature, its spacious halls with their high ceilings and frescoes are ablaze with paintings, tapestries, carvings and marble.
Another historic residence in Valletta, built on a smaller scale, is Casa Rocca Piccola, the only private palace open to the public. Our guide, owner Frances de Piro, showed us around, pointing out family antiques, portraits of ancestors who were knights, a knight’s sedan chair, dozens of small heirlooms, and “real Maltese tables, which always have hoofed feet.”
Valletta is a walking city. But to see the island we took buses, which are cheap, reliable and go everywhere from the bus terminus in front of Valletta’s main gate. The drivers, who own their buses, customize them with showy chrome, hand detailing and personal mementos.
We’d already taken a bus named “Elvis” to the wharf at Sliema, where two-hour harbor cruises begin. That evening we rode on “Dominant” to St. Julian, for a dinner at Peppinos and a taste of local nightlife. The following day, we rattled through orange groves and melon fields on “Easy Rider” to the walled and moated city of Mdina, Malta’s ancient capital, home of the island’s oldest aristocratic families.
Riding the bus gave us the opportunity to talk to local residents. When we said we were Americans, people could hardly wait to tell us about an uncle or cousin or sister who had emigrated to the States. Charles, our driver, was one of those who had gone and come back.
“I went to visit my cousin in Detroit for a couple of weeks, got a job at General Motors and stayed 20 years,” he said, handing back our change. “But it was temporary. Malta is home.”
DETAILS ON MALTA
Getting there: Fly to London (or other major European cities), then on to Malta on Air Malta, an additional three hours. From Italy or Sicily, commuter flights and ferries go from Naples, Catania and Syracuse.
Getting around: A rental car is a good solution if you don’t mind driving on the left side of the road. Rental companies are located at the airport and near Valletta. The bus system goes to most points on the island, leaving from Triton Fountain in front of Valletta’s main gate. Or hire a guide and driver.
Accommodations: Malta, Gozo and Comino have 133 hotels, numerous beach resorts, apartment rentals and guest houses. All are listed in the Hotel Guide available from the National Tourist Organization of Malta (NTOM–see below).
Near Valletta, the first choice for prewar colonial ambience is the five-star Phoenicia, where generals, prime ministers and nobs have traditionally bedded down. Double rooms start at $186 per night, including VAT tax. Located at The Mall, Floriana, VLT16, Malta (fax 011-356-235-254).
The three-star Castille Hotel occupies a 16th Century residence near the Auberge of Castille, now the prime minister’s offices. Double rooms, plain but comfortable, start at $91 per night and include continental breakfast and taxes. Located on Castille Square, Valletta, Malta (fax 011-356-243-679).
Finding a guide: Malta has a modern, professional tourist office, with counselors, detailed brochures and maps. Ask for a list of official guides for half or full-day tours at the NTOM on Republic Street in Valletta.
Information: Contact the NTOM at Empire State Building, 350 5th Ave., Suite 4412, New York, N.Y. 10118 (212-695-9520).
