A Leap into the Past, Where Dreams Can Come True

Valletta is a jumble of narrow streets climbing up and down, linking small squares, stairways and the bastions. Walking along the walls you can enjoy the magnificent view over the open sea, the coast, the buildings in the distance and the old port. The benches along the promenade between the Upper and Lower Barrakka Gardens, masterfully facing the sunset, are a perfect backdrop for sitting down, turning your face to the sun and pausing to enjoy the last warmth of the day, watching the manoeuvres of the ships in port, the fishermen's last preparations before setting off for the night's catch, letting yourself be wrapped in the scent of jasmine and mock orange. Behind you, the buildings made of tufa blaze with every shade of yellow and contrast spectacularly with the blue sky, clear and limpid. There are countless views entirely pervaded by this romanticism....

The port, the gardens, the alleyways, all the bow windows on the buildings... nothing is untouched by magic!

Then, when night falls, no one walks the streets any more, only the lights of the streetlamps give the sense of an inhabited place and.... The port comes alive, the fishing boats set off for the open sea, the boats return from their evening trips in the bay, and the fish leap and dart between a wave and a ripple.

Everything is wrapped in the silence of the darkness, everything is motionless... until in the morning, around the Triton Fountain at City Gate, the old Bedfords and Leylands, yellow and orange buses, with fanciful names and decorations bordering on kitsch, begin to leave their numbered stops, picking up a few tourists and many locals to head off to every corner of the country. And that is how the small capital comes back to life, with the same crackling you can observe from the terrace at the top of the Hotel Castille at breakfast time, warmed by the May sun.

If you take one of the buses across the island as far as Circhewwa, in the far north, you pass through many small villages that take you back 20 and... as if by magic the gift of ubiquity becomes possible, as do teleportation and..... you could be in Greece, in Sicily, in Lampedusa all at the same time! No big shops, no hypermarkets, only small workshops as in the old days.... The ones that sell bread, fruit, vegetables, all kinds of groceries, even meat and fish... all in 30 square metres.

Then the bus stops at the port, at the terminus. A ticket "office", a queue of vehicles and a group of foot passengers.... all waiting at the starting blocks to board the ferry and disembark at Gozo. It's fun to watch those in the queue and wait, and just by studying the luggage you can tell...... that there are those arriving from the airport, with a suitcase and a check-in tag still attached; those travelling with a backpack, no longer clean and therefore already on holiday for a while; those with just a beach bag and a newspaper under their arm, a daily escape; those standing beside their bicycle who have decided on a holiday devoted to exercise and health.

The crossing is short, just a few minutes. Already from the deck, looking at the blue sea, the absence of boats racing about, the tranquillity of the coves, it is clear that we are not in Sardinia. You skirt Comino and catch a glimpse of the famous Blue Lagoon... how can you now not insist on coming, even just for a day?

We leave it on our right as we approach the coast of Gozo, then behind us, while ahead the port of Mgarr welcomes us, calm and sleepy. Small, with two big hotels on top of the rock overlooking the little harbour and the sea. The marina is full of boats, private and fishing boats... the first colourful gozzi.

There's no need to organise your stay, your movements... no, here in Gozo you can let improvisation run free and so.... The system of asking the taxi driver at the port works perfectly and... within ten minutes you find yourself in a little flat in Marsalforn, right in front of the sea, at the end of the bay, with a small living room and a terrace on the cliff... You think of staying just a few nights and then end up spending 5 there...

Whether the sun is shining or the sky is slightly overcast doesn't matter much, as long as you have a scooter and you don't get bored for even a moment.

The path along the cliff to the west of the "village of the bakers" leads to golden rocks, smoothed by wind and sun, rocks that look like petrified waves, sand dunes, desert mountains! The salt pans by the sea, still in use, give the first sign that this coast is alive, inhabited by seafaring men who still live off fishing, salt and sun.

You can also see them beyond the bay of Xwejni, where the path fades away among burnt and prickly little bushes, where you can lean over the precipice and, looking down, see the tops that hold the fish traps and carry the fruits of the catch. They go by on pre-war mopeds, approach the edge of the rocks, collect the contents of the trap and get angry if you try to photograph them... I don't think they fear that the camera might steal their soul; rather they seem more like illegal, highly illegal!

In the centre of the island, between Zebbug, Gharb and San Lawrenz, these typically Gozitan rural villages, with their tufa or very white globigerina limestone houses, their many imposing churches, you lose yourself among fields cultivated with carnations or with small violet flowers used for dried-flower arrangements. They are patches of colour amid green, a little, and ochre, white and yellow, a great deal,... ochre of the hayfield cut and already gathered, white and yellow where the many small globigerina quarries are. Everything contrasts with the clear sky and the intensely blue sea, the colours clash and you can't tell who wins.

A visit to the Azure Window and Fungus Rock is a must. Only at the end of the road flanked by the stone parapet just like in the Sardinia of my childhood does the majesty of the arch open up, along with the spectacle of the colours and the transparency of the sea. There are too many divers arriving, the groups getting ready, the suit-up, the briefing and then into the water... all on top of one another, disturbing the fish and the anemones.

It's truly a shame not to be able to resist in the sea, in these splendid waters as icy as they are transparent, with seabeds rich in life and caves and wrecks to explore. The temperature on the surface is truly too low; only by soaking your legs up to the knee, until you can no longer feel them as part of your body, do you get the idea of having grown used to it... but when the cold touches your belly and your head, you almost feel you're suffocating. Only a little swimming lets you hold out for a few minutes, but certainly not as long as you'd like, given the beauty of the waters.

That's why I often fall back on the small pebble beach of Marsalforn, the one near the house, from which you can admire the setting sun, watch the sunset unfold and savour the tranquillity of the arrival of evening.

Along the seafront, as the streetlamps light up, the little restaurants fill up with fresh fish. Only one, however, has an isolated table in a corner, right in the middle of the dark and mysterious sea... and that table is always booked, every evening.

If the beach is for early morning or late afternoon, the centre of Victoria and the fortified citadel welcome you even during the hottest hours, the ones when there is absolutely no one on the streets, in the little squares or on the walls. It is from the walls that you can let your gaze wander from one side to the other and reach the blue of the sea... through the perfectly demarcated and cultivated plots, in this fascinating puzzle of colours and shapes.

In the narrow, silent alleyways you feel for a moment as if you're in an Arab souq, the only difference being the density of churches and basilicas that appear behind every corner, every building, the incredible number of icons of the saints and the Madonna. It is precisely by wandering aimlessly that you discover the best views, take the most interesting photos and meet Rikardu and the products of his shop, wine bar, tasting room. Homemade wine accompanying fresh bread, field tomatoes, olives and capers from the island and typically Gozitan goat's cheese: that's how what should have been just a snack quickly becomes a sumptuous dinner.

But this is Gozo, the island of Calypso, where the cave can still be found in which legend holds that the nymph kept Ulysses prisoner for a good seven years. It seems this place has been identified just before Ramla Bay beach, but honestly I believe the little house among the rocks, with the pergola and the solitary little window on the cliff, at the edge of the tongue of ochre sand, is surely much more Calypso's dwelling than any other tourist cave.

For one night in that little house, for the stars from that little balcony and for the dawn from the nearby rocks, Mango would sing "per averti pagherei, un milione anche più, anche l'ultima Malboro darei..."* but if you've quit smoking 3 weeks ago you don't have the currency to trade and...... you have to "make do" with the terrace over the Gulf of Marsalforn.

It is from Ramla Bay and from the beach of Marsalforn that in the evening you enjoy the romantic panorama of the sunset... the sun bends down to embrace the sea, and only when it is close to the water's edge does it stretch out into an endless kiss that drags it down into the abyss, into the depths, leaving the sky with the blush of modesty.

The hours, the days, the mornings and the evenings follow one another incredibly quickly in Gozo, and at the same time even Comino cannot resist the assault of the eye and the camera lens... There is no need for an official ferry to reach the gentle Comino, the boat of a fisherman is enough and.... when you arrive in the lagoon with its unique transparencies... the pumpkin becomes a carriage and the gozzo turns into a sailing ship!

Vegetation has not reached this great rock, only a few oleander seeds carried by the wind along with a handful of mock orange... and so the bare rock and the dusty paths turn into splashes of colour and clouds of scent.

Besides the bastion from which you look out over the sea, the cliffs sheer above the sea, the Blue Lagoon where you feel exactly as if you were in the Caribbean, a few abandoned little houses... There's only the Hotel Comino and plenty of peace. Always at sunset, the calmest, quietest and most peaceful moment of the day, even the typically holiday-making relaxing spirit doesn't win out over the desire for a run towards the infinity of this marvel and.... In an instant you find yourself running along these dusty and uneven paths, among climbs and descents, the white of the earth, the brown of the burnt bushes, the purple of the thistles and the blue, infinitely blue, incredibly blue of the sea that surrounds and wraps around us....

It isn't the heat that can hold you back, nor the glare of the sun, nor the breath that chokes you on the climb or the steps of the bastion that tire your legs... no, none of this disturbs the magic of these sensations.

Will it be the desire for a second run at sunset, the pleasure of a bath of stars and moon along an utterly dark and disorienting path, the dangling of legs suspended between water and rocks or the sunset chats as if it had become an unmissable appointment? What makes us stay again this time more nights than planned? Perhaps the influence of Calypso.... not only for Ulysses, not only for men!

But the calendar seems immune to the spells of the fateful nymph and.... Quickly it is Mdina that welcomes us for the last night in the archipelago. Once you have set foot on Maltese soil again after your Gozitan stay, with the help of two local Bedford buses, it's easy to move around the island until you reach the gate of the old capital... Will it be chance or will it be the common thread of this stay, but once again it is the sunset and the stones of the walls, the towers, the churches and all the buildings that catch fire as the sun goes down.... To enter on tiptoe through this majestic archway is almost a must...

There are no cars to disturb the silence, no people, no children, no voices.... Only the dust, a gift of the new paving..... But the surreal and mysterious atmosphere that exists in those days when no one storms the little streets of the old historic centre, the flavour of mystery and poetry, everything is so strong that it takes away the desire to speak, to marvel out loud.

It is soothing to venture among the narrow little alleyways of the citadel, to lean over the parapet and look out over the cultivated countryside, to feel for a moment back in Gozo, as if the tape were rewinding and the holiday starting all over again...

To be enchanted before a wall completely covered in bougainvillea or to savour a glass of wine from a terrace on the walls seems to be a moment it is impossible to resist... especially because you cannot hide from your mind for too long that the return is near. The last moments are always the most intense on any journey.... But when the journey turns out to be the fulfilment of a dream, the awakening is violent, as is the realisation of reality.

The sea is far away, the always-booked table too, but even here it is possible to re-establish the balances and the situations.... A special restaurant, a small table, in a corner, a kind, courteous waiter, a good bottle of wine and very fresh fish.... And there it is again, echoing in your ears, the voice of the sea and the calm of the night's darkness.

You always leave something of yourself to the places and people you love....

who knows how much I left in Malta, the place I wanted and lived with the person who...