09.02 LOW SPEED CHASE

It will be a while before I watch the sun go down on Gozo. It’s a low speed chase as we wheel around tight corners and circle ourselves at my dad's typical Sunday-driver pace looking for the road to the westward lookout in the Zebbug. I remember getting lost in these same streetways along the same mission a year ago. In the end we were just in time to watch the sky reflect a brilliant orange hue. I’m expecting overcast skies for the next little while. Might as well soak up one last little dose of Vitamin D.

09.01 THE GENE POOL

I share a lot in common with my Nannu Julian (besides our stunning looks). For one, he studied and eventually taught physical education, the root of kinesiology. I also suspect that my slow-twitch fibres come from his lineage since he has run more marathons than I know (and still exhibits superhuman stamina for an eighty year old today). We’ll see how far the gene pool stretched when I cover 26.2 miles in Nottingham next week.

The first piano I played was in his house. I can’t say that I am as talented as he, but the shared interest is there. He is even so inclined as to have written a number of musical scores for the local and national orchestras. I don’t write music, but besides this, Nannu Julian is also a poet and essayist. My work here is not even a close reflection of the quality of his writing but I’ve still got some time to practice and catch up.

And this is what I’ll be doing in Nottingham. Tonight, by chance, I learned that a younger (not-yet-Nannu) Julian himself lived and studied in Nottingham and Loughborough. Our interests are paralleled our accomplishments not so in line. I have a lot of catching up to do. But at least I have somebody to (figuratively – and you thought I was short!) look up to.

08.31 TIPPING TREES

Sundown. We are racing the clock to arrive at Dwejra in time to watch the sun disappear beyond the sea. Along the road, tilting trees rooted sideways in the ground appear to bow down to the setting star. Like pagan worshippers the bow down and invite an evening reverie.

08.30 SEA URCHIN

I have a thing for sea urchins. The word “urchin” is a latin word that describes a hedgehog. Doesn’t that make this littly guy seem just a little more fuzzy and cute? I would liken the sea urchin more to the rambutan fruit that I first discovered in Australia or one of those tacky fluorescent key chains that were popular a while ago. Come to think of it, there is a striking resemblance between this ocean dweller and an Incredibly Persistent Gapper from Frip. Does anybody out there reads George Saunders?

(If you don’t read George Saunders, this is a good time to stop reading this senseless blog and pick up one of his books.)

Back to sea urchins: Before we trashed the ecosystem, at a time when sea urchins were thriving, my dad used to pluck the creatures off of rocks in the sea, slicing them in two and eating their raw meat.

Inside the prickly shell, called the “test,” lies a goopy globular jelly with the texture of the inside of a passionfruit. I never really cared for passionfruit – or for urchinfruit – but I am still fascinated by the sea creature.

A stroke of its spine and the sea urchin, an awfully motionless creature is brought to life. It retracts almost before I am even in contact with it, each spine flattening away from my finger every slowly. Amusing. Enough to keep me occupied from swimming until I consider that my endearing attention to this particular sea urchin might actually be torture.

I drop it back in the water. I am not far behind, joining the odd creatures under the sea for a swim.

08.29 TOMBLA

It is the Novena. This nine-day countdown to the Feast of Our Lady of Victory in my parents’ hometown is celebrated with daily services followed by late-night activities in the town square. Tonight, a few rounds of Tombla – Maltese for Bingo – have been organized to raise funds for the feast. I joined the devoted gamblers content in knowing my money will contribute to a more spectacular fireworks show for next years feast, when I plan to visit.

“Fatah!”

It was only a line and somebody else has also called it. I rake in a mere pound-fifty. About three bucks. Enough to treat myself to a rum and coke and last the final round.

08.28 LUNAR ECLIPSE

Tonight a Lunar Eclipse will be visible from our hemisphere. The Sun, Earth and Moon will align perfectly and our planet's shadow will cast upon a full moon. It happens twice a year.

Here it is once. It is still early and the moon will begin to dissapear in our shadow overnight.

At eight o’clock in the evening the big pizza-pie is bronze, glowing high in the north-east sky above the town of Nadur.

Its a pretty wicked view from our place.

08.27 MORNING FOG

This is the clouded view from my parent’s home this morning. The haze, a warning that it is going to be a scorcher today, gets me up and out the door for a run in a hurry. The longer I wait the hotter and more humid the island will become.

It is my last long training run before the Nottingham Marathon. I am running ten miles, my legs already tired from running that same distance just last night. I had to split the twenty mile distance or otherwise sacrifice my lower limbs to Gozo’s hot hilly pavement, possibly becoming immobilized for the remainder of my holiday because of torn muscle, aching joints and heat exhaustion.

Without an air conditioned environment to escape to here, I have gotten a real feel of climate change. But an air condition powerful enough to cool me off would only worsen the stifling air quality. Instead of conditioning the air, I am left to condition my body to the environment. I wonder how quickly mitochondria proliferate. Not fast enough. Even standing still and breathing is difficult this morning.

A few weeks ago when I arrived it was even more difficult. Training effects. I wonder if habituating my lungs to filter the saturated air is even healthy. This though makes me hesitate as I double-know my shoe lace.

Physiological changes take time, but the hardest part is conditioning my mind to the forecast. It’s not looking good for the long-term and its not about to change over the next ten miles.

08.26 MORE FESTA

I’m cheating. I took this photo two weeks ago at the Feast of Saint Lawrence. Nearly every week a different feast is celebrated on the islands during the summer, each inviting a visiting marching band to join local musicians in a parade around the local square. The church is strung with lights and the town is alive with chants and cheers for their patron saint.

I could easily have taken a similar picture today when I visited the feast of Our Lady of Loreto in a town called Gajnseliem, but I happened to like this photo in particular and wanted to fit it in someplace. This is not to suggest that a feast is a feast is a feast. If I were to utter that thought I would be shipped off of the island on the next available sinking raft. While each celebration follows a similar ritual, different towns add a characteristic twist to their particular feast.

Gajnseliem’s feast is known for its glitzy fireworks display, which left me with a kink in my neck from looking at the sky this evening. Perhaps a more suitable photo for this feast might have captured the colourful explosions. But I couldn’t take my eye off of the incredible show. I guess I’ll have to keep that picture tucked away in the memory bank.

08.24 GOOD-BYE

Ciao. Sayonara. Adios. Arrivederci.
Doesn't matter how you put it. It sucks to say good bye.
It's especially hard when a reunion is not planned.
The next time I see my sister she could be thirty.
I’m glad I didn’t remind her of that.
It might have caused a flash-flood of tear shed.

08.22 HEAT WAVE

The temp is 30 celcius without the humidity index.
And rising.
Heat wave.
Not my kind of wave.
I prefer this sort of wave.
Can't imagine surviving without the sea.

08.20 VALLETTA

We toured the capital city today. Valletta is an ancient fortress town overlooking the grand harbour, which is a major port for cargo and cruise ships alike. The city’s main arteries extend from St. John’s Co-Cathedral built by the Knights of Saint John in the 15th century. This ornate edifice houses original works by the rogue artist Micahelangelo Carvaggio. He was exiled to Malta where he produced some of his greatest paintings.

The town, also a major marketplace and shopping district is bustling with tourists. In a startling contrast, antiquated buildings house brand name shops and fast food joints -including McDonalds- are packed with hungry patrons.

On a tight budget and a strictly Mediterranean diet, I opted to avoid the tourist hub and instead explored the residential side streets of Valletta. Just a short walk from the city centre, narrow cobblestone streets seclude residents from busy traffic. Their houses and flats are built skyward, providing a shaded refuge on this, the first day of a forecasted heat wave. It is 35 degrees and I realize that getting lost in the streets of Valletta with only a small bottle of Perrier is like trekking through the middle of the Sahara.

Without straying too far, I was able to find a quiet street way leading down toward to the harbour. A concave stairway carries me along a stretch of jagged houses with colourful doorways and laundry strung from balconies. The asymmetry gives the street a surreal appearance, as though it is a Tim Burton creation, only not so creepy.

It is quaint residence, inducing a slight claustrophobia unless you have an upper level flat allowing a view of the harbour which opens to the sea. I considered this for a moment, but realized that I can’t imagine living in this quaint ancient town. It is so far from the spacious, symmetrical neighbourhood spread that I am used to.
I followed the roads leading up from the harbour to find my way back to the city square. Just enough Perrier to get me back to (pseudo-modern day) reality.

08.19 SIESTA

Everything in Malta shuts down after one o’clock. It is the afternoon siesta.
Even the stray cats find a shaded spot in my grandparent’s yard and chill for a while.
It’s not quite 11 o’clock though.
But then nobody around here (and certainly not the cats) pays much attention to the time.

08.18 BEACH WORM

I have found no better place to enjoy a good book than in the Red Sand at Ramla Bay. Current Read: The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell. It's in-depth and pretty interesting if you're into sociology and cultural studies stuff. One chapter to go.

08.17 FRESH CATCH

I spent the day on an old wood paneled yacht, called the Barborosa, cruising around the islands Gozo and Comino with a group of my cousins. About twenty of us had the enormous sailboat to ourselves and (as if this wasn’t enough space) the limitless boundaries of the Mediterranean horizon in our view.

The crew was generous and accommodating as most Maltese are. After lunch, I went into the cabin for a glass of wine just as they were preparing their own meal. A portion of beer battered Lampuki and Gringa along with grilled onions and tomatoes picked fresh from the captain’s garden were immediately plated for me, and I spent some time getting to know the Barborosa Crew.

These sea men are a practical bunch, making a living off the tourism industry in the summer, and returning to local jobs in the wintertime. One of them is a teacher, the other runs a hot dog stand by night. The third works in the shipyard year round, maintaining yachts.

This evening, they were fisherman. As we cruised along Gozo’s coastline one of the crew spotted a large fish afloat in the water. It was dead, but clearly fresh, with a hook left in one fin to indicate it was another fisherman’s loss. Without hesitation our yacht’s chef dove into the deep sea toward the floating fins and bare-handedly claimed his prize: A 30 kilo Acchula. A monger will buy this delicate whitefish from the crew, leaving them with the equivalent of three hundred or so dollars at the end of the day. Nice bonus.

I was hoping they’d whip up another fish fry. But I can’t complain – I definitely got my money’s worth from today’s adventure at sea.

08.16 CARL

This is Carl, my second cousin. He is outgoing and engaging, a very sociable three year old. He has to be. His parents own and run the very successful Saint Andrews Hotel and Restaurant in Xlendi Bay and it is peak season for tourism in Malta.

Every day, Carl encounters travellers from across the globe, visiting Malta and seeking accommodation at his family’s hotel. If the luxurious rooms and exquisite restaurant overlooking a spectacular rockfaced bay at Xlendi doesn’t reel guests in, the amicable and informal doorboy will.

08.15 FESTA

It is a national holiday and the biggest feast day in Malta. Santa Maria is celebrated in the streets of six towns across the islands. Here in Gozo, the festival takes place at the ancient Citadel in Victoria. People gather to party and pay homage to their female deity. The celebration starts at dusk when a life-sized statue of Santa Maria is carried out of the church on the backs of six dutiful and devout men who tour the effigy throughout the city streets, followed by a line-up of bishops, priests, and clergy men and a local marching band. It is a long, sweaty parade.

After touring the streets for a few hours the back-broken men carry the statue into the church, lit up like the Griswold Family home in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. An impressive show of fireworks further lights the sky as hundreds crowed Victoria’s square to welcome their patron mother with fervent applause, and a somewhat drunken rendition of Ave Maria.

The party continues in the town streets, until the wine has run out and the beer tap is dry. Johnny’s hot dog stand makes a killing, and a line up of ice cream trucks can’t scoop fast enough to keep up with hungry patrons.

Il festa-tajba.

08.08 GAUDOS

I am on the Ferry from Malta to the smaller island, Gozo. The origin of the word Gozo is Greek and is derived from Gaudos meaning, “Enjoy Life.”

I have barely arrived on my parent’s homeland before I am already enjoying the lifestyle. Here, locals are laid back, enjoy frequent siestas, weekly fiestas and spend summers at the beach.

I plan to immerse myself in this culture over the next few weeks.