You may recall, dear reader, that my last missive mentioned a brief sojourn in the sunny climes of the island of Malta. I travelled up to God's own county of Durham to join friends before flying off to the George Cross island. The geography of the resort was not dissimilar to the Greek island of Symi with land rising rather steeply from the sea. Indeed there was a street of steps right outside the hotel or rather in the middle of the hotel because one annex was actually on the other side of the street. Naturally, Kojak's apartment was in the annex... This meant going down 6 floors in a lift, burrowing through a tunnel under the steps and then going back up 6 floors in another lift. Leaving and then subsequently trying to find my apartment was therefore an exciting process each day. This was made more interesting by the hotels strange practise of numbering the floors from 1 downwards from the reception and upwards from 1 in the annex. We spent many happy hours emerging from one of the several lifts to find ourselves totally lost...
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| Soon to disappear |
Like all good tourists we availed ourselves of the unique Maltese buses. Being a gentleman of a certain age many of the older models were familiar from my childhood, not least because the colour scheme was the same as my old local charabanc company. We were fortunate to ride on them as from July 3rd the buses have been replaced by ultra-modern soulless vehicles much to the dismay and anger of many of the old, owner drivers. The current answer to the age old question of "How do you make a Maltese Cross" is to mention the Arriva bus Company!
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| Before the deluge |
A holiday with Kojak is seldom without incident of course and this vacation, dear reader, was no exception. Exhausted and overheated by an exploration around one of the fortifications of the Grand Harbour we were diverted from our intended return bus ride by the offer of a ferry trip back in a small traditional Maltese dghajsa. Enthralled at viewing the harbour from the sea we accepted with alacrity, though not after haggling down the fare. Five of us plus the ferryman made for a tight squeeze in the small craft but undeterred, we cast off. Crossing the breakwater out of the harbour we encountered choppy seas which began to rock the boat. Unfortunately we also encountered the considerable wash of an incoming motor launch which did not see fit to slow down. Our boat began to rock rather alarmingly and some water lapped over the gunwale into the boat causing one of us to rapidly leave his seat with an anguished yelp after a surprise dousing. Cries from the boatman to "sit down" coincided with the small outboard motor cutting out. At this point I did not think it wise to mention the absence of any lifejackets... I have to say that I enjoyed the whole experience immensely but then I did not have to subsequently walk around with a damp derriere.
