After a particularly busy and sweet valentines week Eric and I were up at the crack of dawn on Monday morning to finish packing the bags to make our flight to Malta. If you don’t know where Malta is pull it up on the map like I did and remember it’s where the apostle Paul shipwrecked and got bitten by a viper.
Did you know He spent three months in Malta? Me neither.
Both Eric and I are very spontaneous and last week was busy so it was nip and tuck to get the babies up and bathed and out the door with some scrambled egg protein in our bellies. We made it to the airport in time to share a coffee to wake us and then boarded an 1 1/2 hour flight to Malta.
Eric booked us a vacation a week before an event we were attending and both of us were ready for some fresh air and rest. When we landed, Eric grabbed the rental car while Rafael ate free cotton candy and popcorn from a fun stand at the airport. We began our drive winding through Malta’s capital looking for food because we were all properly famished. Instead we found our Airbnb was actually on an island off of Malta called Gozo and we needed to drive onto a ferry to make a quick 20 minute boat ride. I was hungry and a bit dizzy and seasick. The wind was so intense the small ferry was rocking like a drunk man but in only a few minutes we were in Gozo and in a few minutes more we found a small tavern in the town square where we devoured some hot chicken soup.
The wind was as wild as it gets on a Mediterranean island and I seriously held onto Rafael so he wouldn’t blow away. Remember what happened to Paul out at sea as a prisoner? No wonder he told his captors “I told you so” when they were blown into the rocks with the fierceness of a northeastern Mediterranean storm. I can picture them hanging onto pieces of wood being swept to the shore by these gigantic aqua waves.
The first day in Gozo we toured the Citadel, a castle in the middle of the city rich with history. Malta is an island influenced heavily by North Africa, England, and Italy. The language sounds like a mix of all three. The history is wild and treacherous, including the ottoman empire overtaking the castle and leading the women into captivity. Now, the Citadel is a charm to walk through. We found an old lady knitting lace in a small shop and I watched her in awe because I can’t even sew a button on my baby’s coat without stress. I watched her deftly maneuverer around 10 small bobbins with multiple threads with whipping hands and created the most lovely lace.
“My generation needs to bring back some of this lovely handwork,” I said while internally knowing I could never untangle one try on lace crocheting.
“You do,” she replied, “This generation’s children have everything and nothing.”
I mentioned how the calm handwork might have helped her generation’s mental health, to which she said, “We didn’t hear about those things in my day.”
Deeper into the castle we discovered an old restaurant serving fresh traditional foods. Traveling on a tight budget means we don’t eat out much and when we do we share a plate and try to stay as local as possible to get a real taste of the country. When I walked up the stone steps I saw a little old man peeling garlic and immediately knew I wanted to try his food. We ate vegetable soup with a chunk of fresh unpasteurised cheese and a small plate of handmade ravioli made with fresh herbs and white cheese. Then we wandered through the tiny streets and explored the old homes and gardens of historic Victoria. Outside the castle we found a small shop roasting fresh coffee beans. Eric was so pleased we tried a coffee before wandering on through small streets.
Gozo is a wild and wonderful place where the enormous waves of the Mediterranean sea crash up against sandstone coastline. Small villages sit tucked up on the hilltops with the windows facing the sun and the sea expectantly. All the homes are sandstone with the doorways painted bright red and yellow and green. Locals take pride in beautiful address plaques made of pottery. Huge pots of cacti grace small verandas. Many of the villages are in view of the coastline where the aqua colours of the sea mesmerised me crashing up against the rocks and sandstone cliffs.
Maltese food is fresh and warm, a symbiotic blend of north Africa and Italy. Rumour has it everyone here eats two slices of bread every day and I can’t imagine doing anything less. The bread has the perfect crisp crust with the softest crumb. On the ingredients list is “mother dough.” I wonder who owned the first mother dough? I read in a news article that the increased bread consumption here leads to larger hips and tummies but I think it’s worth it. Imagine eating shakshuka and stewed rabbit and vegetable soup with sheep cheese without a hunk of fresh bread. Never.
This is the first place I have eaten a pea pastry. I was a bit skeptical but it was perfect. The dough is flakey and buttery and the green peas are spiced with curry maybe?
The island culture here is relaxed and peaceful. Even a busting Lidl grocery closes from 12-2 for a siesta. We pulled up to watch the sunset at a local lookout and I spied an old grandpa reading beside us in a dilapidated old pickup. His wife sat beside him and I said to Eric, “I’m sure she’s crocheting.” Sure enough, she was. They looked so peaceful I might have just crawled into that little truck and had a long chat if I didn’t have the sense that they were weary of tourists.
The wind picked up and whipped across the island the next few days while we wound through tiny streets meant for carriages instead of cars. The streets are so small passer-by’s must flatten themselves along the buildings to avoid being swiped. Eric drove because he said I would get too confused driving on the left side but let me tell you that man gave me multiple heart attacks ripping around tiny bends and stopping just in time to let a car past. I always feel like I should be driving if I’m on the left side so Eric was extra gifted with a chirping passenger princess. Really though, he’s been a hairs-breath from swiping multiple mirrors and we have confused getting into the right side so many times I proposed we just kiss every time we have to pass to the other side. We’ve been kissing a lot.
The waves were so huge in the tiny towns right by the sea we had to drive through water to get to our destination. Eric convinced a small shop owner to make us a London fog to share. We found the salt flats; multiple squares carved into the sandstone that collect salt in the summer’s sweltering heat. A small lady was selling bags of it for 6,50 and I didn’t buy any but tasted it strong on my tongue.
We hiked back into gorges and bays and a beautiful cave I would have loved to camp in if there weren’t so many “NO CAMPING” hand painted signs everywhere. Rafael was as excited as me to find the next scenic spot, hiking so hard he wore a blister into his littlest toe and then complained dreadfully until I discovered it. We hiked through fields of the most lovely yellow and blue wildflowers and fenced in fields of wheat, and then winded down rocky sandstone stairs to beaches and gorges full of the bluest water I’ve ever seen.
Eric wanted to drive past a small cove and I said “let me run see it” because the children were sleeping. I hiked up far enough I knew we had hit a gem and we spent most of the day there. There were two beautiful restaurants facing the bay where tourists sat eating the most delectable and overpriced food. I pulled out our cheese and crackers and plums and strawberries and we had a very decent picnic beside them after-which we hiked up the side of the gorge, across on a tiny bridge and up a large grassy field overlooking the sea. The sun was the warmest we had felt it and I laid Rhema in the grass to rest which she thought was a lovely proposition and just giggled and laughed for a long while trying to figure out stems of grass in her pudgy little fingers.
If you need to vacation with children on a budget I really recommend finding some cheap and healthy snack options and picnicking as much as possible. I am very sure we were as happy as the pretty people with wine glasses as we sit in the grass overlooking the sea munching on nuts and fruits. Nevertheless, I do love tasting the local food and am very particular how that is done because it costs money and tourist islands are very good at promoting “local food” that is just greasy and unthawed.
We found a hole in the wall takeout bakery in a small village in the middle of the island. On arrival I knew we were in the right place because there was a huge stone oven that could make 60 fitras (the local pizza) at a time but I wasn’t sure if we were in the right place because someone very angry was yelling so loud I was afraid someone would get hurt. Around 50 fresh fitras sat cooling on racks. I poked my head in to see the owner wrapping cheese and bellowing so hard his face was puffed and red. I manuevered myself around the cash register, put my arm on his shoulder and asked him if I could pray. He agreed, and I invited the Holy Spirit to come speak to him after which I went to buy a pizza and tell Eric to go share the gospel with him.
The fitra deserves a paragraph of it’s own. Thin pizza-like crispy crust, creamy white sauce, fresh sausage, and a fresh herb like taragon maybe? The entire top is covered with mandelined potatoes that become crispy in the brick oven. It was divine. You know you’re definitely on the right island when you find pizza covered in potato. After everything calmed down we went out back to see the family farm complete with two friendly donkeys with abnormally big ears, two coated horses, a flock of geese that looked very cramped and restless, a few fluffy bunnies and a tom turkey and his wife who were taking turns to incubate their eggs. How very egalitarian of them.
We wound down through perfectly terraced farms into another bay and finished our pizza watching the waves crash in. Eric built sand castles with Rafael while I hiked up the mountain with Rhema far too steep and high for the shoes I was wearing. When we got back into the car they both fell into a deep sleep and Eric picked us up a coffee and a huge almond croissant and we drove to a cliff overlook where we watched a storm roll in. The wind was so high I was happy to stay cosy in the car while the waves crashed over the boulders beneath us, sip my coffee, and exclaim to Eric once in a while, “Did you see that one?!”
Shared beauty is a true gift of life. Standing in Eric’s arms watching the aqua roar of this powerful ocean, pointing things out to my Rafael standing there in his too-big new shoes, and turning my baby carrier to let Rhema’s bright little face take in the spray of the waves; it’s all a little too beautiful to take in.
Eric and I take two weeks of rest per year if possible. We have learned that around day four or five we actually start to rest. My body begins a deep exhale. We kiss longer. I linger over beautiful details like a flower petal or tiny shell. We forget the time and our phones. I always wonder how I can bring more of this into my daily life. It’s a reset I am determined to practice all the days of my life unless I decide to re-locate and spend my retirement barefoot on a Maltese island sipping chicory coffee and eating fresh sheep cheese and swimming year round in the salty sea. I’d become as ebony and tan as some of these beautiful little old women who look like they feasted on fish and laughed at their children and ate fresh tomatoes every day of their sunny life.
But alas and alack I live in a highly congested and populated city center and might need to wait till heaven to really live that existence. Do you think there will be islands in the new earth? I think God might give me one. Maybe He’s already preparing one for me. I think there are sheep there, and I’ll make fresh cheese and golden bread and grow vines full of delicious tomatoes and harvest my own olives and strawberries as I walk in perfect communion with the Trinity.
You can come stay with me. We’ll watch every sunrise and sunset and feel warm soil under our feet. We’ll lay like children in the grass watching cotton clouds and jump over cliffs into billowing waves. We’ll gather fresh eggs and eat them with sheep cheese and tomatoes and olives and chunks of warm bread with yellow butter. I’ll make a little breakfast pavilion in the gardens. I’m sure Eric will be reading. I might even be transformed enough to crochet or stitch lace.
It’s going to be perfect.
I can’t wait to be sun-kissed in heaven.
Photo by Houng Ngui on Unsplash
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