Malta on Christmas Eve. People, Prices and All That

Malta on Christmas Eve I used to think that life on a yacht was one long adventure. Exotic places, action, discoveries every day—guaranteed. In reality, most of life aboard is taken up by the same everyday routine as ashore, just slightly altered. You still have to cook, wash the dishes and tidy up. And then there are lessons to do, stories to read to the children and things to make out of modelling clay. The same shopping and the same minor hassles. We’ve been berthed in Malta for the second month now, but there are days when we don’t even go ashore... And what a waste! After a morning bike ride to take care of Christmas errands, I swore I’d go for a walk every day. Because not doing so is just silly. We went to the post office, dreaming of sending our relatives cards for New Year. But it seems we weren’t the only ones with the same idea. The post office, which is open every day until noon, was packed today with people eager to send their greetings to other parts of the world. The queue stretches as far as the line in front of the counter. As at customs, only one person may cross the line—the person whose turn has come. The glass display cases contain a whole variety of envelopes, cards, parcel boxes and some sort of colouring books and stationery. We had a look and left empty-handed. Fortunately, our Christmas is still some way off. Dentist The dentist’s was packed too. Fixing the tooth I’d broken (on a persimmon!?) was an easy eight-minute job, but the wait and preparations dragged the whole thing out to two hours. For some reason, I agreed to an X-ray for 15 euros. Plus 50 for the filling. A Christmas present :)... The Maltese Walking around familiar places can be quite enlightening. It turns out that most of the villas in the town of Ta’ Xbiex are occupied. Here’s a grandmother who has come out to see off her daughter and grandchildren. A perfectly ordinary grandmother, with short hair and reasonably trim. But the grandfather who finished seeing them off was the spitting image of the American planter Henry Poindexter. A lightweight cowboy hat, a neatly trimmed grey beard and a grey suit. Poindexter was smoking a pipe. And not just any pipe, but a very classic-looking one, extraordinarily long. In profile, the owner of the villa looked remarkably like Sherlock Holmes disguised as a cowboy. On the porch of another house, an elderly woman is talking to a friend. Through the open door you can see the hall and a passage straight through to the backyard, with its sunny little garden and wicker furniture. The white walls are covered in paintings; at the far end are two columns and an arched ceiling. Most Maltese houses I’ve managed to peek into have a hall like this, running right through the house and hung with paintings. They are often portraits, sometimes even pencil drawings. Possibly of relatives. The houses may be poorer or richer, more cramped or more spacious. But the interior layout remains virtually unchanged. And with every new peek, I want more and more to be invited into a local home. Next— Christmas, Malta and Fire Safety