Christmas, Malta and Fire Safety

Christmas, Malta and Fire Safety Notes of the First Mate This year was my first proper Catholic Christmas. The real thing—and... with a bit of fire! Our floating home was decorated with a Christmas tree made from a piece of cardboard and dark green tinsel with whitish tips. And the fireplace was on the monitor, complete with crackling sounds. All that was missing were the scents of woodsmoke and a real fir tree. Getting ready for our Christmas dinner that evening, I decided to prepare the ingredients for cheese-and-vegetable rolls in the morning. I mixed the filling and, after preparing the aubergines according to the recipe, began roasting them in the oven so I wouldn’t have to stand at the stove with a frying pan for a solid hour: we were planning to spend the day in Valletta, the capital of Malta. I repeated the mantra a hundred times: I had to turn off the stove before we left. In the end, my brain decided that if I had thought about it so much, then naturally I couldn’t possibly have forgotten. And switched off (no, no, not completely. It switched off where this particular subject was concerned). It is about forty minutes by bicycle from the yacht to the capital. Malta’s coastline is deeply indented. The bays are picturesque and long. Often, only a narrow strip of sea separates you from your destination, but getting there requires a good half-hour ride along a convoluted route. On Christmas Eve, Valletta is colourful and crowded. The churches are full of worshippers, the little restaurants of customers. Santa Claus cruises the streets with a gigantic barrel organ on wheels—a cart ringing out with a full, loud orchestra and a colourful mechanical theatre. The hubbub of birds and people, twinkling lights and happy faces. Halfway to the festivities, I came across a man carrying a crate of vegetables... Total Recall! It was a “Total Recall” moment of revelation. I froze in horror. Then, picturing clouds of smoke billowing from the galley, I wheeled my iron steed around and raced home. Since the rest of the family had already gone round the bend, they never found out what had happened. We don’t use phones, and we’re no good at shouting loudly. I therefore reasoned, quite sensibly, that vanishing without warning would be considerably cheaper than putting out a fire on the boat. So first they waited for me for a long time, then they looked for me, then they waited again. Thanks to the man with the vegetables, disaster was averted. Although by the time I arrived, the aroma of burnt aubergines had already enveloped our vessel and part of the pontoon. Alas, the charred strips of baking parchment in the oven left not the faintest hope of festive rolls. But in fairness, I should note that the walk around Valletta—which did eventually happen—the Christmas cakes, candles, Christmas tree and fireplace on the monitor were pretty good even without the aubergines. Our next Christmas, incidentally, also went off with a bit of fire 🙂 Happy New Year and Merry Christmas! Next— Malta Takes Its Toll