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It may have seemed that most of our time in Malta was spent in government offices but we did manage to get out and about to enjoy the charms of the capital, Valletta, where we rented a masionette. We were originally supposed to stay in Birgu, where my mother was born and raised but a last minute drama with the property we had booked had us relocated to the capital. A blessing in disguise as it turned out. We both enjoy being city dwellers and, as nice and sentimental it would have been to stay in Birgu, we would have missed the cafes, restaurants and all the bustle Valletta has to offer, not to mention it’s close proximity to the citizenship office!
The weather in June, in my opinion, is perfect. Sunshine and 27/28 degrees every day. Some days are windy but after all, it is a rock in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea.
On one of our days off, we caught a ferry to the ‘three cities’ (Birgu, Bormla & Isla) across the Grand Harbour from Valletta.

The area is of great significance to me as my mother, as I mentioned earlier, is from Birgu (or Vittoriosa in English) and my father was from Isla (or Senglea)
We went looking for my father’s sister who we’d had no contact with for over ten years. It became obvious that her flat was uninhabited when we located it. Beginning to think she may have passed, I called into a grocery store opposite to ask the proprietor if he knew of my aunts whereabouts. He informed us that she was taken to a home as a result of a fall some time back. After a few phone calls, we had located her whereabouts and went to visit her the next day. I really had no idea what to expect, would she remember me? She had to be about 80 years old, despite the fact I have known her since I was six years old, our unions have been very sparse.
Apparently, she had suffered a stroke and was bound to a wheelchair and that is why she couldn’t return to her first storey flat in Senglea. Some of the nurses in the home were very friendly, especially a student nurse looking after my aunt Mary. As we approached her we recognised her immediately, she was giving a nurse grief about not wanting to eat her lunch. She looked up at me ready to give me a spray as I think she thought I was a hospital official but as I cautiously lent forward to tell her I was her brother’s son, she paused for several seconds before her face lit up lunging forward to hug me with all the gusto of a wrestling manoeuvre. I was so happy she recognised me and happier that the facility and staff were far more pleasant than I imagined. The student nurse patiently translated for us as my aunt’s English is as good (or as bad) as my Maltese!
The hospital administration were also (unofficially) able to put us in contact with my cousins, both of whom we caught up with. We also caught up with a very good primary school friend of mine who happened to be holidaying there at the time.
I had to spend time dealing with the government also. Although I already have Maltese citizenship I needed to obtain an ‘Identity Card’. The process required a lot of paperwork and signatures of course. My major stumbling block was finding a doctor, lawyer or priest that had known me for at least two years. I brainstormed the idea that the priest in Senglea would sign the document for me, he didn’t know me but surely he would take into consideration that he knew my aunt and after all, my father came from there. He was sympathetic to my cause but being a younger guy he was overly cautious saying “if I sign this they might put me in jail.” “They’re not going to put you in jail father” I felt like saying. If it was an older priest I’m sure he would have signed but I didn’t want to push the point.
Long story short, I got my Identity card and we ticked off one of our missions.

After just eleven days we were packing our bags to fly to Catania. It was a little sad leaving Malta so soon but we will be returning as we need to finalise Linda’s residency card application and that requires documents we need to source from Australia. In the meantime, a leisurely road trip through Italy stopping at villages that are not swarmed with tourists and offer traditional food and wine is what we needed. We have noticed that in Italy, they are very proud to announce that they have made a particular food item themselves. The fresh food markets have produce that looks and smells so good.
We decided to fly to Sicily because our original plan of getting a ferry was actually dearer, and Linda doesn’t do floating craft well. We also agreed that we were getting a little too old to be climbing on buses and trains, especially with our cumbersome luggage. So we flew to Catania, picked up a little rental (and I mean little) which we were to drop off in Rome 23 days later.
Our first destination was the small Island in Syracuse ‘Ortigia’. Yes, it was full of tourists but we can’t have the whole place to ourselves and it was well worth experiencing. Linda had booked us into a nice little ‘loft apartment’ with a kitchenette which allowed us to cook our own meals. The roads were so narrow I was beginning to appreciate our tiny car, even though I felt I could pedal faster! But I was also very conscious of the hefty insurance excess as every car seems to have scrapes and scratches along the sides. We found our new lodgings, unloaded our luggage and I set off in search of the parking garage as the limited street parking was for residents only.

At risk of sending you off to sleep, I am going to leave this here till the next time.

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