Admit it. You have no idea where Malta is or even what it is. The words Maltese Falcon may ring a bell faintly, but that’s about it, and that puts you right in there with the rest of the world. I was pretty sure that it wasn’t associated with the wonderful British candy Malt Teasers, nor was it related to that great novel and film noir, The Maltese Falcon. That’s one of the reasons I selected this cruise. I had never been there. Not only had I never been there, I had only a vague notion of where it was. Nor had I ever been to Ephesus, Sicily, or Cyprus, which all were on the itinerary. And given the fact that I’m approaching or have already reached the two minute drill of my traveling life… it was too good of an opportunity to pass up.
First, a few facts. Malta is an island/archipelago nation which lies on the edge of the eastern Mediterranean Sea about fifty miles south of the southern tip of Italy and 175 miles east of Tunisia. There are some 475,000 souls crowded onto a relatively small spit of land. Indeed, it is the smallest (and most densely populated country in the European Union). It appears to be very popular for Europeans seeking sunshine in early spring, especially the Brits who ruled the place with a colonial hand from 1814 to 1964. The English were only one in a long series of conquerors that mainly used the place as a staging area for other adventures. As a consequence, the Maltese people drive on the left, have roundabouts, and speak English as one of the official languages; the other being Maltese. Maltese is one of the few languages alive today that is spoken only in it’s country of origin. I couldn’t make heads or tails of it, although I was told that it has “borrowed” vocabulary from the Arabs, French, Greek, Italian, and English. All I can tell you for sure is that the written version of the language has lots of dots and dashes in it. No, I never got a clear explanation of what purpose they served.
There are no buried treasures in Malta, at least as far as I know, and there are also no trees. I suspect the treasures, if there ever were any, have long ago been dug up and carted off by some foreign adventurers. And as for the trees, I dunno where they went. They certainly didn’t use them to build houses. Let me start there on my observations of Malta. The houses. They all looked exactly alike. Yes, some were old and some were new(er), but that’s about it. And I’m sure that they made their owners proud, but let me tell you, if you came home one night after a few too many at the local boozerie, you would run a good chance of surprising one of your neighbors by tip-toeing up to his front door, instead of your own. After all, they are likely to look exactly alike. Not only are the houses all of a rectilinear design and construction, they are all the same color… a kind of sandstone tan/brown. I think it’s called ocher. Not just one of them, but every. single. one. And if you were thinking of a small patch of grass, don’t. Nary a blade to be found.
Okay. I’ve gotten the worst out of the way. Well, not really. I’m still steamed about the tour I foolishly signed up for which included a big church, a jewelry store and an “old town” of rundown, ocher, rectilinear buildings where they were hawking tourist trinkets. That’s pretty much it. Memo to self. Never, ever go on a bus tour of anything. Never.
There are, of course, some good things about Malta. For example, it’s the only country that accepted Jewish immigrants during the course of WWII. No one has a good explanation for this, but it’s true. They were bombed relentlessly and remorselessly by Germany, decimating pretty much every structure in the country, but they still made it. And today, they have full employment. Yes, I said full employment. They are attempting to import labor to build even more of the ocher, rectilinear buildings and harvest the olives. Oh, I didn’t tell you. They have the best olives in the world. I have that first hand from the guide that took us to the jewelry store. Of course, we were also told that by guides at every other stop in the Med. They all speak English except for the imported labor – one of the legacies of being occupied by the Brits for 150 years. Now the Brits are invading again, disguised as tourists taking in the sun on the small pebbled beaches and quaffing giant portions of lager to wash down the faux bangers and mash from the faux, ocher, rectilinear pubs.
BTW, I forgot to tell you that Malta was a pretty important place at the time of the Crusades, as one of the Crusaders HQ’s was Valetta, the capital of Malta. In fact, the Order of St.John, otherwise known as the Knights of Malta, whose predecessor organization was the Knights Hospitaller, ran the place for a few years. You got it straight now? Suffice it to say there was plenty of fighting over this small patch of land…the Crusaders, the Turks, the Sicilians, the French, the Brits. Sadly, it goes on and on until the Luftwaffe tried their best to bomb them flat. In spite of all that, Malta is now recognized in a recent United Nations report as the 48th happiest country in the world. Go figure. Now you know as much about Malta as I do, which is more than most would care to know.
As to The Maltese Falcon, the novel by Dashiell Hammett, it has absolutely nothing to do with Malta. It did however introduce one of the most iconically named detectives in all of literature… Sam Spade, who in the 1941 film version was played by Humphrey Bogart and supported by an all-star cast of Mary Astor, Peter Lorre and Sydney Greenstreet. Hmm. I’ll do a deep dive into Netflix tonight.
