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The village of Marsaxlokk

Destination: Malta

Brimming with history and postcard-perfect scenery, tiny Malta packs a big punch. Words and pictures by Tim Pile

If I had to design the perfect city, it would look something like Valletta.

The entire Maltese capital is a World Heritage site. It has almost the same population as Lamma Island and large parts of the centre are closed to traffic. Almost everyone speaks fluent English and there's little chance of get-ting lost - the diminutive city is about the size of Ocean Park.

Valletta's landmarks tell of a turbulent past. Ask for directions and the response will be peppered with references to ramparts and bastions, watchtowers and the Saluting Battery, Malta's own noon-day gun. Every sightseeing sortie eventually brings you back to Great Siege Square, which commemorates the spot where the Knights of St John held out against the Ottoman Turks in 1565.

Defiance and an unwillingness to capitulate are part of the Maltese DNA. During the second world war, the population was awarded Britain's George Cross in recognition of their struggle against Nazi Germany. It comes as a surprise, then, that instead of being aggressive, warmongering hotheads, the people I encounter are outgoing and extremely friendly.

The Blue Lagoon, off the Maltese island of Comino

A crown colony for more than 160 years, until independence in 1964, Malta retains remnants of its British past. Iconic red telephone and post boxes, three-pin plugs and branches of Marks and Spencer ensure that visitors from Britain feel at home. Driving is done on the left, which keeps tourists from mainland Europe on their toes.

I've decided not to hire a car. Roads are congested and the locals appear to have taken their driving lessons in nearby Sicily. The solution is a weekly bus pass, which, at €6.50 (HK$63), is cheap by any standards. On some days I make a beeline for the beaches; on others, fortified towns. It's even possible to spend a day visiting only places with an "X" in the name.

From the seaside settlement of Sliema, Bus No12 travels along Triq ix-Xatt, also known as The Strand, to leafy Ta' Xbiex. The affluent suburb is home to a cluster of foreign consulates housed in rambling colonial villas with sweeping views across Marsamxett Harbour. The best "X" of all, though, is the village of Marsaxlokk.

A competitor scrambles up a grease-covered pole during festivities in St Julian

Twenty minutes from the capital, I find myself lingering over a lazy lunch only a few metres from a flotilla of brightly painted fishing boats. Sunday is market day in Marsaxlokk, when tour groups descend to haggle for seafood and souvenirs that are marked up by 30 per cent. Come at any other time and it's a gem of a spot.

Small but perfectly formed Malta crams a lot in. Golden Bay describes itself succinctly; as does Mdina, which is Arabic for "walled town". Dusk is falling when I arrive and oblique shafts of sunlight illuminate the honey-coloured ramparts and narrow lanes. Holidaymakers have returned to their beach resorts and the ancient citadel echoes to the footsteps of well-heeled locals - property here costs more than almost anywhere else in the country.

With beaches in short supply, Malta is a "swim off the rocks" kind of place. This makes the Blue Lagoon on the neighbouring island of Comino even more special. Frosty white sands and luminous turquoise seas draw swimmers, snorkellers and sightseers by the boatload. Most are probably unaware that anyone actually lives here.

The tipsy town gets the party started

Comino has only four permanent residents - all from the same family - and rumour has it that one is an inventor. It's a baking hot day and only a fool would leave the translucent Mediterranean waters for the parched, straw-coloured interior, but how often do you get the chance to meet a real life "Doc" from ?

Salvu Vella is in his workshop, chatting to the village policeman (who actually lives on neighbouring Gozo) while he tinkers with an engine. He's responsible for the island's upkeep and if a gadget is required to make the job easier, Vella designs one. I notice that the area around his property is lush and green but the innovative handyman denies rigging up an undersoil irrigation system.

"We water the trees and shrubs when they're planted and after that they fend for themselves," the 62-year-old explains.

A street in the colourful Maltese capital

Plenty more questions are rattling around my head, such as why miniscule Comino needs a cop, but the boat to Gozo is waiting. I bid farewell and leave Vella to his own devices.

Malta's northernmost island has a stark, sun-baked beauty. Roads radiate out from Gozo's capital, Victoria, to unspoiled bays and drowsy Gozitan villages, where hurrying is probably illegal. Bus drivers stick to schedules but no one else bothers to. The lure of life in the slow lane is strong but it's time to up the tempo.

The Maltese calendar is crowded with feast days that combine religious observance with officially sanctioned binge drinking. I've planned my visit to coincide with festivities in the coastal resort of St Julian's, a short bus ride from Valletta.

At 10am a brass band strikes up in the main square and sets off around town, stopping at establishments that offer refreshments to the bandsmen. There are plenty of watering holes en route and the musicians do well to limit their alcoholic intake. The same can't be said for the entourage, who succeed in taking the pious out of the event.

Red telephone and post boxes in Valletta are a reminder of Malta's colonial past

Five hours later and significantly worse for wear, the oompah proces-sion weaves unsteadily to a halt outside the St Julian's Band Club. I head up to the roof for a bird's-eye view of the raucous spectacle and get chatting to Alex, who is a committee member. He concedes that other Maltese towns put on grander festivals but says none can beat St Julian's waterfront setting.

The fun and games continue into the evening. A large crowd gathers to watch competitors take turns to scramble up a long pole covered in grease in an attempt to grab strategically placed flags before plunging into the sea below. Balance, timing and a clear head are essential - it's a wonder, though, that anyone is sober enough to take part.

 

Lufthansa flies from Hong Kong to Frankfurt, and from the German hub to Valetta daily. Alternatively, Turkish Airlines flies from Hong Kong to Istanbul, and from there operates a daily service to the Maltese capital.

 

This article appeared in the South China Morning Post print edition as: The X factor
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