1) I had expected to take the metro to the airport, but when I flung wide the curtains of my southwest-facing ninth-floor room, the sky was swept with stormy grey that threw the hills surrounding Barcelona into sharp relief. Only five minutes later they were gone — torrents of rain. So it had to be a taxi.
2) The cab ride turned out to be a mild sort of urban terror. Aside from blinding rain, driving through a couple flooded intersections*, and the kind of speed that promotes hydroplaning, the air in the taxi was full of the rings of smartphones and speaker dialogue the cabby was having with an unusual number of callers. He had three phones going! I finally realized that he wasn’t only a cabby, but also the dispatcher. As I’ve said before, multitasking is overrated.
3) Safely at the airport, check-in couldn’t have been smoother. The terminal included an unusually large number of children traveling with their parents. Gates aren’t assigned at BCN until about an hour before flight time — curious. But my air travel was the best kind, uneventful.
4) My excellent travel agent friend Tim planned the Maltese leg of my trip, so outside Customs, I was met by a driver and the rep from the local travel agency. I am more used to hauling my luggage off to the subway, but a) there are no subways in Malta, and b) my destination was two taxis and a ferry away, so I was grateful to be guided. This also gave me the pleasure of learning more about the island from the cabby, a loquacious native Maltese gentleman. We talked about the construction boom, limestone walls along the roadways, Maltese history, local strawberries (quite rare, and coveted by the locals), Lord and Lady Louis Mountbatten, and water conservation. Turns out most of Malta’s water comes from desalination plants.
4a) Often during this drive I thought how the colors of the landscape — dark green, brown, and a bleached-gold cream — were like the colors of Southwest Louisiana on sunny winter days, but in different proportion. Here the predominant color is cream from all the local limestone; the green and brown of vegetation (including a lot of cactus) are almost incidental. Back at home, the dark green of the pine tree takes the honors..
5) Cabby One dropped me at the ferry terminal for the ferry to Gozo, an uneventful journey except for the views of the cliffs of Gozo. Cabby Two met me, a friendly young Gozitan lady whose young son was in the front passenger seat. We also gave a lift to an elegant British lady, just off the plane from Geneva and trying to get to her house in Victoria, the Gozo capitol. We had a very friendly chat!
6) Phil Harris refers to “the nice little hotel that fit our budget” in The High and the Mighty, and I am delighted with mine in Marsalforn, the beach village where I’m staying a few days. Steps away from a beach bay ringed by restaurants and hotels, unpretentious, clean, and comfortable. And my goodness, after a month of beds made with thick duvets (in August heat!) I have a bed made with just a sheet over me. Perfection.
7) Cabby Two had recommended the restaurant closest to the hotel, Il Kartell, and I had a lovely dinner there: rabbit pasta (rabbit seems to be a prominent part of the local diet), “classic” chicken and cheese, and a bottle of local chardonnay. Cabby One told me that many Maltese wineries import their grapes — there’s so little rain here — but he gave me names of wines made with grapes grown on the island, and I’ve forgotten them already.
8) Speaking of rain, it did rain a bit during my bayside dinner. On Malta, I take that as a good omen.
With the little bay of Marsalforn behind me after dinner.
*This reminded me so much of when Lake Charles flooded during my teenage years.