Needing a break from the stresses and strains of our everyday lives, we decided to jet off to Malta in the October half-term. Malta is situated in the Mediterranean, south of Sicily and a few hundred kilometres north of Libya. The end of October still saw Malta basking in sunlight worthy of a British summer, and not too hot and uncomfortable. The staff at the Museum of Archaeology in Valetta told me that most locals couldn't stand the mid-summer heat and that this time of year was when they felt the most comfortable.
Most of the other holiday-makers on the island were either German or British, oddly mirroring the opposing sides in the Second World War. Malta was an important strategic post and endured an unbelievable bombardment by the Luftwaffe, that made the London blitz seem relatively tame. For their heroism George VI awarded the entire island the George Cross (Britain's highest civillian honour). The plaque in Valetta on the bottom photo marks this.
The Maltese seem to be a very warm and welcoming people (to the Brits at any rate), but all bonhomie disappears when an islander is sitting behind the wheel of a motor vehicle. During our stay, we witnessed numerous acts of foolhardiness on the public highway, one crash and one rubber-burning near-miss. For this reason, as well as being cheap and, yes, kinda cute, we would say forget car hire and catch the yellow buses instead. Malta is fairly small by most people's standards, so you can get to where you want to go in next to no time. All the buses are leftovers from British public transport of the 50s and 60s and are lovingly cared for. Each cab will be festooned with various Catholic totems dangling from rear-view mirrors etc..
The top photo shows the square in Valetta that has become the hub of the island's bus activity, obscuring the Statue of Neptune in the process. The one place where public transport will let you down is on the island of Gozo, but more about that later.
