Before I left New Zealand for Europe, the manager of my
apartment emailed to say she had arranged a complimentary taxi to collect me at
Malta airport – Manuel would be waiting for me in the baggage area. I thought
this extremely kind, and Manuel proved to be obliging and knowledgeable. I was,
no doubt, a slight disappointment, as I had to tell him I had no mobile phone
and so could not call him when I wanted transport around the island. He took
this in good spirit, however, and told me about the bus passes.
At the apartments there was a prominent sign requesting that
we use a particular restaurant when dining out – we would be given a 10%
discount – and so I resolved to go there at least once. I also asked the
manager where I might find a portrait photographer in Valletta. (My author profile on Amazon and on the NZ Society
of Authors website had no photo, and friends had pointed out that this was not
good for someone who was trying to promote their first novel.) The manager said
she would check with the photographer who’d done publicity shots for the
apartments; he lived in another town, but might he able to come to me – the
limestone walls in my apartment would provide a good backdrop. Next morning,
she reported that he, regretfully, was unavailable. Another resident overheard
our conversation and called out, “There’s a photographer in South Street.” “Ah,”
the manager said. “You’ll be able to go there when you go to the restaurant.”
I saw no photographic studio in South Street, but I did find
the restaurant. I ate a dish of Maltese rabbit stew, paid the bill, and was
heading out the door when I thought to ask a waiter,
The studio was the little passport place I had walked right past. The photographer did a busy trade. A man was collecting photographs of himself with the Archbishop of Malta. A woman looking at proofs asked my opinion as to which was the best; she had given a sizeable donation to a charity championed by the President of Malta, and was astonished and honoured to be invited to a reception and to be photographed with the President.
The photographer sat me on the stool he uses for passport
photos, asked me to look slightly over my left shoulder, and gave me permission
to smile; he took two photos, displayed them on his computer, and gave his
opinion as to which was best; I paid the modest fee, and the two photographs
were emailed to me later that day. This is the one I did not use for my author
page:
On my last full day in Malta, I attended the morning service
at St Andrew’s Scots
Church which is a union of Valletta’s Church of Scotland and
Methodist congregations. The service was more evangelical than what I’m used to
at my church in Wellington, but I enjoyed the opportunity to sing five hymns
plus the doxology. (This was the first singing I had done since I left New Zealand –
I'd had good intentions to do “fire engine siren” exercises each morning, but
did not manage to keep this up).
At the fellowship time afterwards, a Scandinavian couple invited me to lunch along
with a Canadian couple and a new Valletta resident who lived previously in Italy. We caught the ferry across the bay to Sliema, and spent a
delightful three hours eating lunch on the balcony of their apartment and
chatting about many things. Impromptu invitations to lunch after church are not
so common nowadays.
I explained to the
others why I had come to Malta, and the Canadian woman said that Bill would not
recognise the place because so much is new – the Sliema suburb, for instance, did not exist in 1950. “But
on second thoughts,” she added, “old Valletta has not changed greatly.”
Over lunch we talked
about the forthcoming elections in Malta (3 June 2017), which were arousing
strong feelings. We also talked about
local medical services, and the others recommended to the new Malta resident an excellent
chiropractor – he was so popular that special know-how was needed to get through
to him on his phone.
This blog post is by Ann Barrie
