Malta 4 - encounters – tell Mario I sent you

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, “Do you happen to know of a photographic studio in this street?” “Yes, yes, it’s on that corner. Tell Mario I sent you.” 

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.” She asked me if I was familiar with the works of Nicholas Monserrat, and I said I had read The Cruel Sea twice through when I was writing my novel Deserter. She told me that Monserrat lived in Malta for many years and wrote a novel set here: The Kappillan of Malta.

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.

In the picture below, I am showing my Malta photos to a French friend in a bistro in Paris. Behind the banquette on which we are seated is a traditional shelf where we were able to place our bags while we dined. 

This blog post is by Ann Barrie