into
Maltese Lira, assembled my bike and pedaled optimistically into the countryside.
They drive on the left which didn't cause me much trouble but the heavy reliance
on roundabouts (traffic circles) made for tough cycling. Timidly at first, I
followed signs toward Valleta, the capital, and at times I got stuck at a circle
waiting for the opening that never came. After a while I learned to ride more
assertively, which takes courage or foolhardiness when you have no armor. Eventually I
suspected I was close to Valleta and asked an
older couple out walking for directions. They pointed the way and I pedaled up a
big hill, with dozens of cars and found my way to the Castille Hotel. I made the reservations
on the Internet to give myself the luxury of a guaranteed destination. The hotel
sits at the top of a hill just inside the great ditch and next to the Auberge de
Castille. The Auberge was home to some of the
Knights of St. John but now serves the Maltese prime minister. At the hotel a gracious desk
clerk signed me up for a room on the third floor (they call it the second floor)
with its own enclosed balcony
hanging out over Triq San Pawl (St. Paul Street) and just across from the
Auberge. The picture on the right shows the view from my room which had an
enclosed balconies like those in the picture. I dropped my gear and took off to explore Valleta, begun in 1566 by the
Grand Master of the Knights of St. John following a successful resistance of the
Turks during the Great Siege. I read a book about the siege by Ernle Bradford on the plane and
enjoyed the sense of being somewhere I had read about at length. My hotel sat on what was uninhabited Mt. Sciberras where the Turks
set up cannons to attack Fort St. Elmo at the end of the peninsular. Cars line the narrow streets of Valletta, the entire city a UNESCO heritage site. Some streets turn into
steps
down the steep hillsides. The main street, Republic Street, runs down the middle
of the peninsular and is only for pedestrians who walk in large numbers under
abundant Christmas decorations. Getting around Valleta challenges a bike rider
due to narrow passages, steps, one-way streets and hills. It's difficult to stop
or get out of the way when a car comes as the little cars are parked bumper
to bumper. I enjoyed a great view of Ricasoli Fort as the afternoon was fading
to a halt. My day ended abruptly as the spurt of energy that revived me
when I arrived now gave way to the reality that I had not slept more than two
restless hours in the last 30. Breakfast came with my room and was served on 7th floor penthouse with a terrific view of Grand Harbor and Fort San Angelo. After breakfast I succeeded in tourist
errands like a post card for Earl, an adapter for my computer to plug in the
socket, cash from the ATM and a map of Malta. Then I toured upper Barraka
Gardens, a lovely spot with gardens and benches overlooking Grand Harbor. I also
enjoyed a view of an arch and tunnel somewhere
underneath where I stood. In this picture you can see one of the beloved English
red phone booths discarded in London but still in use in Malta. When I checked
out the clerk said "We will see you Friday" which was a nice personal
touch. 
My first full day on Malta consisted of riding north along the coast the the Coastline Hotel where I would stay for two days and attend a Christmas party and dinner I had
been
invited to by new friends. The next town north of Valleta is Sliema
with a long waterfront, busy marina and abundance of shops and restaurants.
Going along the waterfront on a series of points I arrived at Spinola bay in St.
Julians. This appealing spot has lovely lovely restaurants, lots of outdoor
tables, benches, colorful boats and the general appeal I hoped to find in a
Mediterranean seaside city. It remains my favorite picture of Malta. Eventually
I left the congested area and crested a hill showing me an expanse
of land to the north. I was on the road again. Soon I came to Salina Bay
where I checked into the modern but comfortable Hotel Coastline
with its view of Qawra across the bay.
After a nap I took off and road up the side of a ridge to Mosta where I had a
view of the valley behind me. Huge quarries
abound in Malta and I found one close to the cities of Mosta and Naxxar. I rode
past two quarries and discovered a delightful track of a mountain bike road that led
me down the steep hillside and through the
farmland carefully lined with rocks. I explored the beach community of Bugibba
and went "home" to get ready for the party. There, I met a fellow who
grew up in Madison, Maine: which is about 15 miles from New Vineyard, Maine
where I spent my first 18 years and last ten summers.
I started my second full day on Malta with the old capital of Mdina as my destination climbing the same hill to Mosta that I scaled yesterday. This time I veered to the west and rode through a nice valley with the castle-like city of Mdina in front of me luring me on all the way
from Mosta. As I climbed the road and got near the top I heard a truck behind me
and decided to give it a break by pulling over into an opening in the wall. As it passed me, a weathered brown face leaned
out the window and gave me a friendly wave and smile. Out side of the walls the
city is called Rabat and is a crowded little place with some grand architecture.
Cars, other than those belonging to residents, cannot enter the old city but
that didn’t seem to apply to a bike. I rode through the streets, barely a car
wide and narrower ones not even that wide. I enjoyed a great view of the countryside
I had just come through including the hill in the distance that sits next to the
Coastline Hotel where I’m staying. Further to the west I saw an attractive bridge
on a country road. I met a couple from Germany who took my picture in an
immaculate alley. 
After my tour of the walled city I stopped for coffee at an attractive restaurant right
on
the square. Sheltered from the wind and warm it provided a nice break while I
planned my next excursion. I wound my way through Rabat and rode west to Dingli,
which had a pretty church. These street signs from
Dingli typify the Malti wording on the signs and many have quite an artistic
quality to them. Triq means street sometimes you can guess the English name. For
example Triq ir-Repubblika is Republic Street, but Triq I-Ifran bears no resemblance
to Old Bakery Street. These two signs clearly exemplify the latter. I
continued down to the Dingli Cliffs
high above the sea. Most of the time I could see farmland down below but no
indication as to how they got there. 
At that point the fierce wind forced me back into my windbreaker. I chatted briefly with a woman from Ireland who was on a solo walk. Potholes filled the road which consisted of tarmac patches upon patches. An occasional truck passed by making quite a racket on the bumps. Mostly the road was devoid of cars or people, just the wind kept me company. I wound around some curves past a big quarry and down hill only to turn back to Mdina for another climb and then lunch. Despite its prime location next to the walled city and with a grand view, Il Verduta restaurant served the most economical meal I had enjoyed so far. Noise from a table of some twenty young women echoed off the masonry walls of the building but didn’t bother my meal: their high spirits seemed appropriate.
I left deciding this time to go north along the coast on what looked like small roads. Small hardly describes them. First they were the patchwork tarmac of Dingli
winding
through rock walls with just enough of them to be confusing due to only rare
signs and those there were referring to places not on my map. The rock walls are
built when farmers pick up the rocks to create little patches of farmland
surrounded by walls of rock as in this picture
from Naxarr. Some are amazingly well built with a simple beauty and no cement.
Eventually I reached what appeared to be a dead-end but saw a steep
something that might have been a driveway
dropping off to my left. I used my binoculars to try to see if I could see where
it went. I decided to push on practicing my apology in case it was a driveway.
After a while I came a across a man trying to fix a tiller. I asked if I could
go on this road meaning may I but he answered that he’d someone do it on a
motorcycle suggesting I could. I decided to go ahead and found myself on
something I couldn’t follow and reached a dead end. On the way back I saw the
turn I could have taken and followed this jeep track to a huge drop off.
I could see where motorcycles had made deep gouges in the wet dirt so I went
very slowly and managed to stay in control. Eventually I came out to a typically
narrow but maintained road that led me to the
village of Mgarr. I felt pretty excited about
having gone where few have. On my way past Ghain Tuffiena to St. Paul’s Bay a
bike racer 
passed
me, the third I’d seen. Colorful boats bobbed in the water of St. Paul’s
Bay. I took a detour to Bugibba to look for an Internet café and that cost me
because it started to rain and I had to come back to my fancy hotel wet. In Bugibba I saw some inviting restaurants and a really attractive truck
selling fruits and candy.
Sunday, as the name suggests, the sun came back out and I made the most of it despite a strong wind. I pedaled south intending to start east and work my way south and west but ended up southwest by the airport so just kept going. I got on a divided access road looking carefully but not seeing any signs prohibiting bikes or pedestrians. Still I wondered if I was breaking a rule. With a wide shoulder it was more comfortable than many of the surface streets. Then a pack of about six bike racers passed me. I saw several other groups and single riders on the first part of my ride.
Otherwise bikes are rare here. That seems a pity considering the small
distances, mild climate and many people who don't own cars. As I passed around the south end of the airport I saw an inviting road one car wide
and
lined with rock walls. The sign said Safi 3 km so I took it not knowing where
I'd end up. It turned out to be a delightful ride that took me to a small town
with a windmill. From there I pedaled through Zurrieq and downto the water where I
rode down a steep hill to a couple of restaurants directed at tourists coming to
take boat rides to the blue grotto, a natural arch carved by the sea. I stopped
for tea and a ham and cheese baguette and just enjoyed the pretty spot. I then
pedaled back up the long descent and found my way to a place where I could view
the blue grotto. After riding along the coast for a while and enjoying views of
the cliffs and surf, I headed back to Zurrieq to
see if I could find a back road shown on my map. I asked a farmer who I don't
think spoke much English. He told me to go and grabbed his right arm. "Not
first" grabbing the arm, "next"
grabbing again. Strangely, the directions worked and I needed them as the so
called road was more like a rough path barely wide enough for a car. His
directions reassured me that I wasn't going someplace I shouldn't. The road
snaked around dozens of little gardens surrounded by rocks. I began to feel a
long way from the urban press of Valetta and Sliema where I had spent most of
the past two days surrounded by cars. Eventually, after several slow, steep
descents on bad road and some good climbs I passed an unused airport. Well, unused
by planes. Much of it seemed 
converted
to warehouses etc but in one section I could hear people racing cars. Around a
few corners and I ended up at a huge container facility in Marsaxlokk Bay. In my
book about the siege the Turkish fleet landed here. Now the Chinese are the
invaders as evidenced by the name China Shipping on the containers. I read
recently in the New York Times that some economists predict that China will
overtake the U. S. as the world's largest economy. I stopped in Birzebbuga
for a lunch of chicken kebab served on the waterfront by a waitress from
Slovenia who thought 
Bush
needs to learn to cooperate with the rest of the world. Refreshed and ready to
again confront the wind and hills I rode by St.
George bay with the Delimira penisular in the back ground and then up a hill
providing me a nice view of Birzebbuga. 
Next I pedaled into the delightful town of Marsaxlokk with a beautiful harbor of brilliant blue water and colorful boats. On the water front lots of boats were on dry land presumably because they don't go out this time of year. I had seen some rough surf and read that one reason the Turks gave up the siege of Malta was fear of sailing home after the winter weather arrived. In the midst of all those boats they had a thriving outdoor market displaying everything from fish to thongs. People of all ages packed the whole downtown/waterfront area with
sidewalk cafes full and every market stall seemingly busy. The perfect weather gave
the whole place a wonderful festive atmosphere. I hated to leave but just had to
ride out the lonely road to the Delimara peninsular
and Peter's Pool, a popular swimming hole
but not this time of year. Out past the swimming area I saw a flotilla of ships
taking advantage of diminished winds on the lee side of the island. From a high
point I got a nice view looking back at Marsaxlokk,
as pretty for afar as it is up close. By then time had come for me to head into
the wind for the last ten miles back to my hotel. 
I had moved to cheaper lodgings more in line with my philosophy and budget and had been put in a tiny space with only a view of an air shaft. However, when I left in
the
morning I mentioned that the toilet had ceased working. I returned to find that
I had been moved to an ocean view room for no extra cost. Little things mean a
lot to a budget traveler and I really enjoyed watching the surf kicked up by the
wind that had been pushing me around all day. I went to the place next door to
use the Internet and it turned out to be packed with unruly teenagers, loud
music and pool players who seemed to consider me an interloper. Ducking cue
sticks I sent a few e-mails and checked the weather. It called for rain maybe
trailing off in the afternoon. That dismal forecast took some of the expectation
our of my plan to move the next day to Gozo. I spent the evening securing all my
gear in plastic bags and anything I could find to keep it dry. I also planned
clothes that, wouldn't keep me dry but hopefully would keep me warm. Click on Gozo for
continuation.