Cameron was off snowboarding in the Pyrenees with his school, which left Kate and me with a rare open week and a short flight’s worth of options. Malta won, mostly because neither of us had been there and someone had recently mentioned it on a call. It sounded good.
There’s also some amazing pre-Egyptian history on the island ā the megalithic temples here predate the pyramids by about a thousand years. We saw none of it, though we did hit a history museum, which was cool.
Valletta was our base of operations. Honey-colored limestone everywhere, narrow streets that funnel you toward the harbor whether you meant to go there or not, and plenty of cafĆ©s and wine bars tempting you at every turn. St. John’s Co-Cathedral is the showpiece. Caravaggio’s Beheading of Saint John the Baptist was a highlight. The floor is its own thing: hundreds of pietra dura tomb slabs for the Knights of Malta, inlaid in colored marble. Fun to spot a few Catalan references in there.
We rented a weird three-wheeled motorcycle for a day, which I’m sure has a proper name but felt mostly like a motorcycle and a quad had a brief, ugly relationship. Took it around Gozo, the separate island to the north. Caves, sea arches, the Blue Lagoon out at Comino, salt harvesting, and a small church at noon where the caretaker waved us over to ring the bell.
No agenda, no kids, no jet lag.
