Our final day in Malta was set to be just that - a day! We had booked the late flight out, which meant that there was no mad rush to the airport, instead an easy breakfast, and a jaunt down to our first stop.
Laura and I headed to the centre of the island to visit the Mosta Dome on a recommendation. During the Second World War, a bomb crashed through the roof of this 17th Century cathedral during a Mass. Miraculously though, the bomb failed to detonate, and to this day the church holds a replica of the warhead at the altar.
Being Sunday with a super busy service going on, and it being too hot to wear appropriate 'cathedral attire' we opted to just take in the building from the outside. It is capped with the world's third largest unsupported dome (at least according to the locals!). Nevertheless it is a stunning piece of architecture.
Whilst we were gazing on the building we heard a large bang, followed by another, and another. Now the state of the world being a bit on edge at the moment large explosion sounds trigger an immediate 'check-our-surroundings-and-make-sure-everything-is-okay' action. In this case it was just some fireworks being let of in the middle of the street a hundred metres up the way. Odd.
We decided that was a good moment to head back to the car. However as we were walking back more and more fireworks started going off. Then cars all started tooting. People ran past donning Maltese red and white, whilst blasting air horns and waving flags. Within the space of about thirty seconds it seamed the supporters of every sports match in history had piled out onto the streets. Everyone was a mix of jubilant madness or ecstatic joy. Had Malta just won something? A war? What's going on?
As a van raced past with Chinese New Year exploding violently out of the open back doors, the ever vigilant Laura noticed something. The flag that these people were waving weren't that of the country, but that of the Maltese Labour Party. It was voting day!
Now just to try and express how strange this is, imagine a Toyota Carolla screaming down Great North Road, with people hanging out of the boot and sitting on the roof, blasting air horns in time with the tooting, waving National Party 'Vote For John Key' flags. That's never going to happen. And furthermore, this wasn't even the results day, this was just Voting Day!
On the motorway ninety percent of the vehicles were decked out with flags and banners, tooting and blasting music. There were people surfing on the roofs of cars. The Police were having just as good a time. It was madness. These people were so excited they were willing to potentially risk their lives to show it. I guess they must really love democracy!
Anyway, this carnage continued for the rest of they day, so as I continue on with my tale, just picture the above happening in the background.
Oh, and spoiler alert - the Labour Party won.
Boats in a hard to pronounce town...
Our main stop for the day was in the final corner of the country we hadn't been to yet, the south. The small fishing village of Marsaxlokk was top of Laura's list, and for good reason. The harbour is full of colourful, tiny fishing boats, reflected in the bright blue water, giving the effect of thousands of tiny rainbows bobbing up and down. The entire waterfront held market stalls, mainly crappy tourist-wares, but there were also some genuine local fish and produce dealers. As the church bells incessantly rang, we wandered to the end of the piers and back. Enjoying the lapping of the gentle water, weaving through the market stalls, before finding the stall that sold goodies and booze!
The local specialty alcohol is a cactus liqueur which we couldn't not buy. It would also have been rude to refuse the samples of local nougat, baklava, and fudge-esque treats.
It was getting hot so we grabbed ourselves an iceblock (mine was shaped like a foot. Think Bubble O Bill, but a foot) and sat atop a wall overlooking the entire little harbour. It was one of those moments that seems to go on forever, nothing else mattered in the world apart from sitting then and there watching the world go by. That and my foot iceblock.
Our final destination before we were to head to the airport was St Peter's Pool. This is not too far from Marsaxlokk, down a series of progressively narrower roads that will inevitably result in a a game of 'who's going to reverse until they find somewhere we can pass'. At the end of the road is a little guys paddock, pay him €4 and your car can stay. From there you scramble down form the top of the cliff at what can only be described as paradise. St Peter's Pool itself is a small cove set about 5m below a rocky shelf that at it's widest point provides about 20m of sun bathing room. The cove swings around in a perfect U shape, and at either end the shelf dips down and touches the water. For the more adventurous you can jump from the bottom of the U, the highest point, whilst everyone else watches and cheers you on. It was busy, I won't lie, but with half the people in the water it never felt crowded, and there are a few spots that you can only get to by swimming so it is still possible to get away from other people.
The water was an intense blue that contrasted against the white of the cliffs. A yacht bobbed up and down in the calm waters. Colourful people hitting the water was the predominant noise, and only thing that disturbed the blue glasslike ocean. The sun was out in full with not a single cloud to damped spirits. We swam, and jumped, and played, and sun bathed in what we thought would be our last swim in Malta.
However, upon realising that the day had progressed slower that anticipated we decided to head back to the Blue Grotto for an ice cream, thus completing our circumnavigation of the island. We were too hot not to swim at that point, so we had our final plunge there, the perfect bookending to a perfect trip.
(that is apart of the mad confusion and rush of trying to find and ATM or a petrol station as our checkin time loomed nearer and we desperately needed to drop off the rental car. But that's a story for another time)
