Malta: a rocky start
On a bus between Valletta and the ferry to Gozo, Jake saw a man in a field. He had a wheelbarrow. He was picking up rocks, moving them to the edge to build another wall. Among centuries of walls on Malta. Rubble walls are ubiquitous and strong. Each rock is locked in place with skill instead of mortar, built where walls are needed, or in between to absorb more rocks.
It was a Maltese farmer trying to clear a field who found the oldest temple in the world. He found rocks that couldn’t be cleared: megalithic rocks decorated with spirals and pocked patterns buried under centuries of soil. The Ghantija Temple on Gozo, Malta’s second island, was built in 3600 BC, a thousand years before the pyramids of Egypt. Excavations began, and that farmer had to find another field.
Centuries of life and war have piled rocks on the rocks of Malta. Forts and churches merge with the ground. It’s monochromatic. By way of contrast, I think of Mexico, its cheerful pastels and multi-colored walls. Not here. Malta’s stark and fortified, in shades of sand, beige, and brown.
It’s a tiny fortified country with a fighting history. Positioned as it is between Sicily, Tunisia, Greece, and Libya, Malta has defended itself. Its barricades are extensions of its cliffs.
Some things I’ve heard of make sense now. A Maltese cross has eight points standing for the eight obligations of the Order of St. John, the Maltese Knights who took possession of the islands in 1530… and for the eight language groups they came from.
The Maltese falcon.
The Order of St. John paid an annual honorarium of one falcon per year to the monarchs of Sicily in exchange for the islands. A gold falcon stands in the cathedral they built in the city of Valletta.
The landscape is single-hued, but spots of color bloom forth.
Window casements…
and boats…
the flags that fly…
festivals…
sunrises and sunsets.
And then, there’s a fondness for park benches. They line walls and railings overlooking the sea, empty through the heat of the day. But at night folks gather. Two or three to a bench, surrounded by chairs they’ve brought and unfolded, a circle of family or friends, all facing center, perhaps toward a feast. Drinking, talking, laughing as a breeze comes up and it cools.
We’re here in the dry months, late summer. They say spring brings a blanket of flowers: giant fennel, wild thyme, heather, and spurge. I’d like to see them against the rocks of Malta.
