The Mediterranean is moody today. Dark and heaving about more than any bosom found on the cover of a trashy romance novel...for reasons I won't go into right now, my own mood is equally blue. So I cast back over the past few weeks to conjure up some of the magic I have felt...
Its funny how evocative music is...hearing a certain song can bring on a flood of emotion long buried or forgotten...joyfully hurtling by train through the countryside in Spain or lightly touching down after helicopter flight over grand canyon - both those moments were somewhat surreally accompanied with Louis Armstrong crooning "what a wonderful world" through sound system or flight headset at the time...and so I can't help but laugh/weep when as we climb a hill on the island of Gozo, i pick up the strains of that same song! Unlike the past two times, though, it's not the singular voice of Louis delivering the tune. Rather it is a sizeable sounding, heavy-to-the-brass band. Ian and I stop in our tracks and look at each other with consternation and amazement. The band is playing with considerably more enthusiasm than skill, but the tune is unmistakable - and so are the feelings that accompany it - a deep contentment and pure happiness at being out in the world. I love those moments - when everything stops and you are just so suddenly aware of the delight found in simply breathing...
We are drawn to the home that the music comes from. I desperately want to see inside and picture a crowd of older Maltese men, red faced and earnestly pounding out the tunes with dirge-like tempo and intensity. I think about the possible photos and yearn to capture them...but the windows are all opaque and we are forced to flee - literally - when the next tune - is it ABBA??!! begins and we can suppress our laughter no longer...
Gozo is only a 20 minute ferry ride from Malta but it has entirely different ambience...slower and even friendlier...it even smells different. Farming is the big 'industry' here and the island is justifiably famous for it's yummy honey (some drips from my toast on to my jammies every morn and I don't hesitate for even a second to lick it off - stop wincing Mom...) and peppered cheese. But really....where are all the cows?? For a place famous for cheese you don't see any cows in fields. Aside from the rare lamb, you don't see ANY animals grazing...but being ever resourceful, Ian helps himself to a Gozo guide from our lovely quaint guesthouse there and shares the secret - in the past, farmer's daughters (they exist!!) were highly valued and were resolutely kept under lock and key inside the family home until such time as they were deemed marriageable...At that point, the family would place pots of flowers in the window to signify that some lovely lass was inside and ready to be claimed for hopefully a good price...since then though, cows have become more valuable than young women and so the farmer's daughters are free to wander the streets and the cows are kept inside under lock and key! hahahaha. There is abit of truth to this story...arable land is too rare/valuable to graze livestock so the cows are raised in what they refer to as 'farms' here - really just enormous wall-less sheds...I subsequently see/smell a few on a hike - they are miserable affairs - the cows are crowded into pens where they are unable to escape their own dung and urine. ugh - some are compulsively biting the bars that contain them. Much as I love it, I think I have to abandon eating the Gozo cheese...I sure as heck hope the honey is produced by happy bees...
one of our missions in Gozo is to find what archaeologists surmise are cart tracks, deeply cut into the soft limestone in ancient times...so we set out after an enormous breakfast on first morn to find them...I say silent prayer of thanks for the weight of the eggs, sausage, croissants, java, - you get the picture - in my belly as we lean hard into the hurricane force winds buffeting the cliffs we traipse over...the wind really has pushed me off the top of one of the ubiquitous stone walls so I'm understandably abit reluctant to approach too closely the cliff edge. We range back and forth over the rocky landscape...it is holds an understated beauty - the wildflowers are just emerging and I marvel at their tenacity to exist where little to no soil does. Suddenly a shout from Ian. Cart tracks! we jump around like kids for a moment. Who were these people? What were they transporting that was heavy enough to carve tracks into the rock? Why do the tracks head - gulp - straight for cliff edge?? Some kind of early 'Thelma and Louis' scenario?? we delight in finding what we christen the 'first traffic circle' - an area criss crossed by many tracks...and take many photos...in effort to give some scale to what we are looking at, I stick my foot in one particularly well worn rut and get stuck...
we have one more mission on Gozo - to find propane for our tiny bbq tank...really - how hard can it be?? unlike home, gas stations dont sell propane we are told and we are directed to a hardware store...they are the only ones to sell propane we're told...(Maltese looooove giving directions - it's an entirely social occasion it seems. ask one person and soon a crowd gathers, cell phones emerge and everyone is shouting and pointing - in different directions. People even appear on their balconies to add to the good natured cacophony). we eventually find the hardware store....no no no - you can get gas from the local marine shop we are told there....at the marine shop??? we are told you can only get propane from the gas station!! hahahahaha.
turns out to be a language problem of sorts...gas stations are called petrol stations here and gas stations are not gas stations but bulk depots where you can get propane tanks refilled. There is one on Malta. One on Gozo. The one on Gozo where we now stand is closed but the owner will be back soon a neighbour assures us...so we settle in to wait. Soon a lineup forms around us. Are they waiting for propane man too?? nope they are lined up at the bakery across the street - a wonderful old wood fired place where a man and his son labour...the lineup continues to grow and we are the subject of scrutiny and frowns because we are parked in prime spot right outside bakery door and cars are beginning to clog street around us. and then it happens - a rush for the door and people begin to emerge with the spoils - "what we wait here for!" one woman happily assures me...so after an hour waiting we end up with the much sought after product - straight from the oven, chewy pretzel type creations, fragrant with aniseed...pure nirvana. and the propane? we never did get any...
but did emerge with some memories to dig out and smile over when things look abit black like they do today. I hope this day brings you something to smile over and that you are well and happy...
with much love,
deli
