Marathon-ing in Malta

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It was with a small amount of trepidation that I departed for Malta. On the one hand I'd be getting 4 days away from the drudgery of London in the Winter, and I'd heard good things about Malta in the Summer. On the other hand it wasn't Summer, I was going to be by myself, and the main reason for the trip was to run a half marathon for which I'd done bugger all training (Nothing unusual there!).

Upon arriving I found a multitude of first impressions awaiting me. It reminded me a bit of Spain, with that dry feeling in the air and an apparent love of similarly beige buildings. It was a bit like England too, with the same road signs, British tourists everywhere, and even ex-London buses being used (until quite recently the island was renowned for its funky bright coloured buses, but alas they have since been replaced!). The locals seemed to possess that passionate expressiveness that you only find in Italy. And it also had a hint of the Middle East, with similarities in the local alphabet and place names. None of this is surprising if you take into account its close vicinity to Italy and history of rule by English and Arabic conquerers, but it's still amazing to see a country's heritage so visibly intact.

The first day went pretty much as I'd dreaded. I walked around on my own, ate dinner on my own (albeit it being an amazing burger at a restaurant called Paparrazi, whilst overlooking the beautiful harbour of St Juliens), and skipped out on going clubbing on my own. I'd booked a room at Hotel Milano, right next to the harbour in Sliema, but instead of a room with a view I got one right in the middle of the hotel without any windows. Shithouse. I think the only person I really spoke to that day was the hotel attendant, who seemed nice enough and even invited me to join him for some drinks that night, though I must have just missed him later on. It was cool, I just took a slow walk around the coastline at dusk and convinced myself that it counted as marathon training, while doing my best to ignore the swarms of joggers engaged in real marathon training. Suckers. It was still 2 days away anyway.

The next morning I took a surprisingly long bus ride across the expansive island of Malta in order to make the crossing to Gozo, a smaller nearby island that reputedly houses the oldest standing structure in existence. Being enamoured with the achievements of the ancient Egyptians, my curiosity was piqued at hearing about someone that may have beaten them to the punch. While they were nothing compared to the Great Pyramids of Giza or Abu Simbel, the ruins of Gozo were nonetheless quite humbling to happen upon, especially when you consider that they are over 5,500 years old and still standing. I sure as hell can't envisage any tourists 5000 years in the future walking through even the sturdiest of modern buildings! I also must say, though Malta seems to be filled with wrinkly people, the younger locals I did bump into sure made up for the lack of eye candy. I flirted with the shop attendant on my way out of the ruins, and may have convinced her to visit New Zealand. (You can thank me if there's an influx of highly attractive females emmigrating to Aotearoa in the next few years!)

Gozo itself was a curiosity, and made me feel like I was a million miles from anywhere. Or like I'd stumbled into a retirement village after valium time. Back when Queen Victoria ruled the land, she decided to rename the capital of Gozo to Victoria. The locals didn't much like this though, and to this day they scowl if you don't refer to it by the old name of Rabat. But the best thing I found in Gozo was a bakery that sells a local delicacy called "pastizzi". Much like a small crusty pie, there was something extra special about it, and I was powerless to resist going back in for seconds! God, writing about this is making me seriously hungry. I'll be right back.



After a quick powernap back at the hotel I left to pick up my race pack for the next morning's marathon run. Earlier that day the nice hotel attendant from the day before had again invited me out for drinks, and despite having a half a marathon to run the next morning, I'd accepted (I love getting in with the locals and seeing all of their hangout spots!). But then out of the blue he appeared in the street in front of me, still in his work attire. He had been driving past, seen me, and stopped to talk. "Hi Clayton, I'm just wanting to apologise for being so forward earlier. I hope you don't take offense. I'm very sorry". Erm, right. I managed to convince him not to worry about it, while mentally noting that I would be having a quiet night after all. And locking my hotel door properly. Ridding myself of the questionably motivated attendant, I continued on for another hour looking for my stupid race pack that should have been right there. I only had half an hour before they closed, and without it I wouldn't be able to take part in the race, which would undermine my entire reason for being there alone in the first place. I was hungry and tired, it was starting to get dark, and I was starting to get pissed off. Why couldn't they give better instructions, and where the hell were all the other people with their race packs? And that's when I spotted a couple that looked just as lost as me. What a godsend. They had friends that had already retrieved their race-packs, so gave them a call for help and directed me to the cleverly concealed entrance of the sports store I was after. Sorted.

An early morning alarm later, and the time had come to put my lack of training to the test. The marathon started at Mdina, one of the higher points of the island which also happened to be a place I wanted to check out anyway. I walked around the nearby fort in an attempt to stay warm (and distract myself from the task ahead), and chanced upon my friends from the night before. Awesome, now I'd have running buddies! I wouldn't be short of them either; they were part of a team of 40 or so! The run was great, but gruelling - it was hard for me to believe I'd run a full marathon just a year before. That's what a year of letting go in London does to you I guess! I didn't quite get my sub 2 hour goal, but I wasn't unhappy with 2hrs 10mins, and the large blingy medal at the end made it all worth while. That's when I discovered one of the benefits of running a marathon in a foreign country: it's an instant "in" with the locals! Walking along the waterfront previously involved getting all sorts of sales pitches from hopeful vendors. Now, with my giant gold medal proudly around my neck, all I got was quiet nods of respect.

My legs were completely dead, but I had yet to see the ancient capital, Valletta, and it was my last day there. I had some walking to do. It was incredibly hard going - all I really wanted to do was lie on a beach somewhere! Being a Sunday the place was fairly dead, but the view from the city walls made it all worthwhile. The city itself was oozing that ancient Maltese charm, reminding me again of Spain & the Middle East, or even Mexico. If my legs were willing I would have wanted to explore everywhere.

That night I once again had the option of joining the now creepy hotel attendant, or having dinner with the 40 odd people I'd met at the run. They seemed a fun lot, and since I value my heterosexuality I decided against drinks with the hotel guy (he was quite persistent too, and even suggested we go bowling after my first refusal! He's only human I guess...). So there I was, once again at Paparazzi Restaurant in St Juliens Bay, with 40 strangers that had all gone to the marathon to support a teenage mental health society called Stem4. A few of the managers of Stem4 came up to me to ensure I hadn't just gatecrashed, but otherwise I felt like I was just part of the team! They were great company, and it was a brilliant end to what could have been quite a lonely trip. The downside? Amongst all the socialising I managed to miss the last bus back to my Hotel, and had an agonising 30 minutes walk instead. I wasn't a happy camper.

I'm not sure how much of a positive picture I've painted of Malta in this blog, but for the record the place really surprised me. I rate it quite highly, and could easily spend a lot more time there, especially in the Summer. Perhaps next time I'll go with some mates though!

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Photos

Early morning view from the hotel
waking up for my marathon run!

Ah, victory
and one very heavy medal!

Just arrived
The streets around Sliema

The Strand
With my hotel in the distance

A view from Paparazzi restaurant
In St Juliens Bay

A View Of Valletta
The capital city, just across the bay from my hotel

I'm on a boat
on the way to Gozo Island

Pjazza Indipendenza
Gozo Island main square