The Sleeping Beauty

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The engines roar. The small airport building which is made out of limestone passes by. Just a second later, the wheels of the aircraft lift off and this typical sound makes me sure that they are parked in the wheel house. I can see the aircraft’s shadow soaring over green fields, roads with cars and yellow busses and villages. Solar cells on rooftops in Qormi, Attard and Mosta reflect the warm and still friendly late autumn sun. Soon the harbour of Ċirkewwa is under us. One of the white-blue ferry boats is about to leave on its twenty-minutes-trip to Gozo and takes the last cars that want to ferry across the Maltese Channel. Comino, the smallest of the Maltese islands, is already prepared for winter sleep. Finally, we reach Victoria, the mayor city of Gozo, turn north and leave the Maltese archipelago behind, facing Sicily and the rest of Europe. Another ten minutes later, the last thing I see is Mount Etna greeting us before I fall asleep.

I have now been living on and off Malta for more than two years and I have to admit that at this time of the year, Malta is most beautiful, it is my Sleeping Beauty.

This tiny, but so lovely rock in the Mediteranian Sea finds the way back to itself. In these days, when the last crowds of tourists do leave slowely the island, beaches are conquered again by the Maltese. You find the little bars and restaurants at Golden Sands beach empty, the morning crew prepares a good English breakfast, you couldn’t find better anywhere in England. The guy in the open kitchen smiles at me. “Bonġu, alright? What a lovely day, veru? How do you like your eggs? Tomatoes, yes?” I tell him my wish (sunny side up it is this time, no tomatoes) turn, and enjoy the view over Golden Sands.

The sun touches every little sandcorn at the beach and turns it into a wonderful, warm and golden colour. I go down on my knees to touch the sand that looks to warm and friendly, but still it feels fresh and humid from the night. The nights in those days are clear. The sun goes down early and you can enjoy the moon with the stars early. When coming to the beach at night in this time of the year, the darkness really hugs you and take you to it’s own world. There is an emtpiness around you that you could never experience during summer when the island feels almost overcrowded. But now, in the silcence of the autumn, sitting here at the beach, watching the silver moon and feeling a cool, relaxing sand under your body, you touch the silence with your finger tips. The only one talking to you is the sea, arriving with it’s waves here and telling you stories from Africa, Spain or Greece.

I step out of the strand bar to feel the sand under my feet and sit down on the wooden stairs. The sun is lovely. It does not only touch the sand and tries to warm it up for - maybe - the last day of this year, but my skin as well. This autumn sun is not burning, is fondles my skin and feels like a silent, sweet kiss, which really makes me feel relaxed. The sea is blue and so the sky is as well, both having fun to show the people the most beautiful combinations of white and blue. Clouds in the sky do look like candyfloss with sharp lines and make the sky look like a jigsaw which is not completed yet.

Far away, on the other side of the beach, some kids try to errect a sand castle with a hugh ditch. Their father sits nearby and is listening to a radio programme about the soccer results in European leagues last night. The only higher and bigger castle at this beach is the newly build hotel. It triumphs majesticly over the whole scenery, but does not dominate it. With its sand coloured fluent fasade it gives almost the impression to be a part of the nature.

“Your breakfast is ready - enjoy!”, I hear from the back. It is the cook that smiles at me again and hold a plate with breakfast in his hand. I get my food and choose a table outside in the sand to sit down enjoy saussage, bacon and eggs. In the kitchen, I can hear the cock singing some Maltese folk; it could be an old Eurovision Song Contest song as well.

Later the day, on my way from Golden Sands Beach to Valletta, I pass by my nephew-in-law’s piece of land he got from one of his uncles. It is behind Siġġiewi, consits out of three units and some olive trees and has a breath-taking view towards Mdina, the old knight’s capital of Malta. I meet Fabian, my nephew, and his girl friend Abigail just in front of the field’s hut taking some coffee. The hut which is made out of simple limestone has two floors - and a name. “Ir-Razzett tar-Rubun” is written on a white painted peace of wood that seems to fall off every second. It means “the Tower of Rubun” which tells a lot about the story of the field; Rubun was my nephew’s grand father. I join them sitting in the sun. With sparkling eyes, he tells me about his plans with the field and the tower.

“Downstairs I can split the room into two parts, so in the back part I could install a bath room - and a kitchen and living room in the front. So upstairs”, he shows with his finger to the first floor, “upstairs could be the bed room.” I look at his girl friend. Abigail smiles at me and rolls her eyes. I ask him: “Fabian, tell me, do you have any water and electricity supply available here?” He negates with a shake of his head, but adds immediately: “No problem, it is already available in the road. Let me show you where I planned the pool, later.” He moves towards the other end of the field, giving me a hint that I should follow him. I look again at Abigail, she still smiles. “What vegetables and fruits did you plan to grow?”, I ask my nephew to come back to the sort of topic to expect to talk about when you visit one’s field. He mumbles about onions and peppers; it is obvious that he still thinks about the pool and his tower villa, so I do not continue asking.

Later, back in front of Rubun’s tower, we have a coffee. I look around. While in summer Malta is dry, sandy and brown, it changes so much after the first rain. As if all the seeds and bulbs just do wait for the moment when the rain comes, then it is an exalted, gushy explosion of green, reed, yellow, orange, pink and uncountable other colours one’s eyes can catch. Oleanders and rose mallows blossom again and bring a new happiness over the people. But Fabian still has a lot to do to make his piece of land an oasis of fruits and vegetables. For sure, he will manage.

In the afternoon I arrive in Valletta, which the Maltese call il-Belt (“the city”). I parked the car in Floriana and pass the island’s main bus terminus to enter the City through the main city gate to go down Republic Street. As it is beginning of December, the Christmas decoration is already installed. This includes loudspeakers as well and whole Republic Street is dipped in sweet Christmas music which appears a little bit strange as the outside temperature is still over 20°C this afternoon and gives you more the feeling of a warm cake that has just left the oven and is about to be glazed than anything else.

Looking down Republic Street the people are relaxed. Nobody is in hurry and the few tourists, usually wearing brown sandals with white socks, beige shorts and polo shirts with indefinable patterns, who normally dominate this scenery here, are not seen anymore. People meet here; they find time to have a chat and to exchange season’s greetings (in Maltese of course which is again the language that dominates the Island) and of course - like anywhere else in the world - the Christmas power shopping activities have started as well. I just need three things to buy and do it quickly as I am still not in the Christmas mood to stroll around and check this year’s Christmas marketing promises.

Finally I make my way to Upper Barakka Gardens, a lovely park behind the Prime Minister’s Office with a wonderful view over the harbour, The Three Cities and the Sea. It is easy to find a bench to sit down and relax, and I really enjoy the gentle touch of the sun and the discreet wind that plays a song from the time when the knights where here on Malta. I close my eyes, listen to the wind and immerse into a daydream which brings me back into the time of knights.

Suddenly I wake up. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we are in our approach to Frankfurt International Airport. We kindly request you…”, makes me aware that the lovely sunny autumn day was once again a dream. I look outside. It is already dark in Germany and the temperatures, I checked earlier this day, should not be over 5°C. The only thing left over from my dream is the sun that I can still feel on my skin and the taste of my breakfast bacon. I close my eyes again, smile and feel happy that I will be back with my Sleeping Beauty hopefully in a few days time.

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