FrankingWorldTraveller

Malta
09/28/2013

It is hard to pick a departure point to begin an entry about Malta. The tour books begin, “7000 years ago, Malta….” With a history beginning before history was recorded, it is a daunting task to try to capture in a paragraph anything meaningful and not totally distorted about a country with such a long chronicled past. So I will leave it to you, gentle reader, to look it up yourself to the extent that you have interest. But in the tiniest possible nutshell, it looks something like this:
7000-1800 B.C. – Prehistory. Some humanoid form settled here, built temples with pretty elaborate engravings (before the bronze age, thus, using other stones to carve stones). These temples were built in honor of Gods unknown, or to people unknown, and the people who built them seem to have up and skedaddled around 1800 B.C. to parts unknown. That’s the coolest thing in the world to me, having walked around two of these temples. They are pretty amazing in their construction, given that they were built before humans were assumed to be able to do more than grunt, point and reproduce.

That they are a mystery fascinates me. I’m sure some scientists have a pretty good idea about who they were, where they went, but they disagree to the point that MYSTERY is still the published answer to “Who built these temples (hospitals? museums? strip clubs?) and for what purpose?”
They are the temples of Hagar Qim and Mnajdra. Here is what they looked like.

800 B.C.- 60 A.D- The Phoenicians and Romans and Carthaginians.
zzzzzz. Enough said- Google it. Lots of ruins, etc. that I didn’t have time to visit. Except for the city of Mdina- gorgeous old Roman era town, some photo below. Water management was a Roman thing (aqueducts) whose importance can’t be overstressed. Water, it’s what’s for drinking.
60 A.D.- big year for future tourism because St Paul, the fisherman apostle, was shipwrecked on Malta during this time (read Acts (it is in the Bible)) and manage in a few short months to convert the whole island to Christianity, to which it still clings, or at least, about 85% of the population does. Here is the cave where he was believed to have stayed, in Rabat, called St. Paul’s grotto.

400 A.D.- 650 A.D. more Roman and this time Byzantine domination.
870 A.D.- The Arabs conqured Malta. Soe architecture remains, but the mose evident remains of Arab domination is in the Maltese language, which is written in Arabic letters, but the words sound well, Arabic. It sounds more like you are in Jordan than Sicily, just 60 miles away.
1090- Arab domination ended with Roger the Norman’s conquest of the Arabs and delivery of Malta to its people. Various noble families ruled and Malta was attacked won and lost again by pirates, etc.
1530- Knights of St. John- made the Maltese cross. Ruled and built and generally left the island nation in great shape, plump for picking by Pirates…
1565- The great Siege- get a book…
1566- Foundation of Valetta (great name, no?).
1570s until 1798-The decline of the order of the Knights of St John.
1798- Napolean conquered Malta.
6 weeks later the people of Malta ran the French off the island and begged the protection of the British Empire.
1814-1979- British Protectorate
1979- now- Independent Malta. 2004- Malta joins EU as a nation.

How cool is all that in one small set of 3 tiny islands?!?

Now modern Malta is one of the most densely populated nations in the world, and while they have maintained Valetta as a beautiful historic fortified city on a peninsula, the area surrounding it is filled with high-rise, high-density ugliness, and it remains a popular summer home for many Europeans, mostly English.

The Grand Harbor marina is lovely (if you ignore the shipping port next door) and well protected, making Malta a popular winter home for many yachts.

Here are a few. Hope to have more soon!
Siracusa, Sicily

Happy Birthday to Me with Gary and Perri Finch on Capri

My new home anchorage, Isole Tavolara, Sardinia

Our last night in Ponza was a mess. It started out great, with a dinner on shore with our guests, and and a comfortable anchorage- at least when we went to bed. After an a few hours sleep, an un-forecasted wind shift turned us around, facing the ocean, and the resulting swell started crashing on us as we were fairly close to what was now a lee shore. No one likes to move at 3 in the morning- especially when the whole anchorage is also emptying out. So we waited as long as seemed safe, and decided to move to the other side of the island, which was now the protected side. After two hours of torture, we anchored in Chaia di Luna and rested until about noon.

We sailed from Ponza to Sardinia, which would take about 24 hours. Todd made the watch schedule, I made sandwiches and pasta, Rudy bought pizza and Neal did the route plan. We all got to have a watch, so everyone could now use the term “not on my watch.”
Neal had picked a little island that appeared to have good shelter for an anchorage, assuming we would all just want to sleep a bit before finding things to do. Here is what that blind choice looked like.

Sheltered behind a limestone monolithic looking rock, we slept soundly, swam, ate, walked on the beach and on the water, and had a good seafood meal onshore. In addition to a quiet anchorage with a pretty beach and a good restaurant, we had the feeling of being remote and on an island somewhere, not just a mere 2 day sail from Naples!

We had to take our guests to the Sardinia soon to catch a plane, but I vowed to return to Tavolara.

We had reasonable weather so we had to repeat the hike from Ravello to Amalfi. Here is why.

What is not to like? Answer- no place to anchor, and a poor choice for marinas. Capri is great, as long as you don’t have a boat.

We sailed along the west side of Stromboli and anchored on the sound coast near the town. We didn’t have much time, but we were able to see the volcanic flume and get a nice walk and a pizza in the town square in Stromboli before setting out on an overnight to Capri. This was all done to POWER CRUISE before a weather event arrived. Plus the idea of spending my birthday on Capri was very appealing! So we decided to sleep one day eventually, and just keep going.

We motored from Naxos/Taormina through the Messina straits to Vulcan, Neal’s home planet, in the Aeolian Islands on Sept 7.

We anchored off the island in a beautiful and empty lava encrusted cove. We all jumped in the water but retreated when we saw the jellyfish. Water was delightful and warm. We desalinated (just short of proper showers) and took the dinghy to a cave for sunset happy hour- French rosé and appetizers.

We were back on board for a pasta dinner with mushrooms. yum!

Sept 7 we toured another cave in the dinghy on Vulcan, then went to Lipari for the day. Lipari is about 500 yards from Vulcan at it closest pass, but has its own pace and rhythm, narrow streets, lots of churches. It feels a bit more like Sicily than Taormina does: hot, sultry. People slept in their open-doored apartments as we walked the narrow streets during siesta, and there were cats, lots of cats. The town is more rugged and worn than Taormina, which is more like Italian mainland cities, beautiful, maintained, and crowded with tourists. Lipari is the most crowded of the Aeolians, but it still felt dead at siesta time, old, lethargic and very, very hot. Its worn out look comes from heat-baked age, rather than black acid rain or reminders of wars past. The smell of sulfur is always present. I didn’t finish my gelato, it was just too hot to eat.


We anchored next to three lava spires and sweated most of the night. These are the spires, famous photography subjects, and an excellent sunset companion.

I woke up about 2:30 to cool off in the cockpit, and the large catamaran, Black Swan, that we anchored next to in Naxos, was up all night partying. The were playing “Bobby Brown” by Frank Zappa very loudly. I am ashamed that I remember all the words, so I sang along. Neal woke me up the next morning with a birthday plan, which made me very happy, since I am usually stuck with the planning. I wanted fireworks for my birthday, so the plan was to sail to Panarea, visit there, have lunch, then sail to Stromboli, so that nature could show me fireworks!! We would visit Panarea and Stromboli on one day, then we would sail overnight to Capri. No rest for the merely 50.

Panarea was so achingly cute we all wanted to buy a place and stop there, especially if the place had air conditioning. The town is mostly white stucco, almost Greek in its appearance with fuchsia bougainvillea flowing off walls and flowers out of pots. The shops there were surprisingly nice for so tiny a place. There are no cars, just golf carts driven by mad Italian islanders. We clung to the whitewashed walls every time we heard a puttering engine. It was also hot.

So hot that we dinghied in, tied up, and walked to the end of the pier. I went up to a clothing stand, ripped my silk top off (I had on swimsuit top) and bought the thinnest white cotton shirt he had.

I’m wearing it in our lunch photo, here with Amante in the background. What a delightful place!

Syracuse is a historic city in Sicily, the capital of the province of Syracuse. The city is notable for its rich Greek history, culture, amphitheatres, architecture, and as the birthplace of the preeminent mathematician and engineer Archimedes.

This spot is a cruiser’s favorite, namely because it is on en enormous and well protected bay, which means free anchoring! Siracusa was once the Roman city ion Sicily, and still features a beautiful old city with piazzas, duomos, markets and great restaurants, and it is just cool. I love this town, it is absolutely perfect. What you dream of in a port.

Lightening storm hit as we were setting the hook. Lucky me, I get to drive while Neal works the anchor. Me dry, Neal wet.

The market is truly a favorite and the variety of tomatoes is unsurpassed.

The main piazza is beautiful featuring a church carved of creamy limestone. People gather to spend the evening at cafes with friends while kids play in the piazza. That evening scene, that feeling of whiling away the evening to the sound of kids playing, an accordion player, and another POPping of a Prosecco bottle, is for me, the best of Europe in a nutshell.

There are many things I love about Sicily. This little town is one of them. We took the bus from Marina Di Ragusa. The Marina can explain the bus schedule.

Ragusa is built on a wide limestone hill between two deep valleys, Cava San Leonardo and Cava Santa Domenica. Together with seven other cities in the Val di Noto, it is listed among the UNESCO World Heritage Sites. More on this fascinating town can be found here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ragusa,_Italy

Neal and I were sitting in the Piazza when a wedding party walked by in the heat of the day up the stairs to the church. You can see Neal in the shade watching them pass.

This town is a favorite at sundown. In the dimming orange light of Ragusa Ibla, the town resumes activity from its mid-day rest. The children, released from the prison of quiet time, run through the streets, bouncing balls, beginning to form the cliques that will dominate their social station. The sun has capped the higher mountain ridge, leaving the part of town to the left of the church in sudden darkness that contrasts sharply to the setting sun still shining on the remainder of town. The mountain ridge serves to divide the town’s building into light strata, one gets dark at 3 p.m., one has light until 4:30. The park sits high and flat across the width of the town and is bathed in the sun’s last light. This is where the town gathers. Passigiata all over Italy is some form of- wake up from siesta, dress up, take the dog for a walk and visit with the neighbors for a while. This tradition seems like it must have descended from a society that has small homes, but wants to socialize. People in Ragusa Ibla walk towards the park and end their stroll there, stopping at one park bench to speak to this friend, the moving to another to visit that one. I imagine there is some hierarchy to obtaining a bench, as there are a limited number. Either by age, promptness or respect in the community, the benches are claimed, those sitting are the ones visited, the walkers are the visitors. The light only grows warmer as the sun slides further behind the ridge, sending reds and oranges, then pinks and purples into the sky behind the town’s apex, the church. Sitting in the park allows a full view of the complete sunset color spectrum, amid the chatter of friends talking, the squeals of children playing and dogs barking. It’s as if the town itself has a ritual for putting itself to bed, and the people are required pieces of the routine. I imagine when a community member dies, there is some period of quite, then the promenade resumes.

I could sit in the town for weeks watching this same ritual over and over.