Malta - a place I wouldn't mind calling home

The end to a travel-ful year.....

I have been very lucky to have been able to travel to so many places in 2013. But just before the year comes to an end, I felt that I needed to cram in just one more short break. It's the most last minute holiday that I have ever booked (1 week prior to travelling), but I'm so glad I made that impulsive purchase because it has been a fantastic holiday.

Armed with just a backpack and handbag so as not to go over Ryanair's hand luggage restrictions, I set off on the third solo trip of my life. I chose Malta because I wanted somewhere relatively cheap, safe enough for a lone female to travel on her own, a place that does not charge for single supplement and easy to travel around. Malta ticked all those boxes.....and more!

The main 3 Maltese islands consist of Malta, Gozo and Comino. Equipped with a DK Eyewitness Travel guidebook from Morley library, a stack of bus timetables obtained on arrival at the airport and a tip off from David to avoid Popeye Village, I set off with my trusty 2.60 Euro day bus ticket for my day out in the cities.

First stop was Valletta, the capital of Malta. I couldn't have planned things better. As I walked down its main high street, Republic Street, I stumbled across the National Museum of Archeology. Perfect! That was on my list of things to do. With photographs of the 'Sleeping lady' and 'Venus of Malta' securely stored in my camera, I continued down the street. Before long, I was greeted by an unassumming building with the sign 'St John's Co-Cathedral'. Fantastic! That's a second tick on my to do list! When I first read the guide book, I was rather hesitant about visiting yet another European museum and cathedral. However, I'm so glad I handed in my 5 Euros for entry into the St John's Co-Cathedral. I have no idea what's the difference between a cathedral and co-cathedral, but the inside of this building was very ornately decorated and extremely atmospheric. I am no art critic, but I did think that the oil painting 'The Beheading of Saint John the Baptist' by the Italian artist Caravaggio looked amazing.

It doesn't take much to confuse me. As I exited the cathedral from the back door, I had lost all sense of direction. Hence I trusted my legs to take me wherever it so wished. Trust me to stumble across a pastizzeria (a place that sells pastizzis (the Maltese equivalent of a Malaysian curry puff or British cornish pasty) and pizzas) and subsequently the Barrakka gardens with a panoramic view of the Grand Harbour.

Due to my small lie in and extended breakfast, by now, I was running out of time to cram in Rabat and Mdina. Rush, rush and onto the bus I went. The tourist information operator suggested that I visit the WWII shelters, St Paul's grotto and catacombs in Rabat. The only problem with visiting Malta off season was that I had the whole place to myself. My heart sank as I heard a couple walking out of the catacombs, as it meant that I would have to venture it on my own. With a big gulp, clammy hands and a pounding heart, I tried to be brave. I walked down the endless alley of WWII shelters buried underground only to find a dark, narrow, winding path leading to the catacombs. I marched ahead with renewed confidence, peeked my head round the corner, stood amongst the catacombs and scuttled off as the audio aid mentioned that one may still find the odd pieces of bone lying about. I thanked my lucky stars that I hadn't paid the 5 Euros for entrance into the main sections of the catacomb but instead went for this mini version which included entry into the grotto and WWII shelters. Whew! Why do I do this to myself? And pay for the experience?! I vowed that from now on, I will avoid anymore visits to places of the dead in this holiday! That's the Hal-Saflieni Hypogeum struck off my list! I'm not going to book in advance and pay 30 Euros to scare myself!

The Mdina, or otherwise known as the old capital of Malta or 'Silent city' is a pretty medieval walled town. Its location at the top of a hill gave it commanding views of the farmland below. I worked my way through its narrow high walled streets bathed in the yellow glow of its street lamps as the sunset in the distance. Being the kiasu (literal translation: scared to lose) Malaysian that I am, I decided to take a different route home. Why tread on the same path back to Valletta and then change buses to get to Sliema when I can take the X3 to Bugibba/Qawra, and then bus number 12 to Sliema; and hence cram in seeing yet another place (Bugibba/Qawra)? Anyway, so that's what I did. Only thing is, it was so dark outside, I couldn't see any of what must have been stunning views of the beach front of Bugibba. Oh well, I sang Moonriver to myself whilst chomping down bite size pieces of the Maltese honey ring (a round Christmas sweet pastry filled with the usual suspects of Christmas spices - cinnamon, clove, orange peel, aniseed) as I walked down to the bus stop to catch my connecting bus. (In case you are wondering why singing to myself seems to be a common theme in my blogs, it's because my piano teacher Gill said I need to practice for my aural Grade 2 exam).

Downing my breakfast in 10 minutes flat (a great feat for me!), day 2 was an early start as I needed to rush for the infrequent one hour bus ride to Cirkewwa to catch the 9.45 am ferry to Gozo. Politely turning down morning coffee with an overtly friendly elderly Maltese gentleman from Naxxar sitting next to me on the bus, I quickly walked around the Cittadella in Victoria (the capital of Gozo) whilst chatting to 3 Manchester university students from Malaysia. Then I headed to Dwejra to see the Azure window and Fungus rock. At the last moment, just as I was waiting for the bus back to Victoria, I even managed to catch sight of the greenish Filfola lizard (Maltese wall lizard).

Unfortunately, coming off season, there were no ferries to Comino, so I'll have to forgo seeing the Blue lagoon. Not a great sacrifice, but it would have been nice to have been able to make the visit. Instead, I replaced the afternoon itinerary with a bus ride to Ramla Bay. Not a bad substitute. Apart from a dog walker, I virtually had the whole beach to myself......for a good few minutes anyway! After a few attempts at hiking up to what I thought was Calypso Cave, I gave up as the trek was overgrown with weeds. As I waited on the beach for the bus, a conversation with a local security guard revealed that I had been barking up the wrong hill! Calypso Cave is at the top of yet another hill on the other side of the bay! Oh well! Never mind!

Despite the relatively short distance to Hajar Qim and Mnajdra temple, day 3 was to be an even longer day due to the few bus changes that I would have to make. I grabbed a boiled egg and a strawberry jam sandwich from the breakfast buffet to be consumed at the bus stop. The two Neolithic temples are situated by a hillside overlooking the sea and Filfa island. What a beautiful location! It was in the museum here that I was harrassed by an attention deprived cat. We danced as the little feline followed my every move - left, right, forward, backward, round and round. Perhaps unlike all other Maltese beings, this cat didn't speak English - because I said out loud "I'm sorry, Cat. I know you want me to play with you, and I really don't know why, but I don't like cats.", but it didn't get the message. When I tried to ignore it, the little ball of fur came closer and nudged against my leg! Even my steel-like aversion to cats dissipated as I laughed at this feline creature that wouldn't leave me alone. After I pressed the green light switch that demonstrated the stream of light passing through the miniature model of the temple during the Summer Solstice, the cat followed suit with its paws pounding at the light switch. Perhaps the museum attendant heard my cries of laughter as it wasn't long after that he came equipped with a packet of crisp to lure the cat out of the museum. Despite all that, I did manage to learn a bit about the method of corbelling used to create the roof of the temple structure and get my black khaki trousers covered in dust from taking a self-potrait whilst sat by the doorway to the temple.

I very nearly scrapped the idea of going to the Blue Grotto as I'm sure I have seen something similar in the past. And it didn't help that if there were no boats going out that day, I would have had to wait an hour for the next bus. However, I am so glad I bit the bullet and went for it. The coral blue water in the grotto was stunning. What a mesmerising colour! If we had more time, it would have been possible to dive in for a swim. It was so tempting!

Next stop, Marsalokk - a sleepy fishing village to the south west of Malta island.  I took the opportunity to sit back, relax and watch as the blue and orange striped fishing boats bobbed in the harbour whilst devouring a grilled lampuki accompannied by Maltese roast potatoes and bread soaked in Spanish olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

Not wanting to rush on my final half day prior to the journey to the airport the next day, I decided to cram in one final stop. Senglea and Vittoriosa. I hopped onto bus number 203 (as bus number 3 didn't turn up when it was supposed to). I had a whistlestop tour of the Vittoriosa marina, St Lawrence cathedral, Inquisitor's palace and Fort Angelo before rushing back to Sliema's Diplomat hotel for its Maltese buffet spread accompanied by 'traditional' Maltese music. After a deep conversation about religion and life, I made my way back up the Marsamxett harbour to my hotel for a leisurely time before my departure the next day.

Morocco - desert, mountains, sun, sand and sea

Lovely company, wonderful time....

As we sat in the taxi on the way to Lima Airport in Peru in November 2012, ST and I started planning for our next adventure holiday for the following year. Plans of discovering more about the Mayan civilisation in Mexico, exploring the archeological sites in Jordan and trekking in Nepal did pass through our lips. But alas, due to time, financial and safety constraints, Morocco came up tops.

I ignorantly said yes to Morocco before I realised that we needed a travel visa. Luckily ST managed to submit the documents on my behalf at the not so friendly visa office in London. Two weeks later, it was a done deal! In a matter of days, our flights and tour were booked! In the frenzy of working extra long shifts, neither of us managed to get in any holiday research before we found ourselves on the plane to Marrakech.

Our 2 weeks' adventure saw us whizzing through Morocco. In Marrakech, we watched the many activities in the main square Djemaa el-Fna (monkeys, snake charmers, ample stalls selling orange juice and dates, henna stalls, theatrical performances and funfair games) and explored the souks branching off from it. If one manages to overlook the trail of horse carriages and the wonderful aroma that it imparts, the Koutoubia Minaret was a good alternative landmark to look out for when trying to work out directions back to the hotel. Casabalanca offered us a glimpse of the interior of one of the world's biggest mosques in the form of the Hassan II mosque 'floating' by the sea. This is as per Hassan II's translation of the Koranic verse that proclaims God's throne was built upon water.

In Rabat and Meknes we visited several mausoleums and night markets whilst downing more mint tea. Chefchaouen had lots of narrow streets flanked on either side by blue and white washed buildings akin to a scene from Santorini in Greece. One of my favourite places was Fez. We started off with a superb tour of the souks by Ali as he led us through narrow maze like streets. With mint leaves in hand to mask the smell of the ammonia and pigeon poo used in the processing of the leather, we visited a tannery and took the obligatory photos as featured in travel magazines. To top it all off, we had one of the nicest meals in Morocco. We had tapas like starters, (in my case) a main of pastilla (pastry with chicken filling topped with a dusting of cinnamon and icing sugar - I know, it sounds like a strange combination but tasted heavenly! :P , and finished off with a big platter of fruits including ruby red pomegranates. Superb!

As we headed westwards away from the cities towards the Atlas mountains, the temperature plummetted drastically. By the time we reached Midelt, it felt like a totally different country. We were frozen and surrounded by maple trees. There were cries of outrage from the tour members. We came to Morocco for the warmth! If we wanted the cold, we would have stayed back in our respective countries (Canada/Britain/Australia)! Whilst the weak Canadians seeked shelter in the van, the tougher British trained Malaysians braved the weather for an outdoor lunch picnic of strange looking fruits (eg Horned melon/kiwano) and crisp.


Without doubt, the highlight of the tour was our trip to the Sahara. Once we had dressed up for the part, we mounted our camels and trotted across the sand dunes as desert sparrows fluttered around us. ST, who was initially the most frightened amongst us, bravely let go of the handrails to concentrate on her camera shots whilst my clammy hands gripped the handrails for my dear life. I utterly enjoyed sandboarding as we watched the sunset.

After a hearty meal of olives, kebabs, khobz (Moroccan bread) soaked with the gravy from the stew, rice, fruits and mint tea, we sat round the campfire for a sing-a-long and drum playing session. The Australian, Canadian, Polish and Malaysian national anthems were sung in true patriotic fashion followed by renditions of Moon River, Que Sera Sera and Ging Gang Gollie in my not so melodious voice. One by one, everyone chickened out of sleeping under the stars and headed to their respective tents. As my final companion for the evening, Jason turned round to me and asked "Will you be alright out here on your own?", I automatically replied "Of course, I will!"......a response I was to regret for the rest of the night! Equipped with only 3 blankets, a few layers of clothing (including my trusty North Face waterproof jacket - not that I am likely to need a waterproof jacket in the Sahara desert), I curled up on the sand. First, I heard what sounded like big bubbles gurgling through a huge tumbler of water. I blamed that on the camels. Then, to my right, I heard the howling of what sounded like a wolf. Next was the sound of Jason's beer can rolling in the wind. Intermittently, I would hear the toilet door slamming in the wind. Needless to say, I didn't get very much sleep that night. However, it was an amazing, unforgettable experience as I lay in the middle of the Saharan desert on my own, watching as the constellations and moon make its way across the sky. Never mind that I only noticed the untouched spare mattress on the other side of the campfire the next morning as I woke up before anyone else to take photos of the camp. In a daze, we lined up on our camels, felt the warmth of the sun against our skin and watched as the sunrise casted long shadows on the sand. It was a photographer's dream come true.

Our next stop was the Todra valley and Todra gorge. The red coloured sheer rock face towering above us looked spectacular. It was a shame we didn't have enough time to go for a trek before we were whisked off to Ouarzazate. It was at Ait Benhaddou, Ouarzazate that the Gladiator was filmed. It was also here that we watched as invisible messages came to life before our very own eyes - using tea, saffron and heat.

Alas, all good things must come to an end. Essaouira was our final stop before we returned to Marrakech. It's famous for it's sun, sand and surf. A relaxing European like town by the beach. I did enjoy wandering down the streets in search of Arjan oil and other souvenirs, chatting to the fellow Swiss traveller who picked at his grilled fish with surgical precision, watching the fishermen cleaning their catch and devouring grilled crab, prawns, squid and sea urchin for lunch and dinner.

All in all, Morocco was good fun, especially thanks to the lovely companions we had throughout our travels. Morocco does have lots to offer, though I must admit it didn't give me as much of a buzz as I had on my return from Peru. ST and I agreed that we think the holiday could have done with a trekking trip thrown in. Perhaps we could fit that in alongside a trip to Argentina in the new year??? ;)

Peak 3 : Snowdon (1085 m), The Final Leg....

28 Oct 2013 - As Britain faces a severe storm with 90 mph winds, will we accomplish our final peak challenge? (this storm was judged to be within the top ten most severe storms to affect southern England in the autumn in the last 40 years)

Despite the dire weather forecast for the weekend, Aunty Angeline, ST and I bunked at my house overnight in preparation for our early morning dash to Wales. Although the weather looked rather promising as we set off at 6 am in the morning, we knew that dark clouds, wind and rain were forecasted for 1 pm that day. How accurate are the timings provided by the weatherman? Can we time it well enough to avoid the inevitable soaking?

Leaving Aunty Angeline at the base of the mountain with her Snowdon Mountain railway ticket in hand and brief information about what she can do with her time, ST and I set off on the Llanberis path. There are a choice of 6 paths up Snowdon - the Snowdon Ranger path, Llanberis path, Miners path, Pyg track, Watkin path and Rhyd Ddu path. The initial plan was to take the Snowdon Ranger path which starts at the YHA Snowdon Ranger hostel where we were putting up the night. However, not wanting to take risk with the weather (and our poor navigational skills), we opted for the Llanberis path which is less steep albeit a slightly longer route. I have previously made my way up the Snowdon Ranger path with Keith on a fateful March morning just 3 years ago, and even then we got absolutely drenched. Back then, fueled with adrenaline, despite foolishly not being prepared with an Ordinance Survey map, we managed to make our way to the top of Snowdon's snowy peak and run down its slopes much to the amazement of fellow trekkers coming in the opposite direction.


Anyway, back to the Llanberis path story! Despite the path closely following the railway tracks, I found it to be a rather scenic route. You can judge that for yourself from the pictures in this blog.

ST had told me previously that once she gets the momentum going, she is rather reluctant to stop halfway through a trek. Armed with that piece of information, I waved her along each time she looked back to check that I was ok. About three quarters the way up, my body decided it needed a glucose top-up. Hence, I took the opportune moment of whipping out a banana as ST stopped for a photo shoot. It was rather amusing that she breathed a sigh of relief as she commented "I thought you didn't want a break till we got to the top!". Aaaah, misunderstandings! That's what you get for assuming you know what the other person wants.

Not long after our short banana and cashew nut break, the wind picked up and the pitter pattering of rain drops started. With my relatively thick blue raincoat nicely strapped in by my backpack to 'protect' it from flapping around in the wind, we slowly made our way to the peak - momentarily freezing in position and crouching on the ground as the wind became unbearably strong. With ST clinging on to the trig point, my raincoat torn to shreds by the wind (making it look more like a Tarzan costume), I crawled on my hands and knees to the top as I braced the strong winds. We made it!! Just! Many after us had to turn back, and as we later found out, Aunty Angeline never made it to the top as the train services were suspended (to her delight, she got a full refund!). But we made it! Mission accomplished! The National Three Peaks in, erm, slightly over the initial 4 months deadline. (though this is to be blamed on our hectic working and social lives rather than a weakness in our stamina ;)

So, the question now is, what's next?.....................