A love letter to Malta

To know me is to know my deep and undying love for Malta. I might not have studied abroad (thanks COVID) but I did take my summer classes abroad for a week in the paradise of a Maltese villa. 

If you’re wondering where this magical land is (like the Delta check-in agent checking me in for a flight on said airline), it’s a tiny island archipelago situated about halfway between Italy and North Africa in the Mediterranean Sea. It’s about two and a half times smaller than New York City.  You’ve probably seen something shot at least in part in the country (hello Gladiator, Game of Thrones, or that one episode of The Bachelor (Season 28, Episode 4). 

My obsession started in 2018 after watching that year’s Junior Eurovision Song Contest (the story of stumbling onto the main contest while channel surfing on a lazy Saturday afternoon leading into attending the contest could be a post in itself). After Ela brought the country a respectable fifth place finish with Marchin’ On, the kind of song that’s equal parts anti-bullying anthem and subtle statement on the refugee crisis punctuated by her massive voice, I was hungry for more Eurovision. Christabelle represented the nation earlier that year in the main contest with Taboo, a pulsing pop anthem for anyone that’s been hardened by middle school bullies. 

It’s a song that speaks to the resilience that I associate Malta with most. The Maltese have been hardened by being bombed during both World Wars (the second siege of Malta earned the country the St. George Cross for its role as a key Allied military base in North Africa.

On one level, I get why the song didn’t qualify for the final but my god something about it just cut right to my soul. It started a fandom and obsession that continues to this day both in Eurovision and just the country’s culture in general. Malta is a very resilient nation and the Maltese have gone under the radar while at the same time being a desirable port of call for basically every empire you can think of: the Phoenicians, the Greeks, the Romans, the Arabs, the French, and the British among others.

The pandemic was a perfect storm for me as my life was consumed by Eurovision: I rewatched every contest back to the original in 1956 and made friends with fellow Eurovision fans from around the world. To this day, Malta is the best performing country that hasn’t won yet (with runner-up finishes in 2002 and 2005). Fortunes looked like they were finally changing in 2021 and the hype train was very strong among both myself and my friends (happening to befriend the one other person obsessed with traveling to the country also helped get the rest of us onboard). Destiny Chukunyere’s Je Me Casse was the kind of entry that stars are made of: a Great Gatsby-inspired banger that Beyoncé would’ve licked her chops at if she had a piece of that demo. Our shared Nigerian heritage also didn’t hurt endearing her to me.

A few hours down the rabbit hole of the picturesque turquoise waters, building facades that look straight out of Game of Thrones, and it was straight to looking at Airbnbs for us. Believe me, they were working hard to make Malta appear admirable for potential tourists. By late 2021, we were deep into saving and trying to find an Airbnb situation that could accommodate eight people by the following June while dealing with a still dynamic pandemic.

2022 started at the closest piece of sovereign Malta territory (the Maltese embassy in Washington, literally just a row house in Dupont Circle) to pray for open borders.

The trip had become its own Discord server at this point, and we were frantically hammering out the details of the trip: when would everyone fly in (for context: we were coming from as far as Atlanta and Helsinki with many points in between.), who would drive around the island, what would we do, who would room together). Anticipation helped the time fly by and soon enough I was on the tarmac destined for paradise.

Welcome to My Island

On the afternoon of June 11th, I was thrilled and nervous as I anticipated takeoff from Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. I had a layover in Paris before meeting up with my friends at the comparatively minuscule Malta International Airport (mind you, this was my first time seeing some of these people in real life with COVID and being thousands of miles apart). Aside from Charles de Gaulle airport being the worst airport known to man despite its pretty interior, arriving in Malta was the beginning of a dream.

The next week was a collection of pinch me moments. Walking into the gated fortress of Valletta gave me the giddiness of entering the Magic Kingdom. I think I took pictures of every single street corner as its 16th century era architecture oozed charm that makes the capital city feel like a small town. I spent my 22nd birthday in awe of the sculpted beauty of both natural and Neolithic varieties at the Blue Grotto and the Ħal Saflieni Hypogeum (unfortunately, the UNESCO World Heritage site doesn’t allow any photography). Having it all topped up with a lowkey birthday party fueled entirely by Marks & Spencer (essentially the UK’s equivalent of Target) and drinks poolside at our villa while blasting Maltese Eurovision hits.

Going over to Malta’s sister island Gozo brought dramatically different vibes from the comparatively chaotic main island. Life moved at a dramatically slower pace as we lazied around on the golden beaches of Ramla Bay. I bought salt from the country’s natural salt pans that use the country’s 3,000 hours of sunlight to produce the most savory pink salt I’ve ever had. It was a staple in my house for months afterwards.

In a completely full circle moment, I happened to see Christabelle on the ferry over and pretty much died on the spot. There was no interaction and no photographic evidence (I was not trying to be the guy that was like “hey I traveled 5,000 miles because of your song and also you kinda saved my life” while we were sailing along) but the satisfaction of knowing it happened was more than enough.

I discovered my new favorite soda in Malta’s local delicacy. Kinnie is a locally-produced orange soda that I can only describe as having tea-like qualities with a slightly bitter kick to it. I consumed many bottles of it while in the country (and a really good pickly pear cocktail that brings a sweeter berry-like side to it). There was no way I wasn’t going to leave the airport without a case to bring back to Atlanta. Since then, I’ve had friends import a case of it from the UK and Aperol spritzes becoming my alcoholic cocktail of choice since it is basically a dead ringer for Kinnie.

Honestly, don’t even get me started about the food. It’s hard to have bad food when you can pull from both Italian and Arabic cuisines to create something entirely new. There was rabbit and duck, so much pasta, shoreside salmon as the sun set, and the savory pastizzi which was like a dough ball filled with your choice of filling - chicken in this case but peas are traditionally on call.

This post could’ve probably been twice or three times as long if I didn’t hold myself back in some aspects, but I hope this has done a good job of tracing my journey with a place that I hold dear to my heart. Malta is definitely a spot that I’d love to revisit at some point to relive the perfect storm of memories that came together during that week in June. 

To see more photos from Malta (believe me, there's a bunch), feel free to check out my gallery page or check out the Malta wallpaper pack.