I was jolted awake by what sounded like a really loud street sweeper.
Reaching for my phone, I checked the time; it wasn’t yet 6:30am. On a Saturday.
The noise persisted, so I put my coat over my pyjamas and padded up the spiral staircase to the roof terrace to see if I could catch the sunrise.
Once again, there was a large amount of cloud cover. I realised that the noise that had woken me was actually construction work from the nearby docks. From the terrace, it created a dawn chorus in combination with the sound of birdsong, church bells and traffic that was anything but peaceful.
I’d noticed that early mornings here were always noisy: cars revving engines and beeping horns; people shouting a whole conversation from their respective balconies; the ever-present church bells. Plus, of course, construction work.
A morning cacophony.
Washing on the neighbouring terrace obscured the location of the sunrise but the clouds were slowly turning pink and gold.
I pulled my coat tighter against the chill in the air and decided to head back downstairs, as I’d seen all I could.
After washing and dressing, I ate a breakfast of some Weetabix I’d found in the cupboard with the leftover guest foods and some fruit, washed down with a coffee.
My host had told me there was a farmers’ market in Birgu and so my first plan for the day was to check it out and perhaps pick up some groceries.
Google maps led me to a large, open, road with a line of stalls along it. There were hardly any customers and most of the stalls were selling the same varieties of fruit and vegetables. One stall sold only organic produce and was notably more expensive. There was also a stall selling a variety of goat milk soaps.
I took my time browsing and opted to purchase from the stall with the most local customers; I couldn’t see anyone who looked like they may be a tourist but the general rule of thumb for both stalls and restaurants is to choose the one popular with locals.
Securing myself tomatoes, avocados, grapes and strawberries, I made my way back down the hill to Bormla. There, I also bought a loaf of fresh local bread – a round crusty loaf – from a tiny shop with a long queue of locals.
Back at my temporary home, I couldn’t resist trying the bread, savouring how the fluffy goodness inside complimented the crusty exterior.
If you’ve been following my whole Malta experience, you’ll know I’d matched with two men on a dating app when having a browse on my first evening. Both had asked for dates but neither had followed through and organised anything.
So when I’d arrived in Bormla I’d had another quick swipe, and acquired several new matches.
One of them, Pat, had asked if we could meet for a coffee in Valletta. I’d told him I’d be able to meet on Saturday afternoon, as my plan had already been to travel to Valletta that day; I wanted to get the four day Tallinja card bus pass.
You can buy these cards either at the airport or at Valletta bus station and get unlimited travel for the price and duration of the card. I hadn’t gotten one earlier as I knew I’d be exploring Valletta and the Three Cities on foot, so four days was plenty for the days on which I’d be travelling further afield. You can also pay in cash on the bus but you need exact money and if you’re taking several journeys it works out more expensive.
He’d asked me where I wanted to meet, so I told him as he lives there and knows the place far better than me he should choose.
The clues were already there.
We’d arranged the date the day prior and so I’d calculated how to get there and when I’d need to leave.
I wanted to experience the little ferry taxi that travels across the Grand Harbour to Valletta roughly every 30 minutes.
Arriving at the ferry port on the dock, the final passengers were just boarding and a weathered old man gestured for me to hurry. So I quickened my pace and had just stepped inside when the ferry began to move – giving me Greece flashbacks.
If you know, you know.
There was a counter just inside where a man was taking payment and a sign informed passengers that the price of the ticket – which was only around €2 – included the Barrakka lift.
I climbed to the top deck for the best view and thoroughly enjoyed the short journey; the ride was smooth and I got to see new angles of the Three Cities and Valletta.
Crossing complete, I disembarked next to a box of sad-looking Christmas decorations and followed my fellow passengers off the ferry, across the road, under a road tunnel and into the entrance to the lift.
If I’d been alone I’d have needed Google Maps, as this route wasn’t well sign-posted.
The lift, and the surrounding cliffs, towered above me. It provides easy access to the city from the Grand Harbour and was built inside the ditch of the city’s fortifications.
I again followed the passengers through some turnstiles that weren’t closed and around to the entrance to two lifts.
The doors of one lift opened and we huddled inside. My view in this lift was off the rock face and we rose at an impressive speed. We emerged right on the corner of where I’d watched the New Year’s Eve fireworks, right above the Saluting Battery canons.
The exit to the gardens was already familiar to me, so I made my way through and broke out Google Maps only to navigate to the cafe…except, upon my arrival, it seemed more like a French Bistro than a cafe.
I’d arrived exactly at the agreed time, but my date was already seated inside, near the window.
He greeted me, but didn’t stand and I awkwardly removed my coat and scarf whilst he did nothing other than stare at me.
Sitting, I tried to break the silence but received only short replies and no questions from him.
Maybe he’s nervous, I told myself.
A waitress arrived, handing us menus, and it was instantly clear this wasn’t a place for coffee; there wasn’t even coffee on the menu.
My date asked if I knew what I wanted and so I informed him as I’d been expecting to meet for coffee I needed a minute. His response was to call the waitress back over like she was an obedient animal and ask her if they had coffee. She said yes and asked what type we wanted. I told her a latte and he asked for the same.
As she left, I watched with horror as Pat – clearly thinking he was being super subtle – slid a piece of gum out of his mouth and stick it under the table.
I debated leaving right then and there but, given how tired I was, decided to at least stay to have my coffee.
Once our coffees arrived, I watched Pat sneak the gum into a napkin and wondered why he hadn’t waited to do this in the first place.
The caffeine seemed to perk him up, as he began to ask questions and hang on my every word…and that’s when the scales tipped and Pat started gushing about things we could do in the future.
I told him this was a first meeting over coffee and, right now, my only goal was to get to know him a little better.
He apologised and, upon learning a little of his story I did warm to him. But I already knew it couldn’t be more than a friendship for me, as there were too many red flags already.
Once we’d finished our coffees, Pat excused himself to use the bathroom and I saw him pause at the bar to pay before returning to our table. So I thanked him and told him it was nice to meet him.
Looking a little like a lost puppy, he asked where I was going now. I told him I’d wanted to run a few errands in Valletta, capture some of the decorations I hadn’t taken footage of before they were taken down and just generally explore.
He asked if he could accompany me and I didn’t have the heart to say no.
Seems I still have work to do.
We went for a little walk, found some gardens I’d not previously seen and a viewing point from which we could see the sun setting over the Grand Harbour.
It was there Pat told me he really liked me, could see a future with me and thought I’d really fit in with his family.
It was giving love bombing.
I gently let him down and we continued walking, Pat patiently waiting whilst I took the footage I wanted and purchased my bus pass.
Eventually, I told him I was going to head home and he insisted on walking me back to the ferry. He didn’t wait with me though, and I discovered that I’d just missed a ferry so had to wait 30 minutes for the next one.
When it arrived, I realised that people board and exit at the same time, through different doors. Which makes sense for efficiency.
This journey afforded a night-time view of the harbour; all the twinkling lights were really pretty.
I tried to capture the beauty on camera, but my pictures and videos didn’t do the reality justice.
Arriving back at the dock, I disembarked and decided to return to Le Poission to get dinner, as this would be the only other night they would be open during my stay and I’d really enjoyed their food.
The whole family remembered me, greeted me warmly and the woman who’d served me the previous evening listed my allergies. With the number of customers they receive, I was pleasantly surprised she’d remembered.
This time I opted for a salmon and prawn tagliatelle. It was cooked from scratch in front of me, and I was consulted about each ingredient. Fresh prawns and salmon pieces were added to a generous portion of pasta, with succulent cherry tomatoes, a creamy sauce, spices, chilli and black pepper.
The lady artfully sprinkled some freshly-chopped parsley over the top and placed my box of pasta in a paper bag. We all said goodbye like we were friends and I hurried back to my little flat to eat it; my stomach was a-rumbling.
Unwrapping the goods, my mouth started to salivate at how good the meal smelled. For a mere €10 it was also enough for two people.
I served myself half and enjoyed it with the remainder of the pink local wine I’d been gifted.
It was delicious; I didn’t want the meal to end!
A friend had sent me a message asking if I remembered a conversation we’d had years ago, so I spent the evening reminiscing via voice note.
I could have ventured out to explore some local bars – and I’d have definitely felt safe being out at night – but I was perfectly content to be curled up on my sofa, under a blanket and with the air con turned up to 30º.
Being constantly sleep-deprived had me low on energy but I’m also not really one for bars and clubs unless they feature kizomba.
I didn’t hear any more from Pat; he didn’t message to ask if I’d gotten home safe. In fact, he’d not actually even asked for my number since I told him I like to meet before giving it out.
And I was okay with that.