Tried to go to the post office centre in Marsa, on Malta, and got hopelessly lost. Ended up in the Three Cities having started in Sliema. Totally the wrong direction what a failure. Seems to typify most of my endeavours at this stage of my life. Set up simple task clearly in my mind this morning - retrieve parcel from post office. Expend huge amounts of energy and end up exhausted but with totally nothing to show for it. At times you feel everything in life is a spiritual metaphor. Reflecting back to us fundamental truths that need to be heard whether we like it or not.
So let's look at today. The parcel had been delivered to Malta. Being from outside Europe the parcel goes to an office in the middle of the island. You have just seven days to pick it up and must pay a percentage tax on it. I have no idea what it is or how much it costs. Without a car you must master the intricate bus routes that exist on Malta. It is a tiny island and a mere 27 kilometres by 15 kilometres but by bus almost every destination is over an hour, or more, away. You spend ages at bus-stops waiting for buses which completely ignore their timetables. It's not their fault. The roads are gridlocked and ,as no one gets anywhere fast, anger grows. You can see it in the faces of car drivers who sit breathing in fumes. It is also apparent in the erratic bus drivers who brake, accelerate, swerve and stand on their brakes, sending passengers flying down the aisle. Bus passengers here have adopted a weary resignation tinged with humour. Only when driven to extremes do they display anything other than determined good nature. I burn with agitation that I must have sailed past the proper stop and ended up at the opposite part of the island. Today I have failed in my endeavours.
What are the fundamental truths learned today? Despite being a foreigner in Malta people are universally kind to me. They offer me seats on overfilled buses. I must have reached that age of visible vulnerability? On the second bus, going in the wrong direction, the Maltese, dignified, elderly man beside me, sensed my growing agitation as I consulted my map and signs of passing bus stops. Eventually, he asked, “Where is it you want to go?” I showed him the Maltapost address and he sighed in some distress. “You are in the Three cities and will have to go back the way you came”. He carefully wrote down the name of the stop I should get off at and then instructed me to catch a completely different bus from there. I thanked him profusely as he got off at his stop. A tall white bearded figure in a suit with a briefcase. Hands like a musician and kind concerned eyes. I then, typically, totally ignored his instructions. The bus came to the end of the line and I got off there instead.
In between tall old houses I can see the ships and oil rigs. It looks too interesting not to explore.
Going back on one’s tracks always feels like failure somehow. I eventually find myself close to the ferry terminal it will take me to Valetta and home. Travelling by boat is such a treat. I order a cappuccino and enjoy the moment.
Lessons learnt so far.
- Even when given a clear and limited objective, I have the infinite capacity to fail.
- People are exceptionally kind and courteous much more so than I deserve or expect.
- Being beside the sea is a constant joy.
- Travelling by public transport forces me to engage with people. This is a necessity as I am by nature a loner and odder than one can possibly imagine.
- The days of one's life march past at an incredible rate and I do hope no one is tallying up my productivity. It seems an inverse relationship. The more days pass - the less I appear to achieve. The only logical explanation is that I must be in reverse!
I better go and catch this ferry as I've already missed the first two sitting here having a coffee daydreaming.
PS caught ferry after being distracted by Senegal and then decided having reached Valetta to try once more my original destination in Marsa. I have now found the Maltapost office and am awaiting customs inspection as the item is from Turkey. After waiting for a customs official for forty minutes, I am now thinking perhaps it is far from being such an innocent gift from an ex-student! Will it contain illegal substances of which I know nothing? Suddenly, images from Midnight Express film flood the mind.
Since, I have instructed the customs officer to open said package to determine its value (necessary to pay tax) I am now awaiting to see if the amount is of the order of the few euros or serval tens of thousands. In the latter case I will be in deep trouble. I could be totally innocent but also a stupid drug mule! Why does customs the world over make you feel as guilty as sin?
PPS gift turned out to be a simple backgammon set. I'm not a drug mule as I feared. I feel a heady sense of freedom. Another lesson learned - take nothing in life for granted!
