Maritime Museum Birgu - Malta

I wanted to explore the Maritime Museum in Birgu, Malta and decided not to do the trip by bus from Sliema.  Last time I explored the Inquisitors palace in Birgu I had to take a bus to Valetta and then follow it up with another windy bus route to Birgu. The whole journey had taken an extraordinary length of time.  So this time I decided to do it by ferry all the way.  Starting at Sliema I caught the ferry to Valetta.

Arriving in Valetta, I climbed the hill towards the centre of Valetta.  The last time I came here with guests a huge argument broke out between two families on opposite balconies.  My friends were so mesmerised by the loud shouting and families pouring out of doorways to continue the shouting match it was hard to drag them away.

Eventually, I reach the main entrance of Valetta and the new parliament building.  There has been much controversy over this building with some calling it a monstrosity and others a work of art.  I've experimented with my guests and have to say it is 50/50.  Roughly half hate it and half love it.  I have to confess I don't like it myself and much prefer the old building style opposite.  It is all those tiny windows that offend me.

Here is the view of the opposite side of the street, giving a more traditional feel.  To my eye they seem so much more elegant than the carbuncle facing them.

Mind you, I would have loved to see the old opera house rebuilt.  That looked to be a really grand building from the remaining ruins.

You can tell really lovely architecture, even when bombed to pieces it retains a beauty and presence. Here's a reminder of how it used to look before the war.

Nice to see Valetta look so busy with people, it makes it feel a city that is very much alive.

Heading up towards the saluting battery I see that now the horses have shade to stand in.  One local wit pointed out in the Malta Times that if the local councillors had to stand in blazing sunshine like the horses all day then canopies would have been quickly provided.  Sometimes it takes smart comments to win the day!  

The Saluting Battery is a lovely place to be in Valetta and everyday at noon you can hear the cannons being fired.  Lovely to have the shelter of the trees and the sound of water from the fountain.  

But it the view that greets you as you emerge through the arches, that takes the breath away.

From here I can see my goal, Birgu, and must descend to sea level using the lift provided new this year.  It is free to go down but you pay coming up, unless you are willing to walk up all the endless flights of steps.

Lovely view out of the glass fronted lift as you descend.  Once you reach the bottom you only have to cross the road and you'll see the sign for the ferry to the Three Cities.

Always nice to see you have timed it nicely and the ferry is on its way to pick you up.  At only 1.50 euros these ferry tickets are value for money.  Note the oil rig in for repairs in the harbour.  At such times you realise this is a working harbour with huge dry docks.

This is a much nicer way to arrive at Birgu than by bus.  I have to admire all the yauchts on display as we pass.

There is so much to explore here and I have only investgated a small part, Malta is bigger than it seems.

As I walk along the pier from the ferry I am approaching my goal the Maritime Museum.  On the way I pass on of the few churches to survive the World War 2 bombing.  As this harbour was the major goal of the bombers, this area was blasted severly and very little left standing.

A little further along the pier and here is the Maritime Museum housed in a very fine building that used to be the old naval bakery.

Inside there are displays on all aspects of sailing history.  I am shocked to find I am the only one visiting today and have the entire buidlng to myself.

My grandfather used to use a smaller table top version of this in our old corner shop.  This is my height.  When goods came through the port this kind of device came into its own.  Need to use the toilet in the museum which is nice and clean but has this weird notice on the back of the toilet door.

It shows some one perched with their feet on top of the toilet.  I remember my mother telling me of an aunt who would stand on the toilet when using it.  It somehow made me look at this aunt very differently because it seemed such an odd and tricky thing to do.  To be honest, I kept quiet about this whole business, it was one of those family secrets you carry but need not share.  To discover that there are so many people out there who do this, that a notice is placed to warn them off makes me feel better. Obviously, it is much more common than I thought!

The rooms are filled with models of ships and I'm wondering if being stuck indoors when the sun is shining outside is a wise move.  Then, I discover this Lateen, rigged boat and am cheered.  Love the angles of the sails.  Such a chirpy chappy.  But rounding a corner I come across this brazen cartoon character that seems way over the top - almost theaterical.

It is from the HMS Hibernia, which was flagship of the British Mediterranean Fleet from 1816 until 1855, when she became the flagship for the Royal Navy's base at Malta.  Later she was used to transport convicts to Australia.  Finally scrapped in 1902 the wood was used in bakeries in Malta and caused lead poisoning!  Toxic stuff despite the cartoon-like figurehead.  Here is a model of the actual ship.

In 1523 When the Knights of St John had to flee Rhodes to Malta, they had a huge ship called the Carrack Santa Maria which helped them carry many men and supplies.  The Santa Anna was an even larger Carrack and had a lead lined hull which shots never were able to penetrate.  The mast of the Santa Anna was so large it took seven men to embrace the huge mast.  It had its own mill, bakery (providing fresh bread daily), a large chapel blacksmith and even had gardens of citrus fruit trees and plants on the stern galleries.  It had seven decks and must have dwarfed every other ship around it.  There is a likeness of the carrack in the refectory of the Order of St John’s Palace in Rome but the closest I could find is this one below, which hardly does it justice.

There is a lot to see in this museum including the largest Roman anchor ever found, uniforms, implements used at sea including a surgeon's operating kit.  It is hard to be excited about display after display of stuff and I began to long to be outside in the fresh air.  How I wish there were audio tracks to bring all this alive.  I did ask at the door but was told to just read the information written on each display.  A great audio account can transform a museum experience and bring it all to life with sound effects and personal stories.  Without that it becomes rather dead and dusty.  Here is an example of the information given.

Such a shame when huge posters are carefully printed and laminated but with mistakes everywhere.  'Russia retreated its stand'  'Due to the ranging plague', 'raking havoc'? If it was just one display ,what odds, but there seemed to be errors on so many.  I begin to feel like one of those critical ex pats finding things to complain about. I know so many Maltese whose English is so excellent it makes mistakes like these very strange.  I liked this lovely rowing boat on display with lovely long lines.

Time to head home.  I shall enjoy the ferries all the way back.  It seemed appropriate to visit the maritime museum by sea.

"I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;"

from Sea Fever BY JOHN MASEFIELD

We all need that toehold at times!

I am persuaded that happy people are a rare sighting.  Not to be found at the table to my right, a British family on holiday in the Med.  Two parents and two sullen teenagers imprisoned for two weeks on a package tour.  The couple’s dislike of each other is only trumped by their adolescent’s loathing of their parents.  They all sit in miserable silence at a table. 

The teenagers hold their iPhones as shields to block out all those they dislike.  Even being quizzed as to what they would like to drink, brings a roll of the eyes and a disgusted look at the menu.  The young waiter is holding his order pad patiently waiting.  Both teenagers are taking their time competing to see who will be the last to order, to succumb to parental pressure.  The wife orders a coffee and the husband a beer.  She remonstrates with him, as they have rented a car and he’s already had a beer earlier.  He glares at her and then changes his order to a whiskey in a belligerent tone to the waiter.  He shrugs his shoulders at her as if to say what are you going to do about it, now?  The waiter is now awaiting the teenager’s order.  There is an awkward silence followed by an expletive from the husband.  The wife interjects,

“You’d like the iced tea, Sonya, I’m sure you would!”

Sonya stares at her parents as if trying to decide which she dislikes more.  Meanwhile, her brother says he’d like a beer.  The waiter shakes his head and explains that he cannot serve alcohol to someone underage.  The father interjects,

“Look boy, bring me a whiskey, a beer, a coffee and an iced tea!”  He stares at the waiter daring him to argue.  As the waiter leaves to get their order, the wife objects to the beer for the boy and he holds up his hand to her,

“I’m on holiday and am not here to be lectured by you!”

All four lapse into silence after this outburst.   It reminds me of that hurtful quote.

“Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”

I am left wondering are they more unhappy at home and this is their ‘happy holiday mood’.  Or is this, their miserable holiday trapped together while at home they can exist in happy isolation from each other?  Anyway, what makes a happy family?  Perhaps, like many of us this family has reached the brick wall of despair.  We all meet it sometime in our lives.  That point in one’s personal life when absolutely everything has gone bad.  You question everyone in your existence because it has all become so truly awful you can see no way ahead.  No hope for change, no light, no relationship that can be mended.  No trust capable of being rebuilt.  Most disturbing of all, when not disliking everyone around, you examine yourself and can find little of worth there either.  Whatever youthful spark of capacity has been douched by life.  At such a point, every slight, upset, hurtful comment, injury, illness, loss becomes the last straw.  The tiny nudge that can put you over the edge. 

I remember too, the random acts of kindness of strangers, family or friends that gave me a toehold out of nowhere.  Unexpected, they reached out with love and compassion, as I plunged ever lower down a slippery slope.  They may never know how tiny words of kindness, letters of encouragement, calls of comfort, turned the tide.  Even a look of understanding across a crowded room nurtured hope.  I appreciated those who were prepared to listen, really listen. 

This happiness business comes and goes.  We all hit walls.  I can only pray that when you’re face to face with it somewhere, sometime, someone, somehow provides that toehold that makes all the difference in the world. 

Shit House Rats - asking questions

Went to the local charity shop to buy a book.  They have a huge selection.  Mostly holiday reads.  Visitors to Malta bring their reading matter with them.  It’s part of what a holiday is about.  Time to chill in the sun, swim, enjoy the local cuisine and sights.  The novels represent the luxury of free time that is rare commodity today.  Many enjoy their kindle, light compact but a portable library in many ways.  But what do they read?  Well, I’m no expert but having lived quite a few years abroad I’ve noticed some things.  First, I have to confess as far as books go I’m omnivorous.  I’ll consume just about anything.  In my search for input I’ll devour fact or fiction.  I’m not even fussy about it being contemporary.  I’ve read my way through out of date versions of The New Scientist, The Economist and enjoyed it all.  While working at Daresbury synchrotron I read all the material available in the coffee room.  Mostly catalogue on vacuum pumps and machinery but also a complete collection of Asterix cartoons.  While on Rhodes, knowing my hunger for reading materials good friends would deliver black bin liners full of novels left behind by tourists at hotels during summer holidays.  I’d devour all but then be instantly hungry for more.  So here on Malta I noticed a shelf of brand new novels (well new to the charity shop) and I pounced eagerly.  Only to find novels on murder, betrayal, mass killers, drug cartels, military assassination, child killers, child abuse, child abduction, spousal abuse, incest, graphic tales of autopsies, violent cop incidents etc  for the first time in my life I could not find anything to my taste.  I've discovered what people now read on holiday and it’s shit.  We read it and I fear we have become it.  Don’t think for one moment that our TV shows escape this modern slant.  The popular ones all peddle the same violent content with an undercurrent message that everyone is a killer/amoral.  There are no heroes, just villains in various shades of grey.  Speaking of ‘Shades of Grey’ I've never read this particular book but I fear it may trigger my shit alert meter as well.  I actually had a moment of crystal clarity as I stood before shelf upon shelf of novels longing to pick one, anyone.  I took a step back and thought.

“Why do people read all this shit?”

“Why do people watch all this shit?”

Are our lives so smeared with the stuff we are infinitely more comfortable surrounded by it.  My grandfather’s pig shed smelt astonishingly bad.  The odour was like a facial smack when you entered. You couldn't help raising a hand to your nose and face to protect them from the assault.  After 15 minutes in the shed admiring the new piglets you hardly noticed it at all.  That’s how adaptable our senses are.  Most people cannot smell their own B.O.  We have grown accustomed to our own stink.  We cannot really register it.  Like the pig shed our senses have gone into overload and switched off to protect us.  Only something much more foul smelling than we're used to is picked up.  So, I fear our books, newspapers, TV shows, Internet content have noticed our jaded tastes and slowly adapted to grab our attention.  In a world full of shit, it seems only the even more shitty gets our attention.  I could be wrong but I fear I’m not.  There are those who benefit massively from our abundance of shit.  My grandfather called them ‘shit house rats’.  Huge foot-long brutes that thrived on the pig shit that was produced in abundance.  They grew sleek and huge on this diet, a breed apart.  His cats and dogs were nervous of this tougher crew.  My grandfather fought a losing battle with the rats over many years.

Do we become what we devour?

Or are we like the ‘shit house rats’ designed to eat the stuff?

Was it always so?

Have our tastes got worse?

What does it do to our communities?

I don't know the answer to any of the above.  I’m just really concerned that no one is even asking these questions. Perhaps we've all been in the pig shed far too long.

PS  I don't know if it is significant but rats eat faeces, because their digestive system is poor at absorbing nutrients and a second go through the system helps digestion.

PPS pigs will also happily eat the faeces of other animals, this desire to eat faeces is called Coprophagia

PPS Cows are vegetarian by choice but we like to feed them chicken faeces, because it is cheap, this is how (bovine spongiform encephalopathy)- Mad Cow Disease arose.  In US and other places outside UK they will not accept our blood donations because of the prevalence of Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease (CJD), from eating the mad cows.

Fighting development tooth and nail

Huge apartment blocks spring up like Japanese knotweed all over the world.  Shopping malls have become entrenched in cities like pernicious weeds.  They have even developed their own subcultures.  Studies show how young people claim such places as their own personal playgrounds.  We will gradually unearth how such shared spaces have changed city cultures for more than just the youth.  

Already, the elderly have migrated to such malls in search of warmth and company.  When you are truly alone even being in the vicinity of others becomes a vicarious pleasure.  You get to watch changing real life interactions instead of the TV.  In northern climes the cost of heating becomes too expensive for those on limited pensions.  Shopping malls become a cheaper alternative.  A place to stretch their legs protected from the elements.  In some cities these serve as social hubs.  Where you can check out the latest hospitalisation, death, opinion, experience and news.  In our cities the elderly, the disabled or ill can feel city streets are far too unpredictable.  Traffic, uneven pavements, gangs of youth can restrict their routines.  To have a place with some level of security can be a welcome blessing.  

Next time you are in a shopping centre have a good look around at the people who inhabit such places.  Some malls, target the vulnerable (not spenders) and have become proactive in driving what they see as ‘spongers’ out of their patch.  Security guards harass gangs of youth to move them on.  The elderly are more easily displaced by a lack of seating in such centres.  

Women with pre-school children linger near colourful displays and toyshops.  Their offspring are free to explore these shiny corridors unburdened with coats etc.  In amongst the motley throng are the real shoppers that the whole centre is designed for.  They emerge from doors laden down with bags advertising their purchases.  They don’t dawdle but walk purposefully from one hunting area to the next.  The big hunters know all of this is aimed at them.  They prowl their kingdom expecting bargains and good service.  Astute shopping assistants can spot the big cats with a glance. They know these watering holes have an attraction but must be careful in how they engage these lions.  Too much attention is seen as harassment, too little as bad service.  A good assistant should be able to read a client.  Is this a predator in good nick?  Ready to spend?  Or are they one of the subcultures killing time in the shopping paradise?  Judging this right will mean they adopt either a subservient attitude or a haughty dismissive turn of the head.  These places are not social centres after all.  They are designed to make money, that is their sole reason for being.  

If you have the time enter the nearest shopping mall to you.  Spend an hour but not one penny.  Observe the sub cultures that you find.  Actually, see those that share your space.  What is their age range?  Do they look happy and content?  Will you find that the majority are there, not out of choice but, as a refuge from something.  The young shop assistant opposite me has been manning her jewellery display for almost an hour.  No one has bought anything or even looked at her products.  She periodically combs out her long hair flicking is over her shoulder.  Then, she checks out her appearance in the mirror beside her cash register.  She fiddles with trays of rings.  Taking them out and putting them in again.  Occasionally, she presses buttons on her till to look busy.  Afterwards, she rearranges some necklaces as if they have been fingered out of position.  Now, she’s examining the jewellery as if she is a customer hoping to get someone to emulate her.  No joy, she’s reverted to combing her hair again and walking sideways in front of the mirror checking the waistline.  Tip toeing to see if her blouse is tucked in smoothly.  It’s disheartening to see the repetitive displacement activity in a human.  Mindlessly repeating useless activity because they have no other choice.  

Am I any different?  I walk along the front to a different café/venue each day and then write what comes to mind.  It’s being creative I tell myself but how much of it just marking time?  I may be on a longer more scenic circuit but is there any difference?  My activity is in many ways less worthy than hers.  She earns a wage, while I churn out my writing.  Everyone in this mall has his or her reasons for being here.  Security, warmth, company, work, shopping or people watching.  The escalators move in ceaseless circles moving us up and down.  The giant hamster wheels that transport us to shop entrances.  Wall to wall window displays all around, do our thinking for us.  The swish of notes and change out of cash registers mark the passing of our lives.  Busy, busy bees going nowhere together.

There are those who have fought all this development tooth and nail.  In fact in China they are called ‘Nail Houses’.  Refusing to sell up, they hang on long after the rest have cashed in.  They anchor themselves to the spot when there is no longer anything much left to protect.  The photos of their stubbornness are as brutal as any war.  One is not sure to either admire their steadfastness or bemoan their wasted endeavours.  I’ll let the photos do the talking.