Quarantine? A hospital room with tape over the doors? No, we would be going to the place where we were staying when the quarantine was announced, our lovely 17^th Century Palazzo in Mdina, the ancient, walled Silent City. Two of our group members decided to risk the 1,000 Euro fine for breaking quarantine and started searching for flights home. They reasoned that they might not be able to return to the U.S. if they waited. They left the next morning. It took them 48 hours to get home, with crowded airports, long waits. But they made it, no fines. 

That left four of us. We stocked up with fruits and vegetables at an outdoor stand, other groceries from a more expensive store … and took the bus “home” to Mdina. Our host, who did not live in the palazzo, had left some food for us – also wine — and gave us some leads on finding more for delivery.

The Silent City was even more silent than usual. No children playing. No restaurants or gift shops open. No cathedrals and museums open. No horse-and-buggy carrozin for tourists. No tourists.

Then we read. Fortunately, all of us were big readers who came prepared.

We read in the outdoor patio among the lemon and orange trees, weather permitting, or in the three dining rooms, the kitchen, the sumptuous library/lounge with a massive formal table.

Then we began to worry about food. We running low and the delivery places either took days or did not deliver at all. Rationing: one egg per person per day, leftovers from when restaurants were open. No milk. Sandwich meat and cheese but no bread. I emailed our host and asked if she knew how we could get bread and milk. By this time she also was on quarantine but managed to leave a quart of milk and 2 loaves of bread under a tree in the front of the house! But there were bright spots. We picked oranges from the garden, and we discovered a gelato parlor just yards across from our house. They said they were primarily doing delivery but their door was always open. The pistachio was especially good and a nice addition to our usual fare.

 Most of all we worried about how we were going to get home. Our return flight was scheduled for Saturday, March 21 … but another embassy email told us that the last flights from Malta would leave at midnight Friday, March 20th. Three of us sat on a bed, working our cellphones for hours. We found a flight leaving Thursday, Malta to Heathrow in London, then on to Toronto, then Minneapolis.

                Sounded good. But more adventures ahead.

Coming next – Post 3: The l.o.n.g trip home