Musings on Mysteries, Malta, and More

Marooned in Malta Post 3: the L.O.N.G road home

The picture is from Our Lady of the Victories church in Valletta, one of the last sites we visited before we went into quarantine. Many memories, but now the question is …

How are we going to get home? Sprawled out on a double bed in our rented home in Mdina, three of the remaining travelers spent hours searching for flights home and figuring out how we were going to pay for them. We had already bought round trip tickets months ago but couldn’t use the return portion because the coronavirus grounded flights from Malta. At last we found a flight from Malta to Heathrow in London. We went to the Malta airport hours early so see if we could confirm the final legs of our trip home. We would have to stay overnight with all our luggage at Heathrow, then – we thought — leave early the next morning for Toronto, and ultimately home to Minneapolis.

We envisioned long waits at immigration and customs at Heathrow. But the airport was nearly deserted and we passed through immigration and customs without much difficulty. Perhaps all the fights had left for other destinations because of the P-word (Pandemic was only way to describe what was happening). Once inside the arrival area we found plastic chairs designed with no way no way to stretch out, so we sat surrounded by our luggage. A nice porter directed us to a coffee shop that had leather couches. Ah, the crowds we were expecting were all here. The barrista, an aspiring disc jockey, blasted out music that made it impossible to sleep. Worse, the barrage continued all night. After a recon mission, I realized that all the sofas were occupied by the sleeping, or the pretending-to-sleep. I didn’t sleep at all. I couldn’t stop worrying if taking an earlier flight would have been the right idea. Why did I even want to take this trip? We only had two days of sightseeing before we were quarantined. Hardly a great introduction to Malta for our friends. They will hate us.

Watching our bags and carry-ons while the others slept in shifts, I tried to remember the words to the Monty Python song about worrying about luggage at Heathrow. I found it later: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m-prhaikK9I

Four a.m., the time to check in for our flight to Toronto, finally came. Suddenly the airport was packed. We found a line for Air Canada, where we planned to pick up boarding passes for Toronto. The line also had signs for several Asian airlines and after a while we realized we were (a) the only non-Asians in the line, and (b) the only people not wearing face masks. After we inched ourselves and our luggage through the line for about an hour, a harried-looking manager said if we wanted Toronto we had to go to another line. We obeyed and inched again for another hour before being told that no Americans were allowed on flights going to Toronto. We were told to go to the United Airlines check-in desk and see if they could come up with a flight to the States. We found two lonely-looking agents talking with customers and no one else in line. In an irritatingly friendly voice, the agent asked if we minded going through Newark. Did we mind? Will that get us home? We love Newark!

She did the paperwork and rather casually told us the flight to Newark would leave at 8:00 a.m.and the plane had already started loading. The clock said 7:50. The electronic sign to the loading gate said it was 12 minutes away. We sped as fast as septuagenerians could, following directions to a moving sidewalk, dragging our bulky luggage and running past the other pedestrians … to the next sidewalk. 7:53. Two minutes later to the next conveyor. 7:56. Then another. Panting for breath, I arrived at the gate desk alone. “There’s three more behind me.” Two clerks sprang into action and printed out more paperwork for each of us. We were the last ones aboard.

The transatlantic flight was uneventful and the Newark flight to Minneapolis was on a comfortable little plane, four seats across with an aisle between. Uber got us home safely from the airport. At this writing, nearly four weeks after leaving Malta, we are still trying to get refunds on the “extra” flights. My mathematically-inclined fellow traveler calculated that it took 38 hours to get from Malta to Minneapolis, disregarding time zone changes. In normal times, it’s about 16 hours.

Believe it or not, we are thinking of taking another group to Malta next year. Want to join us? What adventure might await?

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Marooned in Malta Post 2: The Quarantine

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

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Marooned in Malta: Post #1

Post 1: The Dream

It seemed like such a good idea, a dream come true. My husband John, under the pen name Raymond John, wrote a mystery set in Malta 15 years ago and we continue to promote it in the U.S. and in Malta. The country has fascinated him since childhood and I got infected (bad metaphor given the subject) when we married. We’ve been there more than a dozen times.

The dream was to introduce others to Malta, this hidden gem, by leading a tour group. We recruited eight people, some we knew well, others friends of friends … all adventurous travelers over 60. I spent months researching housing, looking for a place we could live together to help build our tiny community and enable us to plan and reflect on what we were seeing. I recruited Maltese friends to visit with us while we were there. I reserved places we had experienced on past trips. I gambled on new experiences like a ghost tour and a sheep farm where we would learn how to make cheese. We arranged a special presentation by the head of the country’s heritage preservation organization. We reserved a visit to the 7,000 year old Hypogeum, an underground burial site (only ten people allowed in at a time, how perfect for us). And there would be a night tour.

The house we rented – after a months-long web search — was a renovated 16^th Century palazzo in Mdina, the ancient walled city appropriately called the Silent Cit. Cars not allowed. The pictures online were beautiful, and we’d have the palazzo to ourselves.

What could go wrong? How about a world-wide plague? By our departure date, the virus was on the build, but travel to Malta was still considered safe. Four of our group members decided not to go, for various reasons. The remaining six, including John and me, couldn’t bear to miss the experience for which we had so long prepared.

So, we went. Mdina was exactly the way we remembered it, high walls, cobbled narrow streets, cathedral and museums, regal and quiet. We settled into the palazzo, the Casa del Tesoriere, which includes a sunny herb garden with orange and lemon trees, five bedrooms, two formal dining rooms, one with a library, and a modern kitchen, thoughtfully stocked with food and wine by the owners. It was everything the website said. Heaven, even if the microwave didn’t work, and you had to pull a chain to flush and push a button to take a warm shower.

We followed our itinerary for a while, then went with the flow when transportation and other logistics got in the way. We wandered through lovely Valletta and viewed the spectacular Grand Harbour. On the other side of the island, we climbed inside historic Mosta Dome, all 70 steps worth, and enjoyed the well-named Golden Bay where sunbathers were out in numbers in their bikinis in early March. We met a representative of Din L’Art Helwa’s, the preservation society, and learned the history of Valletta’s first church.

We had barely left the church when we learned from the U.S. Embassy that all Americans must be immediately on quarantine, for the next 14 days. Breaking quarantine would result in a 1,000 Euro (about $1,100) fine. And this was only the second day or our planned 10-day adventure.

Up next: Post 2: The Quarantine

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10 adventurers to set off for Malta

Watch for updates!

Friends and friends of friends … 10 people, including Evie and John, are making plans to visit Malta next March.

We have remted this entire 400-year-old guesthouse in Mdina, the Silent City (no cars) that is a World Heritage Site. Here’s the house. It was once a palace!

We’ve been to Malta 12 times and always meet interesting people. Here are Benny and Julia, street musicians who play Maltese folk songs. We have their CDs and they have John’s book, The Cellini Masterpiece. Nice trade.

We met Kenneth (with Manjri and Victoria) when he saw a post John wrote about a mysterious hanging basket in Valletta. The email exchange led to a friendship that is renewed every time we visit Malta.

Another internet friend that became in-person friend is Tony, shown with his wife Mary Anne. Long before we visited Malta, Tony helped John write The Cellini Masterpiece, ensuring that all the local details were correct!

Our First Stop on Every Malta Trip

Here is the view from Upper Baraka Gardens in Valletta. From here, you see the whole Grand Harbour — British spelling — where the grossly outnumbered Knights of St. John fought off the Turks in the Great Siege in 1565.

It’s peaceful now, a spectaciular view of the harbor and the three cities across the bay.

Hello world!

This is my first post on my first blog! I am John Anderson, known to some (many?) as Raymond John, author of The Cellini Masterpiece, Who Done Houdini?, Mix, Match & Murder … and a fourth novel still stuck in my head. PLEASE answer so I will know I am not talking to myself, although writers tend to do that. Click on “Hello world” above, and leave a reply at the end of the post. Thanks!