Malta is an ancient land whose violent and bloody history stretches back for thousands of years.
Although it’s more tourists than pirates flooding Maltese shores these days, they always end up in the same places. There are many little gems neither they nor even the natives themselves know about, and they should because they’re missing out. Oh, but not you, of course.
I owe this knowledge of secret places to the arsehole who dumped me earlier this year. Without anyone to be a domestic servant to, nor being the receiver of a continual stream of criticism, I find myself free to wander. It’s easier to do without a car and unlike a tourist guide, I don’t lack imagination.
Having walked out of a job last week – I’m not doing too well on the man front – I spent my hours of wistful unemployment in Valletta. Instead of wading through the chavs from Qawra, I took a detour down the gloomy Dickensian St Mark’s Street and away from the ferries heading to Sliema. There is a long boring-looking road that appears to go nowhere. Most people are put off by this, and use the route to get to one of the restaurants instead.
If you keep heading down and take a sharp left, tiny rock stairs suddenly appear to take you down to the perfect swimming spot. Here it’s possible to catch the last of the stunning rays as the sun goes down over the rich cunts in Tigne Point 30 miles away. The water is crystal clear, warm and calm and, as if God was watching out for the fussier of His flock, an ergonomically shaped rock is perfectly shaped to rest one’s damp bum in. It goes without saying that the place is a complete bastard for mosquitoes in the summer, but you know what, no-body’s there. And I’m happy to be bitten to buggery and let me tell you why.
I have spent many a hot summer evening here watching the myriad of warm colours glowing on the glittering sea. Swimming in this spot is the most chill thing to do in Malta and I slip out of the water feeling deeply relaxed, refreshed and re-energised. In the sea, all thoughts of anything but the Now evaporate along with the cheap sun screen on your face. It is perfectly possible for people more adventurous than me to have sex in this part of the Med too; (although, to be fair, I’ve never been asked.) And I’ve successfully sunbathed topless, which is against Maltese rules, but here, even I manage to avoid the Titty Police. And you can guarantee that law enforcement unit actually exists judging by the signs spread liberally along the coast.
I’ll probably regret telling everyone about the secret places I know, but you won’t tell anyone else, right?