(10th March 2025)

The tour party (Roy, Jim H, Sean, Jim C, and Suraj) joined me at 4:30 am in the Garden Room for coffee before driving to Birmingham Airport to catch a 9:20 am flight to Malta. Surprisingly, the roads were bustling with heavy traffic for such an early journey, but both cars made good time, and with ‘Meet and Greet’ parking, we were soon inside the terminal, making our way through security. With only hand luggage, it wasn’t long before the six of us were encamped in ‘Giraffe’, enjoying breakfast.

The flight left on time, and as expected with Ryanair’s policy, we were seated separately around the aircraft. Allocated a middle seat, I was fortunate to sit next to a passenger staying at the same hotel, and I passed the three-hour, five-minute flight in conversation.

Our minibus driver was waiting for us in the Arrivals Hall and whisked us away on our forty-minute transfer through heavy traffic to the Pebbles Hotel in St. Paul’s Bay. The sky was blue, the temperature was in the twenties, and very soon we were checked in, changed into shorts, T-shirts, and sandals, and making our way to the sea just a short walk away. Malta has very few sandy beaches, and in our resort, there were none, other than short, artificial strips along the frontage of some restaurants and hotels. Mostly, the sea is accessed over concrete or a rocky foreshore. Sitting on a low wall taking in the views from the top of an access road, a kindly lady offered to take a photo of our group, and we accepted before making our way down to sea level via a series of steps. We strolled along the road hugging the shoreline, enjoying the warmth and checking out the numerous bars and tourist stalls along the way. Suraj purchased a straw hat from one of the stalls, joining the rest of us in wearing the official tour headgear. We ambled along the coast for around an hour before finding a set of benches from which we could watch students from a nearby college take to the water on a section of artificial beach. What a pleasant way to finish a day of learning, chilling out with a dip in the sea with your friends. In the UK, the Atlantic is far too cold at this time of year to do likewise.

 

On our way back, we came across an Irish pub situated across a square from our hotel and dropped in for some more refreshments. The barmaid and owner were appropriately Irish, though she had lived many years in Australia. We spent a pleasant hour chatting with her and a few locals who dropped by, had a drink, and then left.

Returning to the hotel, there was just time to quaff a couple more refreshing local beers (Cisks) around the pool before having dinner in the restaurant. Our half-board package included a sumptuous buffet, which we took full advantage of.

Within the hotel, there is a traditional British pub that doubles up as a sports bar, and now fully satiated, that is where we headed next for further refreshments and to play a few games of pool before venturing out into the streets of St. Paul’s to track down some local hostelries. Disappointingly, as the season had yet to start, many of the hotels and bars were closed. After around half an hour of fruitless searching, we eventually found a bar open with a pool table, amusingly, just across the road from the Pebbles Hotel. After several games, fortified by local brews, we decamped to the hotel pub and finished the evening with more games of pool. Interest was heightened when a couple of opinionated Irish girls challenged us to a few games. Much to the entertainment of the rest of the pub, we took them on. Our play must have been impressive, as at the end of the evening, they bought us a round of drinks.

(11th March 2025)

Today was a trip to the islands of Gozo and Comino, but it didn’t start well. The previous Friday, I received a message from the ferry company informing me that our departure point from Siren Quay in St. Paul’s Bay had changed (due to sea conditions) to Sliema, a forty-minute taxi ride away. We were given the option of cancelling or proceeding with the booking and were provided with a ticket number, with instructions stating that this message and accompanying number served as our ticket and should be shown at the ferry port.

I woke to find I had reassuringly received another message confirming our ticket, along with the same instructions. After a very filling breakfast, the taxi I had arranged the night before duly arrived at 9 am. Maltese traffic was very heavy, but we arrived in time to join a large queue of passengers showing their tickets on their phones. However, when I presented mine, it was rejected as not being a valid ticket. I insisted the attendant read that morning’s instructions and pointed to the ticket number, but he continued to say that it was not what he needed. I brought up the original text containing the original ticket number from the previous Friday, and he rejected that as well, before losing interest and continuing to check the other passengers onto the ferry.

As the last of the queue was being checked, one lady showed a piece of paper, and I glimpsed a barcode. Why didn’t he just say he needed that? Luckily, I had brought along my other phone containing the Expedia app, through which I had made the booking months ago, and I found the barcodes. Satisfied, he took my phone and began photographing the six barcodes, scrolling down the screen for each one. On the last one, he somehow managed to change screens, and I had to bring it back for him. We were then issued wristbands and allowed onto the ferry. However, as we left the port, he rushed up to me, claiming that we hadn’t paid for our tickets. Confused and annoyed, I protested that this was nonsense, I had paid months ago and could prove the amount had left my bank. Bringing up the Expedia app again, I was stunned to see that the trip had been cancelled and the sum reimbursed to my account. Yet, just ten minutes prior, it had shown as paid and confirmed, displaying the appropriate barcodes.

At a loss as to what had happened, I offered to pay by card but was told they didn’t have the facility and that it would have to be cash. We agreed that I would visit an ATM on Gozo to withdraw the required amount. Returning to my seat, I checked the Expedia app again and discovered that the trip had been cancelled at 9:55 am, precisely when the QR codes were being photographed on the quayside. The crew member must have hit the cancel button when he lost the QR screen. On disembarking in Gozo, I made a point of informing the company that it was one of their staff who had cancelled our tickets, not us. With honour restored, I joined our group on board the bus for the twenty-minute journey to the capital, Victoria.

We were given a couple of hours to explore the city, and after visiting an ATM to acquire the Euros needed to pay the ferry company, we set off. Making our way from the bus terminus, we found Independence Square, also known as It-Tokk, which is located in the heart of Victoria. Today, it serves as a central meeting point for both locals and visitors. Once the site of the island’s main marketplace, it is now lined with charming cafés, restaurants, and shops. One of the square’s most prominent landmarks is the Banca Giuratale, a grand baroque-style building that once served as the seat of Gozo’s local government. The very ancient narrow streets surrounding the square were thoroughly explored and photographed before we moved further up the hill to the Citadel of Gozo (Il-Kastell), a historic fortress that dominates the skyline of Victoria. Perched on the hilltop, the Citadel has served as a defensive stronghold for centuries, offering breathtaking panoramic views of the island. We entered the fortress via Cathedral Square, meandering through the many ramparts to reach its highest point, where we admired the panorama and took our photos.  Retracing our steps to the bus terminus, we stopped briefly at a pharmacist for Jim H to buy some sea-sickness tablets (he had been affected by the sea journey) and then again for slices of pizza, eaten in a small park, followed by ice cream from a nearby gelateria.

Back on board, and after paying our fare, our boat made its way out of Gozo’s very busy harbour, where crafts of all shapes and sizes were arriving and departing every few minutes. Boats are given just ten minutes to offload or take on their passengers before they must make way for incoming traffic or face a fine.

It was just a short hop across the water to the small, picturesque island of Comino, situated between Malta and Gozo. Covering just 3.5 square kilometres, it is renowned for its crystal-clear waters and rugged coastline. With no cars and only a handful of residents, it is ideal for swimming, snorkelling, and hiking. The most famous spot on Comino, known for its turquoise waters and white sand seabed, is the Blue Lagoon. Disembarking, we climbed our way to a string of food and drink outlets where we purchased drinks and sat watching the antics of our fellow tourists and the many small boats arriving to disgorge their human contents into the growing melee. Roy chose to go for a swim from the tiny beach, while some of us opted to explore the island on foot. Jim C and I, later joined by Jim H, trekked to the cliffs above the Blue Lagoon and watched, fascinated, as the tourist boats chugged their way around the small lagoon.

By the time we rejoined the rest of our party, it was late afternoon and time to leave the island. I was surprised at the number of crafts still arriving so close to the end of the day. If they had come from Malta, their occupants would have very little time to explore and would no doubt be returning in the dark. Our journey back was very choppy, making movement around the boat quite dangerous. Some passengers, suffering from the erratic movement, staggered their way to the toilets. It was dark when we arrived back in Sliema.

Choosing to return to the hotel on public transport, Roy used Google Maps to find the appropriate bus stop, and as luck would have it, the bus arrived promptly.

It was straight into the restaurant for dinner when we arrived back at the hotel, followed by another sortie to the local bars. Unfortunately, we failed to find any open, even the ones we had patronised the previous day were closed. Unsurprisingly, on returning, the hotel’s pub was very busy, and the pool table was occupied, so we moved to the hotel bar and spent the rest of the evening there. One amusing episode occurred when Jim H ordered a whisky sour. Sean and I stood absorbed, watching the barman make it, bemused that it contained the white of an egg at a cost of €13.50. Jim protested loudly that the cocktail didn’t contain egg, only to be thwarted by an internet search. It seems that, upon further research, the addition of egg white is optional, added for a bit of froth and volume.

(12th March 2025)

Our party was accommodated in two rooms: myself, Suraj, and Jim H in one, and Sean, Roy, and Jim C in the other. Conveniently, we were on the third floor and just a couple of rooms apart. Our room, however, was in the corner of the building and significantly larger, boasting a longer balcony that caught the early morning sun. Today, we were in no hurry, having planned to catch a bus into Valletta, though, by the time we made it to breakfast, the restaurant was already quite full.

We caught the bus at the end of the street from the hotel, but disappointingly, the first one to arrive was full. Not fancying an hour-long journey standing, we let the other waiting passengers squeeze their way onto the vehicle. Fortunately, another bus arrived shortly after, and with seats easily acquired, we settled back to enjoy the passing scenery.

The bus terminated at the main Valletta Bus Terminal, located next to Triton Fountain. Designed by Victor Anastasi and sculpted by Vincent Apap, the fountain was inaugurated in 1959 and consists of three muscular bronze Tritons, mythological sea deities, supporting a large, shallow basin on their raised arms. We took the opportunity to capture a team photo in front of the fountain before diving into the crowded streets of the old city through the impressive city gates.

We headed towards Upper Barrakka and the Saluting Battery, stopping briefly on the way for Roy to peruse cigars in one of the city’s tobacconists. The Saluting Battery, a historic artillery battery located on the elevated St Peter & Paul Bastion overlooking the Grand Harbour, has been a key defensive and ceremonial site for centuries. Originally built in the 16th century by the Knights of St John, it was used to protect the harbour and to fire gun salutes to visiting ships and dignitaries. During British rule, it became an official timekeeping station, firing a daily noon gun to signal the time to sailors and residents, with another shot at 4 pm.

Along with a few others, we paid the €3 entrance fee to watch from the bastion itself and have the firing of the cannons explained by a uniformed soldier. The terrace above the bastion, free for visitors, was packed with tourists, all poised with cameras at the ready. After a demonstration of the routine for prepping the cannon, guns six and seven were charged and made ready. Though number six was to fire, number seven had been prepared in case of a misfire. At the appropriate time, with music playing over the tannoy, the soldier fired the cannon precisely at noon, a spectacle well worth seeing.

Keen to explore, we set our sights on Fort St Elmo, a historic star-shaped fortress located at the tip of the Sciberras Peninsula in Valletta. It played a crucial role in the Great Siege of Malta in 1565, withstanding intense attacks from the Ottoman Empire before eventually falling. Despite its destruction, the fort was rebuilt by the Knights of St John and later expanded by the British in the 19th century.

Our straw hats proved invaluable as we navigated streets packed with tourists. At times, the only way we could keep track of one another was by spotting our distinctive headgear among the sea of people equally intent on enjoying the delights of Valletta. Upon reaching the fort, we opted not to explore its vast structure, instead plunging back into the city in search of refreshments. We found a bar in Straight Street, known locally as “Strada Stretta,” one of the most famous and historic streets in Valletta. Running parallel to Republic Street, it was once the city’s main nightlife hub, particularly during the British colonial era. Originally designed by the Knights of St John in the late 16th century, it became notorious in the 19th and 20th centuries as a hotspot for bars, jazz clubs, and entertainment, attracting British sailors and servicemen. The street has also hosted famous figures such as Sir Winston Churchill and the Duke of Edinburgh.

Suitably refreshed and feeling peckish, we ventured further into the city centre and discovered a street restaurant offering the Maltese national dish of rabbit. Eager to try this delicacy, we took our seats and enjoyed a variety of delicious rabbit-based dishes, all washed down with Maltese Cisk lager.

With a brief stop for Roy to purchase some Cuban cigars, we made our way back to the bus terminus and caught a bus to St Paul’s Bay, arriving just in time for a few more refreshments in the hotel’s pub bar before indulging in yet more calories at dinner.

We began our evening entertainment at the bar across the road from the hotel, playing pool before returning to the Pebbles Resort, where we rounded off the night chatting in the hotel bar.

13th March 2025

It was another leisurely breakfast before checking out of the hotel and storing our hand luggage in a lockable storeroom. Intent on one last exploratory walk before our taxi transfer to the airport at 12:30 pm, we left our accommodation to find the temperature hovering around the mid-twenties. Determined to follow the coast road around Qawra Point, we first ambled our way to the Nine Lives beachside restaurant, where we relaxed by the sea, enjoying coffee and a lengthy chat.

Checking the time, we realised some urgency was needed if we were to rendezvous with our taxi, so we set off at a brisk pace. The temperature had now soared to 28°C, making for an exhausting march with little or no time to take in our surroundings. After rounding the point, Google Maps was employed to guide us along the shortest route through the town back to base. We made it with around 20 minutes to spare, many calories lighter!

Our transfer arrived on time, and apart from a short queue to enter the airport drop-off point, our transit through to the departure gate went smoothly. The flight left half an hour late but made up the time in the air. Although Ryanair relish splitting up groups unwilling to pay extra, this actually worked to the advantage of Sean, Jim C, and me, as we found ourselves in unoccupied rows. Stretching out, we took the opportunity to grab some much-needed sleep during the three-hour, fifteen-minute flight.

We landed in a bitterly cold and rainy Birmingham and were pleasantly surprised to find our cars ready for us to drive away. The journey back to Market Harborough was through torrential rain, but both cars made it safely, with passengers quickly dispersing, no doubt eager to catch up on some much-needed sleep.

Malta provided our small party with a much-welcomed respite from the miserable cold we’ve endured over the past few weeks in the UK. From early-morning laughs to late-night pints, for many reasons, this trip has been nothing short of memorable. Whether it was rocking and rolling on the Mediterranean, navigating the bustling streets of Valletta, embracing the local culture (and Cisk lager), or simply keeping the team spirit alive, it was an experience to remember.

A special mention must go to our headgear, which ensured no one got lost in the crowds, held up the bar with pride, and kept the banter flowing. But ultimately, it’s not just about the rugby, it’s about the camaraderie, the memories, and the stories that will be retold (and no doubt exaggerated) for years to come.

Here’s to an unforgettable tour! Same time next year? 🍻🏉