Wignacourt

I am very much enjoying Malta. It’s nice to be waltzing around in the EU, a state of affairs now unavailable to Brits on their home turf.

We came to Malta on a family holiday when I was young, during the 1994 October half-term school holiday, according to my mother and her impressive memory. I can’t remember much, although at that time I believe we stayed at the other end of the island, a full twenty kilometres away. In the intervening space, much is built-up or is farmland occupying every nook. Malta is increasingly being described as a city state due to the population density and level of development.

The Maltese language is fascinating. It’s as if someone has thrown letters randomly together to form words from Arabic, Italian and English. I went to explore the area around Chevaughn’s apartment in the burning Mediterranean sun and ended up at Torri ta’ Wignacourt. This seventeenth century watchtower was built to protect the island from marauders and is named after a French nobleman who was prominent in the Order of Saint John, the Catholic military order inextricably linked with Maltese history. I won’t pretend to have got my head around Malta’s story in any way, shape or form.

Later in the afternoon we walked around the headland on the opposite side of the bay to a quiet stretch of coast and had a swim. The water was lovely, and the currents gently bobbed us around whilst the seagrasses tickled our legs. Holidays, you are simply delightful.