Written by Sophisma.
It is possible that your browser does not allow to visualize this image. Two mixed feelings: triumph and expectation, celebrated in sister spaces: the airport and the terraces, with their spectators, their hustle, their heat, their emergence in a different landscape, salad bowl of three complementary flavors: Italy, Mediterranean and a pinch of Arabic.
Awaiting the orgasm that raged, sweat took over my body, the heat violated my energy and after the squalid taxi driver I merged with the Maltese night, with the terracotta walkways, the narrow streets evoking the western medieval, the buildings that had been escaped from the hand of some child cartoonist, simple and fragile shapes, stripped of colors. The sea had stolen all the pigments, even in the fog of the night, the sea was the protagonist, color. The facades were the extension of an orange land, the erection of a torch, as luminaries that invite calm.
I left the airport behind, moved north, approaching Valeta, the administrative and governmental heart of Malta until I finally turned my back, to break into Sliema, candor without a watch, as the best of childhoods.
It is possible that your browser does not allow you to visualize this image. My entry into the rented apartment was a ritual, traveling the breadth of its rooms and exhaling the air of freedom on the inexcusable terrace.
Starry sky, nostalgia for not being able to share that moment and beginning of dream stories in the style of Princess Sherezade.
Soon it would take the salty and earthy perfumes of the Mediterranean, to reclaim the sweetness of the clear eyes and the chocolaty skin of its inhabitants. People who moved with total carelessness, wrapped in their cotton clothes, in their freshness, in their Greek beauty. I liked to contemplate, with my plate of exquisite Maltese pasta, instead of the typical rabbit dish, the natural rock pools that formed under the "Surfside", that restaurant located on the stone plates that replaced the sand of the beaches Spanish. In spite of my frustration at finding the existence of only two sandy beaches, and if that were not enough, artificial sand, the comfort of not shaking the towel, the soft and harmless touch of the stone smoothed by salt water changed my perspective .
It is possible that your browser does not allow you to visualize this image.The days of the day became time to learn a polluted English of the local accent, and my nights an adventure between bingos, hookahs of flavors, cocktails and fertilizers two by one in the discos Pacevile, in the city next to Sliema. And in need of sharing that unstoppable parade of exquisite white smiles, distributing vouchers two by one, satisfying the overwhelming Dionysian atmosphere, I met his gaze. His eyes changed their brightness, just as the waters of the unforgettable Blue Grotto changed color. Located to the south of the island, this was the beginning of an itinerary that would pass through the paralyzing Medina, its silence only broken by a kiss, our kiss.
With him, I headed towards the northernmost part, crossed by ferry to Gozo, and in line with the place, I enjoyed a friendly route, sold by a group of Maltese competitors dedicated to the exquisite craft of guides. We saw walled cities, unpopulated lands, churches and religious banners integrated into the landscape. We walked our passion, only cooled by the infinite variety of ice cream, vodka shots at night, fans, water splashed from the ship emulating a corsair frigate in the golden sunset, where we all celebrated our life in an eternity of pleasure to the rhythm of Yves Larock or simply of the sea ...
But, on June 20, we bit the apple and the calendar, the clock and the kilometers took revenge on that Eden ... He became a recurring dream, and Malta, baptized by the Greeks as "meli" or "land of honey", she became a nanny ...