Another one bites the dust

It's 9.30 a.m. in Sir Arturo Mercieca Street, formerly a pristine and quaint street in the heart of Sliema. The revving sound of heavy machinery accompanies a tractor as it bulldozes its way out of an old building onto the street.

The movement whips up a cloud of dust and limestone, rattling the frame of the traditional Maltese balcony. Ironically, the balcony's shutters are hooked open. The rubble is offloaded onto a truck across the street, leaving a trail of soil and stone in its path.

It's the daily ordeal of the 12,000 or so Sliema residents who have to contend with the fact that they are living in a concrete jungle with little hope of reprieve.

On the contrary, a walk around Sliema shows scores of applications sanctioned by the Malta Environment and Planning Authority, giving the green light for the demolition of old houses.

Residents hope the new building regulations - to be unveiled by the government in the coming days - will somewhat soften the impact of the construction going around. But, as one resident tells The Times, no amount of regulation can control the exacerbated rate of destruction unleashed on what is meant to be a top tourist destination.

A tour of Sliema yesterday morning showed that no part of the seaside town is spared. Tower-cranes are forced to manoeuvre around the narrow streets. Tasteless concrete structures dwarf traditional homes, most of which date back to World War II.

Cars are covered with a film of fine white dust and strong winds, like yesterday's, force commuters to watch their eyes from the fine particles permeating the air.

A construction site in Sir Luigi Camilleri Street seems to take the neighbour's laments into consideration. But the green sheet covering the site is of little use as the winds blow dust across the street.

A woman is seen trying to clean her balcony but, after splashing some water onto the windows, she seems resigned and secures herself back indoors.

Scaffolding is mounted outside a new five-star hotel being constructed in High Street as a hawker tries to sell fruit and vegetables, metres away. The recently trenched-up road to pass the amenities to the hotel has been refilled but craters still puncture the street. The rattling sound of a jackhammer drowns the chimes of the Stella Maris church bells.

Just a few metres down the road, two trucks are blocking the small alley where the notorious Baroque house once stood.

Driving through Sliema will test the patience of even the calmest of drivers. Cranes block roads, prolonging the time to get out of the town, amid increasing traffic.

A crane in Melita Street blocks it off, making the one-way system in the area even more labyrinthine. Another crane is located in St Francis Road, the street parallel to it. In this street, cars can still drive through but that does not spare you the fine dust being sifted through from the construction site above.

The works around Depiro Street serve as a prelude to the biggest construction project ongoing in the area - the new 200 plus apartments replacing the site formerly occupied by the Galaxy hotel. A huge crane meanders in the sky; down below discarded rubble aligns the street, including pieces of a broken flushing.

Tigné is another story. The sight of concrete is prevalent but erected placards promise to turn each grey building into a residence haven.

Just up the road from the seafront, workers are busy pulling down the former Holiday Inn Crowne Plaza hotel to pave the way for the controversial Fort Cambridge project. Close by, a tourist is snapping away pictures of one of the few remaining traditional Maltese balconies.

Heaving through the dust, Heather Brown, a resident in Sir Arturo Mercieca Street, sums up her day succinctly:

"There's dust coming in through my door and we have to drink water all the time. Just listen to this," she says, opening her window to a cacophony of noise.

"I simply can't understand the Maltese concept of aesthetics where modern apartments are replacing old buildings. Though nobody I know desires this development, nobody seems to care about the residents."