Smells, bells and yells

We Maltese simply love quoting Byron who described us as an island of smells, bells and yells. As you can easily guess, the man who was described by the woman whom he seduced and then abandoned, Lady Caroline Lamb, as "mad, bad and dangerous to know" was far from ecstatic about his visit to Malta. We must sadly agree that just over a couple of centuries later Malta in this particular onomatopoeic sense has not changed very much.

When, a few years ago, Alan Bates hypnotised me and I stopped smoking, a great feat for a painless transition from 60 a day one minute to nil the next, I was totally unaware of at least 80 per cent of my own sense of smell. So pervasive and strong is nicotine that it blots out most odours apart from the most pungent and strong. For starters, I smelled like an ambulant ashtray; my clothes, my hair, my whole persona stank. Like most smokers I was blissfully unaware of it. Today, I can detect the smell of stale cigarettes hours after someone has lit a fag. My sense of smell is still intensifying and, while I am able to be enraptured by the scent of wild thyme on Comino, the aroma of a timpana cooking in the oven and the aura of a discreet eau de cologne, like Grenouille in Patrick Susskind's Perfume, I am also keenly aware of a hundred and one other smells that are olfactory nightmares.

I am not too sure whether it is my own sense of smell becoming keener or the actual variety of stinks that is becoming more diverse and more insidious. Walking along the Sliema Front will soon require us to wear oxygen masks. The stink of exhaust fumes is unbelievable. I wonder what good one's daily constitutional is now when one must be ingesting a good daily dose of carbon monoxide. Possibly like Mithridates and his poison self-inoculation we may be building up a natural immunity but, somehow, with the incidence of cancer in Malta on the increase, I doubt it.

We are unable to send messages about toxic emissions to the ADT anymore and we are no longer going to be "kindly" reminded not to send SMSs while driving. So now not only buses can belch out great black clouds of poison gas but also a great number of vans, trucks and even cars. Some of these cars are registered as GVN, something which, I suppose, makes them governmental, so if the government is becoming sloppy about controlling these pernicious emissions, can you imagine everyone else?

About a week ago the PM spoke strongly about doing something drastic to reduce pollution in our air. If we do not reduce our PM10s by next year by 10 per cent, Malta is going to be fined. I was one of the columnists and correspondents who had pointed this out two years ago when Malta was given the list of seven exceptions by the European Commission. Five out of those seven issues were environmental.

I will understand and appreciate a thousand excuses that stem from us being an overpopulated and pretty lawless island, however what I cannot bear is hypocrisy. Nobody, but nobody, even the most brain-dead, will believe that out of all the buses that were tested lately, only one was found to have a faulty exhaust pipe... The inferences are obvious. Can we risk another riot? Please do remember the image of those overweight thugs hurling their weight at the doors of Auberge de Castille like drunken Sumo wrestlers and think again before calling for strong police and legal action. The police force is not up to it.

Speaking about inebriated Sumos, let's shelve smells and switch to bells where the Church has recently issued a set of stringent proposed guidelines that are designed to curb the excesses that have developed in the celebration of our village feasts. Naturally the notorious marċ ta' filgħodu (morning band march) is the target. They are now complete bacchanalia. I really cannot understand the logic of it. Had people not had the outlets and opportunities to "let it all hang out" as provided by Paceville, I would have understood the need to let off steam. The marċi have developed from a colourful tradition into an excuse to make the most horrendous spectacle of ourselves, as, in the sauna-like humidity of August, all sorts of substances and alcohol induce a mass hysteria that is 100 per cent pagan and bears no relation with the celebration of a religious feast. Exuberance is one thing but an almost orgiastic procession around a band playing Maestro Anthony Aquilina's marches is another and should be controlled, not by the Church but by the police.

Yes, in the case of the smells, the bells and even the yells, as sound pollution is also on the increase, it is imperative that those whose job it is to control excess are given specific briefs to do so. I was fascinated while waiting in one of those almighty jams that clog the Kappara roundabout on Regional Road: a warden, notorious for his zeal, looked on with complete indifference as at least half a dozen smoke belchers passed him by... Every weekend the thumping sound of Paceville discos travels the airwaves to St Julians and Ta' Giorni like an irregular heartbeat and, as for yelling... I will leave it to you dear reader to be the judge.

kzt@onvol.net