AS possibly one of four or five male 40 somethings on this island (I mean Malta as I am once again writing from here this week) who does not own a car, I am a regular user of public transport. Given the choice, I usually prefer to walk, or where possible catch a ferry, but there are times when I am left with no other option but to use those good old museum pieces that we call buses - such an essential part of the Malta experience. As anyone who uses them regularly will confirm to those who wouldn't be caught dead on one (and I know many who wouldn't), said experience is not always pleasant.
Now, I have to say, I've had some great bus moments in my life. As a teenager bored to death in the suburbs of Swieqi, the 62 from Spinola Bay was my lifeline to civilisation. In summer, I would catch it at least four times a day - sometimes more - trying as much as possible to sit on the back left-hand wheel, the seat I still look out for to this very day. From there, I would catch fragments of gossip, or entire conversations which I am sure one day will make a brilliant film script.
Riding buses also gives you a good idea of what foreigners think of the island and its people - which is where the problems start. Let me give as an example the bus I caught earlier this week after a day in Valletta. I was tired, and wanted to get home as soon as possible. Home, by the way, is Sliema - so technically the whole thing should have been a relatively easy experience.
The bus stop in Valletta was filled with people standing at the door of a half-filled bus where the driver stood yelling - for a reason that is still unclear to me - "Time up! Time up!" I assumed that he meant "full up", but that was not the case, since there were a lot of empty seats left. Some German tourists must have thought the same, and tried to argue with the driver, but he was having none of it, and banged the door into their face (it was one of the newer buses).
After a further five minutes on the bus stop, during which several men yelled at each other, trying to work out who was going to take the next trip, one of the most ancient examples of Maltese buses arrived, and the driver called us up, taking a break from his phone conversation which went on for at least another two minutes, leaving the bemused Englishman standing in front of me waiting for his change without acknowledging his presence. The man went back to his party, tickets in hand, smiling - but not totally amused by the experience.
And so it went on. Between Valletta and Sliema, people were yelled at ("move up!"), bus stops were whizzed by and lives were put at risk by reckless driving. The English laughed it all off on the way down. The Germans were not at all amused.
Now I know that I live in a city where travel conditions are not what I call fantastic. It's expensive, depressing and to be avoided as much as possible. But nowhere in the world have I seen people get away with what bus drivers here get away with, and that really doesn't help the Malta experience.
Now, I have to say, I've had some great bus moments in my life. As a teenager bored to death in the suburbs of Swieqi, the 62 from Spinola Bay was my lifeline to civilisation. In summer, I would catch it at least four times a day - sometimes more - trying as much as possible to sit on the back left-hand wheel, the seat I still look out for to this very day. From there, I would catch fragments of gossip, or entire conversations which I am sure one day will make a brilliant film script.
Riding buses also gives you a good idea of what foreigners think of the island and its people - which is where the problems start. Let me give as an example the bus I caught earlier this week after a day in Valletta. I was tired, and wanted to get home as soon as possible. Home, by the way, is Sliema - so technically the whole thing should have been a relatively easy experience.
The bus stop in Valletta was filled with people standing at the door of a half-filled bus where the driver stood yelling - for a reason that is still unclear to me - "Time up! Time up!" I assumed that he meant "full up", but that was not the case, since there were a lot of empty seats left. Some German tourists must have thought the same, and tried to argue with the driver, but he was having none of it, and banged the door into their face (it was one of the newer buses).
After a further five minutes on the bus stop, during which several men yelled at each other, trying to work out who was going to take the next trip, one of the most ancient examples of Maltese buses arrived, and the driver called us up, taking a break from his phone conversation which went on for at least another two minutes, leaving the bemused Englishman standing in front of me waiting for his change without acknowledging his presence. The man went back to his party, tickets in hand, smiling - but not totally amused by the experience.
And so it went on. Between Valletta and Sliema, people were yelled at ("move up!"), bus stops were whizzed by and lives were put at risk by reckless driving. The English laughed it all off on the way down. The Germans were not at all amused.
Now I know that I live in a city where travel conditions are not what I call fantastic. It's expensive, depressing and to be avoided as much as possible. But nowhere in the world have I seen people get away with what bus drivers here get away with, and that really doesn't help the Malta experience.