What is it about homecomings? Always the joy and the dread. The commingling of these emotions spurs us forward then pulls us back. When we're out on the open road, we dream about the comfort of home, only when we're back it's not long before the itch resumes.
Just before the end of the year, I decided to return home for the small winter months; the reasons are various but the weather does have quite a lot to do with it. For Malta, with all its potholes and loopholes and rabbit holes is a dreamy island in the south, a cliché which never had as much resonance as when looking out from my window in Copenhagen at the dying day... doing this as you sip your after lunch coffee just kills you with yearning for a hot, lazy Sunday morning at the Marsaxlokk fish market.
So with true turista dedication I have been doing the sun route, seeking out corners in Valletta where I currently reside (in true temporary fashion), then heading out to the coast on weekends to bask in the winter sun - yes, I say to myself, this is the life - seize the day.
It is a temporary hiatus from the usual angst, a time to gather one's thoughts before setting out again into the widening gyre. And so romantic am I, that after a few days of camping in the capital city, I decided to look into the possibility of purchasing for myself a room with a view (rooftops, aerials and steeples preferred). Simple enough I would have thought - but alas, Valletta the city of steps and alley ways has not yet shown me a room with a window and light, at least not within the price range of a first-time buyer with a modest income.
Valletta is having a renaissance at last and Olé! to all that but for the romantic it is, I fear, too late. The city will remain a decadent, sleepy promontory for many years to come. Those who love her cannot really afford to live here, those who do not have bought the empty buildings, hoping that those who love her will part with all their savings and beg, steal and borrow in order to become a resident here in the city of chivalrous awkwardness.
But is there any room left for such lofty notions? Oh how many eyebrows have been raised at me these past few weeks. I am, it turns out, living in a dream world. The estate agents have set up camp, the property prices have been hiked and progress is measured by the projected and amplified price projections of the tumbling, crumbling buildings that promise great beauty if carefully and lovingly restored to their former glory.
I must remain ambiguous on this. Valletta is beautiful because she is old and decadent. To clean her up entirely would strip the city of its essence, or perhaps erase the history of the city that was so rapidly abandoned 70 odd years ago. Perhaps this is her revenge: if you want me back you must pay.
And so be it, I raise my glass, not to greed or ambition, but to Valletta herself; may she sell herself once more, to the highest bidder, she is so beautiful, so it is fitting that she should sell at a high price. While it may not be great news for me, it is great news for the city whose fall from grace was so tragic. Now as she rises from the ashes once more, I let out a deep breath and accept that for better or for worse Valletta life goes on and one day, my friends, one day, I will win the Super 5 lottery and buy me a room with a view in the city of yells, bells and smells; a room from which I may look out, from which I may listen, from which I will always learn.
Just before the end of the year, I decided to return home for the small winter months; the reasons are various but the weather does have quite a lot to do with it. For Malta, with all its potholes and loopholes and rabbit holes is a dreamy island in the south, a cliché which never had as much resonance as when looking out from my window in Copenhagen at the dying day... doing this as you sip your after lunch coffee just kills you with yearning for a hot, lazy Sunday morning at the Marsaxlokk fish market.
So with true turista dedication I have been doing the sun route, seeking out corners in Valletta where I currently reside (in true temporary fashion), then heading out to the coast on weekends to bask in the winter sun - yes, I say to myself, this is the life - seize the day.
It is a temporary hiatus from the usual angst, a time to gather one's thoughts before setting out again into the widening gyre. And so romantic am I, that after a few days of camping in the capital city, I decided to look into the possibility of purchasing for myself a room with a view (rooftops, aerials and steeples preferred). Simple enough I would have thought - but alas, Valletta the city of steps and alley ways has not yet shown me a room with a window and light, at least not within the price range of a first-time buyer with a modest income.
Valletta is having a renaissance at last and Olé! to all that but for the romantic it is, I fear, too late. The city will remain a decadent, sleepy promontory for many years to come. Those who love her cannot really afford to live here, those who do not have bought the empty buildings, hoping that those who love her will part with all their savings and beg, steal and borrow in order to become a resident here in the city of chivalrous awkwardness.
But is there any room left for such lofty notions? Oh how many eyebrows have been raised at me these past few weeks. I am, it turns out, living in a dream world. The estate agents have set up camp, the property prices have been hiked and progress is measured by the projected and amplified price projections of the tumbling, crumbling buildings that promise great beauty if carefully and lovingly restored to their former glory.
I must remain ambiguous on this. Valletta is beautiful because she is old and decadent. To clean her up entirely would strip the city of its essence, or perhaps erase the history of the city that was so rapidly abandoned 70 odd years ago. Perhaps this is her revenge: if you want me back you must pay.
And so be it, I raise my glass, not to greed or ambition, but to Valletta herself; may she sell herself once more, to the highest bidder, she is so beautiful, so it is fitting that she should sell at a high price. While it may not be great news for me, it is great news for the city whose fall from grace was so tragic. Now as she rises from the ashes once more, I let out a deep breath and accept that for better or for worse Valletta life goes on and one day, my friends, one day, I will win the Super 5 lottery and buy me a room with a view in the city of yells, bells and smells; a room from which I may look out, from which I may listen, from which I will always learn.