retiredmartin

 

I hope the post on the Maraskala Labour Club piqued your interest for a series of Maltese reports, as that’s what you’ve got till the weekend when I’m back in the land of real ale and sub-zero temperatures.

It’s good to tick off Malta on my World Wall Chart, but that still leaves us over 150-odd countries to do.  I think completing the Beer Guide looks more likely unless we see a few country mergers soon.

Maraskala is looking quite green at the moment compared to the Bing maps aerial view, and I’m rather glad we’re here in the coolest month of the year.  Mrs RM and Matt have been complaining that it’s cold here at Portland Lodge, which just goes to show they didn’t pack enough jumpers.

I’m warming to the village, even though it lacks pubs, Balti mix and record shops.

Plenty of Mediterranean clichés about brightly coloured fishing boats in the harbour,

but elsewhere it feels very modern, with drinkable coffee, free working WiFI and clean public toilets.  So at least we haven’t missed Wetherspoons.

And it has salt pans (above), notable by their absence in Waterbeach and Stockport, and roughly 887 tiny convenience shops. Tellingly, those were all open selling chocolate on Saturday while the pharmacist we needed for cold remedies remained resolutely shut.

It’s a neat and tidy village, with good apartments, and restaurants that wouldn’t be out of place in Cheadle Hulme.

And the number of cats, if not pubs, would please someone.

On our first night out we ignored the “fun pubs” with Stella and Guinness and headed for the bar at the end of the waterfront strip near the parish church.

Corner View had Old Boys with caps (top), children dressed as Power Rangers, and machines dispensing plastic tat for 50 cents.

As is the fashion these days, there’s a beer list.

And that list is nearly the sum of it throughout Malta.  Heineken the only draught beer, cans of local Cisk the norm.

Cisk served too warm, Hopleaf served just right.  Less than £3 the two.

Sport on TV stretched to basketball and biking, an ex-pat free zone.  Missing our bench seating and scatter cushions, we went in search of ex-pats.