Malta Madness - Oct 16

The last blog in my series on Rocks in the Sea for now. Sicily and Malta.

October 2016. The dark autumn nights. A friend was on holiday in Malta but I decided not to go. Monday I was at work, normal, regretting not going. Tuesday, the same. The week went on. So Thursday night, I looked at flights. I could no longer fly direct to Malta from Bristol. But I could fly to Sicily and there was a ferry to Malta. So I booked it, it was a bit unusual because Easy Jet wouldn't let me check in, I thought nothing of it given that it was 10pm and the flight was early next morning.

Friday morning at 3am I was up. Straight to Bristol airport in the frost. Went to the check in desk to be told I was on the 'standby list'! No mention of this when I was booking online! If there was a free seat I could go, if not, they could offer me seat 'on the next flight'. The next flight was a week later!

I stood at the gate watching everyone get checked in. I was there with 5 others on the list!! They'd oversold the flight by 6 seats!! I could see an Italian guy waiting with me, nervous as hell. The gate closed and they called for anyone else to go to the gate. We waited, there was no one, so the stewardess let us all on. We were off.

By 8am I was in a taxi from the airport passing Mount Etna.

Given I was expecting to be at work, this was a surprise. Sicily was nice (well, this town was anyway).

Very Italian. Very little English spoken. I walked round the local food market, it was beautiful Such fresh fish and vegetables, like nothing we have in the UK. This is exactly the disconnection we have with food in the UK when compared with continental Europe that I write about here.

After waiting around a few hours I was on a coach with a strange mix of tourist, visitors, locals, making our way to the harbour in the west.

By late afternoon I was in the harbour and hung out in the sunshine in the bar.

Strange sorts hang around harbours thats for sure. A couple of European lads, one with a Union Jack tee shirt.

And this old English/Maltese chap who lived in Malta but was shopping in Sicily. We started talking.

He had been shopping and bought two heavy metal milk churns to hold olive oil for his olive orchard.

We were foot passengers on the ferry to Malta and clearly, at his age, I couldn't let him carry them both so I took one.

Walking towards Italian customs, seeing their guns, it dawned on me that I was carrying a heavy metal container that was rattling with contents of which I had no clue what it was. But I was committed. We walked by large upturned wooden fishing boats that were clearly migrant vessels.

The news that year had been full of bodies of migrants washed up in the Med and these boats made me think of the people and the journeys attempted.

The EU talks about 'free movement' as if they are the worlds most benevolent and kind organisation, failing to mention that the free movement is only within the EU for the already well off (comparatively speaking) white people.

Whilst Trump gets ridiculed for building walls, the EU is quietly erecting walls to block the global movement of people from outside the EU, keeping the (mostly non-white) migrants out, yet it was Brexiteers who are called racists… as I wrote about last week!

I wondered what happened to those people who survived their journey. Clearly my journey, while unexpected, was luxurious in comparison and I had no expectation that my life was about to change significantly… as long as I made it through customs!

I sat on the passenger ferry to Malta as night fell. It had been a long day. I could track myself on my phone crossing from Sicily to Malta despite the blackness outside.

Then the lights of a medieval harbour approached. I had expected little of Malta, because of its British connection I had just assumed it would be Marks & Spencer's on Sea, but this was an impressive way to arrive. Arriving by boat certainly has a magical quality to it.

Night 1 in the capital Valetta. It was hot. That was good! The weekend was spent on beaches and swimming in the clear sea, drinking cocktails and shots (too many) and a close shave involving a bus stop that I never realised was outside the local police station. (Catholic countries are still more uptight than you realise.)

A tragic night in an English bar, surrounded by English pensioners all waiting to hear 'Tommy Strings', someone who I was assured by the pensioners was ‘the best guitarist on the island’. He had a wet curly mullet.

Tommy Strings the legend of Malta

Too soon it was time to leave and this epic short journey had to come to an end. Given all that had happened I should have realised that it wasn't over. I called a cab to the airport and was way too tired to talk as the driver tried to be polite.

When we were 15 minutes from the airport the driver stopped and turned up the radio. Its times like this that you think your time is up and he's arranged for friends to come and kill you and dispose of your body.

"There's been an incident at the airport" He said.

"Ahh, okay, no worries" was my reply, thinking... I don't care, just get me there.

"I'll take you there anyway" he said.

Bizarre thing to say really as that's all I wanted and expected... until moments later the airport came into sight. Black smoke and flames billowed from what should have been the runway.

"There's been a plane crash, we haven't had one for 30 years!" The driver said as I got out.

A bit stunned and not thinking about the the reality for the people involved, instead I had the return traveller mindset which was.... I don't care what's happened as long as I get home on time, when I'm home, I'll care, the situation was just too surreal to fully take in.

Walking into the airport I could tell things weren't right. It was pretty empty, mine being the first flight scheduled to leave. The board still showed it being on time. Fine. I ignored the police, closely followed by the army rushing through the airport at the same time that every flight on the board changed to 'Delayed'. Shit!

The reality of the situation sank in as I sat in the standard glass fronted airport. Its surreal having an airport sandwich looking at plane wreckage in flames on the runway. You know it happens but your brain doesn't put the right weight on the event when you sit and watch it about to fly yourself. You have this unrealistic expectation that you’ll be on your way home soon.

Malta Airport just after the crash

Hours passed. Rumours started to stir around the airport amongst the waiting passengers. No flights for the week. No flights for the day. No real news at all. Despite this people continued to arrive at the airport. With no one leaving, the place went from empty to a squat of people taking up every inch of space.

Hours passed, but eventually hopes increased of flights. 6 hours later they said our flight would go.

We boarded. The surreal nature of the situation was still there. As we sat on the plane, the left hand side still gave you a clear view of firemen dealing with embers, smoke still rising, wreckage still sitting there, police and army surrounding the site as a crime scene.

The Maltese Government said that the flight contained French security forces working on drug and human trafficking surveillance. The French said something slightly different. Either way, the flight wasn’t civilian making it a bit more suspicious.

Easyjet could clearly feel the tension. Unlike normal announcements it went "clearly this is difficult, and people will be anxious, but rest assured, we will get you out of here and home safely... but try not to look out of the left hand side of the plane." Despite the obvious dangers of flying being plain to see, it was actually a reassuring message.

And just like that, I was sitting on the Harbourside in Bristol having a pint in the dark with a guy from work (who’s parents are Maltese!) cold damp as if the trip had never happened.