A SEA OF BIRDS

It's 6.30am and I find myself on pontoon E34 waiting for Helen and Andre, both of whom I have never met in person. The Clipperton is waiting for us and Peter is making sure that everything is ok. I decide to make the most of the beautiful early morning light and take my camera out, setting my tripod on the wooden planks of the floating dock to take some photos of the harbour.

Finally I notice a petite blonde approaching, closely followed by a tall, brown-haired guy who is carrying a huge backpack. There's no time for introductions; a smile and a quick handshake and we're on the boat, eager to spot birds.

One can sense that these guys love what they do. There's no time wasting; as soon as they're on board they start unpacking and equipping themselves with the necessary paraphernalia. Helen reaches in her backpack and fishes out some papers and a small but voluminous book - the Collins Guide to Bird Watching - and everyone gets out their binoculars. Wasting no time, Helen goes back on deck, setting the course on her GPS. Meanwhile, down in the cabin, I strike a conversation with Andre, who is still getting out his camera, and ask him what it is exactly that we are expecting to see, since I've never been on such an excursion before. He tells me about the Yelkouan Shearwaters and their amazing journey that takes them from Malta to Greece, then from Crete to Egypt and to North Africa, and back to Malta. He then shows me some photos of injured birds with gaping holes in their wings, and x-rays of broken skeletal wings. These are all protected species, he adds.
On deck the sun has risen and its soft, orange glow is bathing the distant harbour in a magical warm light. The view is magnificent, and makes getting up early for it well worth the effort. The harbour is barely out of view when Peter asks me to steer the vessel as he checks the course with Helen. "Just follow a fixed imaginary point", he says.

With the course set, Peter guides the yacht while Helen, Andre and I scour the seas with our binoculars in search of winged animals. We have been sailing for almost an hour now and we haven't spotted any birds so far, but it's an enjoyable trip nonetheless. The weather is perfect; the sun is shining, and the vast blue sea is kind to us, rocking the boat gently and producing slight waves which create a foamy white surf as they playfully caress the vessel. The only things flying in the sky, however, are clouds. Eventually Andre spots a bird, and then we spot a couple more but that's it. I take the helm again while Peter eats a banana, and I spot a couple of Corys to our right, which I excitedly shout to Helen about.

The bird sightings are meticulously reported on what at first seems to be quite a complex sheet. Reporting is done on a 5-minute basis, with the current latitude and longitude punctiliously logged for each entry. Various other important information is also recorded, such as the flight path and the birds' behaviour. Any spotting of fish and other marine animals is also noted and I'm told that this helps MEPA and Nature Trust in their own animal welfare campaigns.

Helen tells me the story behind the project. The Yelkouan Shearwater Project is an initiative run by Bird Life in cooperation with various other government authorities and conservation organisations, whose goal is to protect Malta's population of Yelkouan Shearwaters. The aim of the boat trips is to gather information and pinpoint which areas at sea around the Maltese islands are important for these seabirds - that is why precise recording of bird presence is required - so that these might eventually be designated as Marine Special Protection Areas.

After a while we spot the first dolphins. They swim majestically across the open sea, surfacing briefly before plunging back into the water. They are too far away to be visible with the naked eye, so we have to use our binoculars. A few minutes later however we spot another group and these are more playful, joining our boat in a wonderful sea dance, whimsically playing with us, zigzagging and streaming their way across the sea, briefly surfacing above the water and disappearing in a graceful dive. Watching the frolicsome performance is truly an amazing experience.

It's not all fun and games however, as Helen is quick to point out. Today we are lucky with the weather, but observations have to be carried out no matter what the conditions are: in rain and wind observers have to stay on board in order to spot the up till now elusive birds. Spending a day at sea in less than favourable conditions can really take its toll on you and is surely not for the faint-hearted, Helen assures me.

But to me this is all new and exciting; spotting dolphins and birds with binoculars, photographing them and running like crazy on the small deck in order to record the sighting, under an idyllic scene of warm bright sunshine in the midst of a clear blue sky, at one with nature and in the great company of three very interesting people.

At about midway into our excursion we begin to hear a strange crackling noise and Peter gives me a baffled stare. His puzzled reaction confirms what I had feared: we have engine trouble. The sound subsides for a moment so we decide to sail on, but it soon crackles back to life and Peter decides to have a look. Wearing goggles he dives underwater and retrieves a piece of nylon mooring rope that had stuck to the propeller. Back on board he starts off the engine and a triumphant smile crosses his face.

The sun is setting and our excursion is almost over. We have a slightly more eventful closure as we spot flying fish and some more Corys. We drop Andre off at Comino – he's going to spend the night at a small observatory there – and we head back to Paradise Bay. Once there I will have to get off, but Peter and Helen will stay on board, spending the night and the following day at sea. They will soon be joined by other bird lovers who, come rain or shine, spare some of their time for a piece of tranquility on board the boat, in order to secure a piece of tranquility for the birds that visit Malta.

RABAT - BUSKETT - MDINA

It's a beautiful afternoon, with balmy weather and sunny blue skies – perfect for a day outdoors. This is all the motivation Eli and I need to go hiking. We park in Rabat and start our walk along the romantic, tranquil streets of this charming town. We are going to Buskett, Malta's only wooded area big enough to be honoured with the name of "small forest".

Our attention is immediately caught by the Dominican monastery, which lies in the aptly named St. Dominic’s Square. Even though I have passed by this building almost everyday for 5 years, I have never been inside. El on the other hand has.

According to the legend, in 1400 the Holy Mary appeared to a hunter in a cave south of Mdina. The cave was transformed into a chapel, and in 1505 became the site of the monastery and church present today.

As we enter the monastery a great sense of awe overcomes us as we gaze admirely at the huge gothic stone archways which form a mesmerizing pattern around the small garden-courtyard.

Today the monastery is open to tourists and the general public, and is home to a small chapel where devotees come to pray. The monastery is also home to Radju Marija, a religious radio station transmitting nationwide.

We notice that all the visitors keep going through an entrance on the left side of the courtyard, and we finally decide to follow them. As we step inside we are greeted by an old monk who could have been cast in The Name of the Rose.

"Are you tourists? Here to see the chapel?", he asks.

"Yes" I relpy in Maltese, and we enter with his blessing.

In front of us is a small white bust of a Madonna with Child, and we can barely discern two small red blotches on the marble cheek of the sculpted woman. This small chapel is in fact home to the crying Madonna. The story is that the statue, which is actually a replica of the 1505 original, began weeping tears of blood on the 6th and 7th of May 1999.

Such legends should be taken with a pinch of salt, considering what extravagancies Man has claimed to be true in the past. But, just like Greek mythology, the story is interesting nonetheless, so much so that its truthfulness becomes almost irrelevant.

Once outside the convent we take a sip of water and continue our walk. Surprisingly, plenty of vehicles pass through the road leading to Buskett. One can easily ignore them however, and imagine instead horse drawn carriages or bicycles driven by old farmers passing by. In fact, it’s not rare to encounter elderly people going round and about on old and rusty bicycles, as some old folk have stuck to tradition in this part of Malta.

I have always been fascinated by this place – it is so tranquil, conveying an aura of relaxation I have rarely found elsewhere. Apart from a couple of villas scattered on both sides of the narrow road, the urban encroachment has not made it much past the convent, which is now out of sight. There is something peculiar, something special, about the trees and the greenery here. It is probably a residue of my childhood days, when magic existed and utopian dreams were possible, and when the grip of reality wasn't as tight, but I always think of this part of the land as having greener greens, as being the enchanted home of a community of animals with intricate social structures that resists the ruthless advance of Man, hopelessly trying to preserve what humans apparently cannot.

We reach Buskett and decide to take the entrance round the Verdala Palace. And we're both immediately grateful we did; the view from here is breathtaking. A golden light strikes the trees from the side and we indulge ourselves in the peace and tranquility that this spot has to offer, as we take in the wonderful vista, smell the fresh air and take numerous photographs.

A couple of metres further down and the soothing silence is broken; we hear shouting and soon enough we see people having picnics and playing soccer. This small part of the "forest" has been converted to a park complete with wooden tables. The sound of silence is replaced by the noisy sound of radios, the screeching ringing of mobile tones and the beeping sounds coming from the latest hand held console. A look at Eli is enough to understand that we’re thinking the same thing; we're here to escape from the mundane monotony of every day life, from the ugly monster which, alas, technology has slowly become. And so we delve deeper into Buskett, where we are finally surrounded by like minded individuals who prefer to be entertained by nature; listening to the choir of birds and having face to face conversations with their friends and loved ones whilst strolling amidst the vegetation, sitting on the stools which nature provides in the form of rocky outcrops.

We walk a bit further and find an excellent spot to eat our hobza biz-zejt. Having briefly rested we get up to continue our hike, but just a few metres ahead we spot some cherry tomatoes and I get caught in the task of trying to capture them on camera. It becomes dark all of a sudden and we decide to head back since we don't have any flashlights. As we start our walk back we realize we're quite deep into the small woods.

It's almost completely dark now, and, frankly, getting a bit scary. Strange noises are amplified in the muted obscurity as small night critters come out of their hidden habitats. We can see a couple of bats gliding blindly above us. We continue on, eventually making our way out of Buskett and heading towards Dingli, passing in front of Savio College, the school I used to attend. Nostalgia hits me and, as anyone who has ever passed by this school in my company could guess, I start recounting and retelling the many adventures of a teenaged schoolboy: the fields tax-Xula, the frantic race to buy the delicious home-baked pizza, the assembly in the cold morning air and, most important of all, I talk about the feeling of unity which is inevitable in a small school of 250 pupils in the middle of the Maltese version of nowhere. It is a feeling that was shared by all of my ex classmates, and a feeling I doubt anyone of us will ever feel again in life.

We walk down by a small chapel and start our walk back to Rabat. Night has fallen now, and we're tired and hungry. I get out my mobile phone and start playing some Beatles: they always manage to boost up my morale, no matter what. Singing along Strawberry Fields Forever we walk on, hearing the occasional bark from an alert and curious dog.

We finally reach Mdina. Although we both want to, we’re too tired to leisurely stroll around the Silent City. Without even uttering a word we instinctively head to Fontanella, a lovely place for pastries, where we enjoy a good cup of thick chocolate and a bird’s eye view of the Maltese nightscape.

CASALFORNARO

Today I decided to spend a Lejl f'Casal Fornaro (A Night in Casal Fornaro, which is how the town of Qormi was called at the time of the Knights). The event attracted quite a large crowd and I had to park about 15 minutes away from the town centre. The organizers promised an evening packed with entertainment and cultural activities. People in traditional costumes displayed different tools of antiquity and even livestock, portraying the way of life of our forefathers. The event however revolved around one very important aspect of Maltese culture: bread, the production of which Qormi is well renowned for.

Bread is Malta's staple food and Qormi boasts the largest number of bakeries in the country, several of which still operate in the traditional manner using wood-fired ovens. The name Casal Fornaro is in fact Italian, and means the Baker's Village.

So naturally there couldn't be a shortage of traditional maltese food with the main ingredient obviously being bread: all types of ftira were being served, copiously stuffed with an assortment of mouth-watering fillings - tuna, tomatoes, olives, anchoves, onions, capers, parsley and gbejniet being the most ubiquitous. Bread was also being sold from stalls placed along the narrow streets. Bakeries were open to the public and apart from selling their freshly baked bread they also showed off their furnaces and premises. Some old townhouses were also opened to the public and a few artists showed off their talents in the streets.

From the lively streets of Qormi, I ended underground. Narrow stairs cut in stone lead visitors down to Qormi's air raid shelter, which is found inside the Police Station. Its dug out rooms, furnished with dummies and props in order to purvey a sense of realism, branch out from a narrow central corridor. Humidity is high down here, and a strong musty smell pervades the whole place.

Different rooms have different functions: one room is a makeshift class with blackboard and small desks and chairs, another room is a sort of storage room with food and tools piled up. The biggest room serves as a small clinic. Exhibiting the shelter this way really helps visitors to imagine the sort of life our progenitors lived in such confined spaces, and their willingness to continue life even under the most dire circumstances. Apparently, the show must go on even during war.

What really grabbed my attention was a crucifix jutting out from a pile of rocks and bathed in green light. The artificial light mixed well with the yellowish colour of the Maltese limestone, and I simply had to take a photo.

WE'RE IN THE ARMY NOW

The Armed Forces of Malta open day was an excellent, fun filled and informative event.

We were greeted by the sound of a helicopter, and soon enough we saw the mechanical bird loom above us in the sky; an olive green bulk flying against the beautiful blue sky of a sunny Sunday morning.

We started off with a tour of army tents, especially set up with displays of weapons, tools and equipment used by AFM soldiers. Each tent offered a glimpse of army life and information about the various specialized divisions. Soldiers explained, gave information and answered questions. We learnt about the army engineers, about mines and about hand grenades and various weapons used by the Maltese armed forces. It was all very interesting.

Next we queued in order to shoot a rifle (blanks of course). I had never shot a gun before so a soldier explained to me how to go about it, stressing the importance of holding the rifle firmly against the shoulder, in order to absorb the power of the recoil. It is such an adrenaline rush holding a rifle; feeling its wooden butt against your shoulder and hearing the ear piercing sound after pulling the trigger.

All in all it was truly a most enjoyable experience.

Notte Bianca

Notte Bianca is an event organized in various cities around the world, including Valletta, which first took place in 2002 in Paris. Here in Malta the event was first organized in 2006.

I have been to all three Notti Bianche held in Malta. I remember the first one clearly: no one had expected such a huge turn out. I for one surely didn’t expect the massive throngs of people who flocked to Valletta that night for a cultural evening in one of the best examples of baroque city in Europe. So certain I was that the event wouldn’t attract the multitude that it eventually did, that I had decided against walking or public transportation, preferring the comfort of my car. After what seemed like an eternity stuck in traffic (this would be a good time to point out that I only live a few minutes away from the capital) I finally made it to the city – unfortunately there was nothing short of a miracle that could guarantee me a parking spot (my brother must pray a lot since, as I later found out, he actually found a parking spot not very far from city gate) so I dropped off my parents and drove half-way back to park only a short distance away from home. I then walked back to Valletta.

I really enjoyed myself that day, going round the streets of Valletta in the middle of the night, visiting museums and exhibitions. Tribali gave a truly unforgettable performance at the Old Royal Theatre, after which I went to see Dali’s Un chien andalou at City Lights. That might well have been the first and last time I went to that cinema, which is infamous for its showings of adult films. I spent a whole night in the Baroque City, returning home in rainy weather at about 6 in the morning.

And how could I ever forget last year’s show put on by a group of Italian performers and aptly named it-Taqbida (Battle Spectacular) – a fiery battle in an apocalyptic setting, with angels fighting demons, the latter throwing flaming balls of fire, ingeniously represented by woolen balls of red socks, over the city walls and onto the public, who took no time in deciding to use this textile ammunition on the performers. These truly proved themselves as great performers since they had to battle both each other and the incessant barrage of footwear being thrown at them. A magnificent spectalce with smoke, fire dancers, stilt walkers and inspiring apocalyptic background music creating one of the greatest, most artistic shows I have ever seen in my life.

This year’s Notte Bianca was much less eventful. The crowds weren’t as numerous and the streets were not as nearly packed, with many people choosing to attend a Michael Bolton concert being held on the very same day. Still, I enjoyed myself, as I always do when attending anything having to do with art or culture.

I met a couple of friends near the Grandmaster’s Palace, an impressive baroque palace once the seat of the Grandmaster, today housing the Office of the President and the House of Representatives. Together we roamed about the streets before visiting St. James Cavalier, where we had some unusual fun with two very interesting installations. One of the installations consisted of long, colourful vertical cylindrical pipes that produce sound once a hand passes through one of the holes found in their side, thus cutting the beam of light reaching a small receiver at the bottom. With enough people one can create different rythms and sounds, thus creating a melody.
Another installation worth mention consisted of a visual projection of a dinner table, with images of plates of food, cutlery and glasses being projected on the only tangible things: a big table with empty plates in the middle of the otherwise empty room.

After St. James we visited St. Catherine’s Church of Italy, a quaint little church with a lovely small wooden organ on display. Afterwards we decided to visit a slightly bigger church, and went off to St. John’s Co-Cathedral, the sumptuously decorated baroque church, and visited its museum which has two paintings by that great master of chiaroscuro, Caravaggio, on permanent exhibit.

After that I headed to the Palazzo De La Salle, the building which houses the Maltese Society for the Arts, Manufacture and Commerce, where an art exhibition was being put up by the Pastels Society of Malta. The palazzo is another fine example of baroque architecture.

My final visit for this year’s Notte Bianca was to Palazzo Ferreria, a building that captivates me, especially at night when it is illuminated by a magical green light. This is where the aptly titled “Isle Landers” photographic exhibition was being held, showing beautifully captured emotional portraits of illegal immigrants by Darrin Zammit Lupi.