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.