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TRIUMPHS & MISFORTUNES
MY TRIP TO MALTA 1-14 MARCH

The weather in Malta was a bit like my trip, sunny at times and plain ugly at others.

It began with an hour plus equipment delay leaving Minneapolis, turning what should have been an easy connection at Gatwick into a breakneck race to catch our plane for Malta. Evie and I arrived thirty minutes before the Air Malta flight was to leave. The connecting flight agent called the agents to tell them we had arrived. When she looked up at us I knew we were in for some bad news. We were on the passenger list but they didn’t have our tickets so we would need to produce them. We didn’t have any. All we had was the confirmation letter we had received from the travel agency. Moreover, the agent at the gate didn’t have the authority to make up a new ticket. “Would you please wait?” she asked. It was the ultimate rhetorical question.

We stepped aside. While we were waiting I sold copies of my book to two American tourists who were on their way to their first visit to Malta. After all the other passengers left, I began to count steps to various points, (I think there’s a psychological term for this behavior). Not surprisingly, when I measured the distance from the desk to the baggage x-ray I got suspicious looks from the security agent.

Minutes later a loudspeaker announced the last call for boarding the Air Malta flight. Noticing our frantic looks, our friend at the connections desk said not to worry. Even though we were starting to make plans where to stay near Gatwick for the night and maybe for the whole trip, the phone finally rang. The tickets were ready.

After a spectacularly sunny flight over the Alps and down the Italian coast we neared Malta. As we did the sun disappeared, the sky turned gray and raindrops splashed on the windows. When we deplaned, it was as cold as it was when we left Minneapolis. Even so, we were happy to be back to our adopted land. Until we found out that our baggage hadn’t arrived, that is. We had forgotten to check it through to Malta when we left Minneapolis and the bags were still in Gatwick. A very friendly young man at the Malta airport told us there was nothing to worry about. They would be delivered to our hotel by the next day at the latest.

All we had with us was the clothes on our backs and what we had brought with in our backpacks. At least we could wash our faces and brush our teeth that night and change our underwear.

We were expected at the out-of-way but inexpensive guesthouse where we always stay, but our room was near the top level and, as in the story, the elevator wasn’t working. The Bellestrado in the book is actually the Soleado in disguise. Exhausted from lack of sleep, we puffed our way up the stairway and went to bed.

I woke up at 2 o’clock with a sore leg. I had severely torn my right hamstring in September and was rear-ended twice within a month (remember how Rick was always bemoaning his bad luck?) and was being treated for low back pain by various doctors and chiropractors. I also had sciatica in my right leg for a while as a result. This time it was the left. Luckily we had aspirin in our backpacks. I took one and went back to sleep.

The next morning we were ready to start promoting the book. Even though we didn’t have a copy of it with us (they were all still at Gatwick) we had a few fliers in our backpacks. We decided we would visit every bookshop in Valletta to let the shop owners know that we were in town and that copies would be available from Agius (pronounced as ah jus in case you aren’t familiar with Maltese) and Agius Booksellers. The shops were cheery and smelled of fresh newsprint, but we found few of the purchasers present. The clerks were friendly and told me to come back tomorrow. One actually suggested a definite time. Little did we know that this was just a taste of the typical Malta business style, and that we would be gnawing off the ends of our fingers before the trip was over.

When we got back to the hotel we found our bags sitting outside of our room and the manager, Joe Bugeja (Josefina in the novel) waiting by our door. When I could breathe again I commiserated with him for having had to haul the book-filled bags up the stairway. He just shrugged and stuck out his lower lip (the typical Maltese gesture, I’ve decided.) “It wasn’t that bad. The elevator is working.”

I bit my tongue or they would have been able to hear my shriek in Mdina, five miles away.

Exhausted, we turned in early. I woke at 3:00 with excruciating pain in my leg. I couldn’t stand, I couldn’t sit so I paced the floor for most of the night.

The next morning, after breakfast, we were off to see Dr. Tony Abela-Medici, our friend and the coroner of Malta. Tony looked more tired than I was. He had three family members “in hospital” and was maintaining a vigil on them. Even so, he was anxious to do whatever he could to help us. He told us he knew the president of Malta and he thought he could arrange for a book presentation.

Things were looking up.

We walked back to Valletta and met with the distributor. David De Angelo was amazed at how much I knew about Malta and said he really liked the book’s cover. He gave us names of contacts, including a Maltese-language talk show host who sometimes talked about books. We also got a promise from an editor associated with Malta Times that a review of the book would appear before the booksigning.

We immediately headed for legendary Strait Street where the talk show was produced. In the old days Knights dueled each other on the cobblestones and ladies of the night came there to show off their wares. No one had any idea where we wanted to go, (numerical addresses mean nothing in Malta), but finally a pub owner pointed at a newer structure across the street. The building turned out to be a highlight of the trip. A dark entryway and hallway passed an iron gate. Beyond, a courtyard with hundreds of exposed pipes hissed and gave off a hint of methane. Best of all, a basket hung from a rope tied to the top floor railing had both of us laughing uncontrollably. We never did find out what the basket was for, but we guessed it was so the mail carrier wouldn’t have to walk up the six flights of steps. After climbing five flights, we found a tiny business card stuck in a closed door with the name we were looking for. We took a chance and knocked. A very pretty young woman opened the door for us. After we described the book, she said she was interested in it and planned to have it mentioned on the show.

Later on, we also had a meeting with the Maltese Director of the Tourism Authority and presented him with a book and spent a pleasant half-hour chatting with him.

After that, the course of events rapidly went downhill. The sciatica kept getting worse during the rest of the week and walking was actually my only relief. By the following Thursday, it was unbearable and we walked to a hospital that was just a few blocks from the guesthouse. A woman who was a perfect Caterina from my novel treated me. She was tall, gorgeous, and had the bubbly personality to match and I immediately started to dream about the day when I make a movie out of the Cellini Masterpiece so I could cast her in the role. She gave me a prescription for an anti-inflammatory and painkiller and sent us on our way. Unfortunately, her prescriptions didn’t work and we were back at the hospital at four the next morning. The doctor on duty hospitalized me and I was given a powerful injection that finally relieved my agony. The next day I was to have an MRI.

Getting to my exam was cheaper by ambulance than by cab and the woman who rode with me was chatty. She told me how Maltese women hate the Russian women who were coming to the island. “We cook for our husbands,” she said in a disgusted voice, “we keep house for them and have their babies. Then these Russians come and steal them from us. And they only know one thing. It’s terrible.”

I laughed so hard I didn’t need any pain medicine for the rest of the day.

The next day I was released in time for the book signing. We only sold a few copies but I was convinced that the distributor was genuinely interested in the book and we both felt that once it started making the rounds to the kiosks and shops, it would sell well with the tourists. Unfortunately the talk show didn’t pan out. Because we didn’t know the language we watched the entire two-and-a-half hour show in perplexed silence. It never appeared.

The trip ended pleasantly enough. When we flew out of Malta we were bathed in brilliant sunshine. We made an easy connection at Gatwick, and when we got back to Minneapolis, our luggage was in the carousel.

What next? Trips to book distributors in the US, Canada and GB. My book is already hopelessly dated as far as book reviewers are concerned, but I am resorting to guerilla marketing and the number I’ve sold is now more than 600.

If you are interested, the first chapter of The Cellini Masterpiece is available at my website: http://www.cmasterpiece.com.

SAHHA u hbibierija which translate to Health and Friendship.

Raymond John is the penname of John Anderson. John is a former graduate student in history at the University of Minnesota and has sold stamps and other collectibles for more than 30 years. He also was in the Army Reserves with a Psychological Operations Unit and completed training as an Intelligence Analyst. Several of his Annual Training tours were to the Department of Defense in Washington, DC. He also spent more than 10 years as a reserve Intelligence Analyst with the US Naval Reserves. He has visited Malta seven times and has many Maltese friends in North America and in Malta.

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Yes, I put my hands up. I admit it. I have an insatiable appetite for looking into other peoples homes.

No. I am not a “Peeping Tom”. When I looked up the definition of “Peeping Tom” in my Collins Concise Dictionary and Thesaurus I am told that Peeping Tom is a man who furtively observes women undressing. That is definitely not me. But, yes, I do confess to glancing furtively sideways when out walking to see how much I can see through any windows not shrouded with window nets. I prefer to think I am inquisitive, having a natural curiosity to find out what puts the soul into a home… what, inspires people and what treasures (or sometimes not) are hidden behind the front door.

Thankfully I can, legitimately, indulge my curiosity, because there are so many beautiful houses and gardens open to the public to visit both in this country and abroad.

On a recent summer trip to Gozo with my husband we decided to take the ferry back to Malta and drive into Valetta. There I found the Casa Rocca Piccola, at 74 Republic Street, the 16th century home of a Maltese nobleman. It is now the home of the 9th Marquis de Piro and his family. Frances, the Marchioness is English and it is her who greets you as you walk through the front door. The history of Casa Rocca Piccola goes back over 400 years to an era in which the Knights of St. John, having successfully fought off the invading Turks in 1565, decided to build themselves a prestigious city to rival European capitals. The house is named after the first owner, Don Pietro La Rocca, Admiral of the Order of St. John in the Langue of Italy. It was, in later years, let to a succession of Italian aristocratic knights and sold to a Maltese nobleman in the second half of the 18th century.

Casa Rocca Piccola is not a museum: it is, in a sense, more than that. It is a living relic of a past way of life burdened with the pretension and aspirations of Maltese lineage. There are numerous items of memorabilia to be seen, not only for their artistic merit, but also because they contribute reality to the overall scene.

Climbing the ornate marble staircase you will see, dominating the top landing a carved wood de Piro coat of arms. This was the last work of the Maltese artist Edward Pirotta. Hanging above is an enormously intricate chandelier from Bohemia. The first room to be visited on your tour is the Chapel in which the walls are painted to simulate damask. There are two crosses on the alter: an ivory crucifix that was granted two hundred days indulgence by Cardinal Godfrey in 1960. The second cross houses a particle of the True Cross behind a little red curtain. Its authenticity is confirmed by no less than seven Vatican seals on the reverse. As was the case with most European noble families it was the custom for the younger son to become a priest and for that reason in particular, many patrician families were given the privilege of keeping a chapel in the house. The Marquis’s grandfather represented George VI and his medals are kept here together with an exquisite pair of shoes known as Papal buskins and a pair of silver filigree earrings, a present from the Bishop of Gozo to Nicolina de Piro after her husband donated land to build the famous Ta’Pinu church in Gozo.
On next to the Green Room where the walls are indeed green! Here there is a magnificent marquetry bookcase that especially caught my eye. Made in about 1640 during the reign of the French Provencal Grand Master Lascaris it bears his arms on the door. The panels are inlayed inside and outside. A fascinating work of art. I was told that the veneer was a mix of olive and orange wood. There are many portraits hung on the walls and proudly placed is a photograph of the 8th Baron and Baroness who attended the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth in 1953. Moving on to the Four- Poster bedroom, the only room in the house not in use, the bed is a showpiece reputed to be great-grandmother Orsola’s matrimonial bed. Married in 1867 she produced 9 children: 7 boys and 2 girls. They all survived childhood and so the bed is considered lucky!

The next room is the Porphyr Room so called because the walls were at one time painted to imitate porphyry marble; then the Blue Room or petit salon with modern pictures collected by the family. Among them works by Annigoni, The Rathmells, Rowley-Smart and Durer. The style of the Dining Room that once had an open terrace overlooking the small garden contrasts with the rest of the house and is considered a “folly”. Built by the current family’s Grandfather in 1918 its white pillars and light aspect certainly make it very different to the rest of the house. It gives the impression of being a conservatory because of its lightness and airiness.A trompe l’oeil of a Spanish woman playing a harp on a black and white tiled floor produces an exaggerated perspective that gives the impression that the room is longer. The last room is the Carriage Room that was once a stable for a mule but, going back, perhaps my favourite room is the Library. Here I found what can only be described as the most outstanding piece of furniture imaginable. A portable chapel. When shut it looks for all the world like a large black lacquered bureau however, it opens up to become a fully functioning chapel with it own tabernacle, relics and the Way of the Cross. It is richly decorated with pictures of exotic birds and flora and panels depicting St. Francis Zavier in Japan and Goa. The idea was that you could have a Chapel in any room of your house and then it could be closed up to look like a secular piece of furniture. An absolutely breathtaking piece.

One of the treasures of the house I must not forget to mention though is a golden sedan chair made for the Knight of Malta, Fra Victor Nicolas de Vachon Belmont reputed to be a romantic figure who led his men personally, oh, and lastly “April” the family tortoise to be found in the small garden. Interestingly Casa Rocca Piccola was one of the few houses at the time of the knights to be allowed a garden. It was a great privilege for its owners as water was scarce and gardens were technically forbidden.

So, if you ever find yourself strolling down Republic Street in Valletta, Casa Rocca Piccola gives you a rare opportunity to see inside one of the last private unconverted Valletta palaces still lived in today. It comes highly recommended to anyone like myself, with a curiosity and inquisitive appetite to see inside other peoples homes.

Olivia Hughes,
Invaluable group of companies.

http://www.invaluable.com

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