Saħħa, Malta

Ironically, after all of the "technical difficulties" I stumbled through in Malta, there is wonderful, functioning, FREE wifi at the Malta Airport (the only airport in Malta, so it does not merit a fancier name). The past few days have been rather relaxing. I spend one day in Mehellia Bay, laying by the beach and reapplying sunscreen obsessively, scared to death of the unhealthy red color of many of my other beach goers. I think it's easy to forget that Malta lies at a further south latitude then north Africa. You certainly wouldn't run around Northern Africa with SPF 15, would you?
I did some more shopping in Sliema after the beach - its hard, after this long away and with limited access to a clothes washer, everything I brought seems to have lost its luster. I'm attempting to restrain myself, but I am doing much better then I thought I would have. Ah, well. That's what vacation is for.
I dined at the Avenue, the restaurant owned by my hotel in Paceville. It was strongly recommended by some British tourists, and breaking my own culinary rule to never trust British restaurant recommendations (I'm sorry, but it's true. Fool me once, shame on you, food me twice...) I ate there and picked some safe bets - bruscette, mixed salad, sauteed mushrooms. All of it was fine, but not noteworthy. The clientele seemed to enjoy the huge portions of mostly fried food and the odd curry dish or two - again, mostly British.
Yesterday I took another long, bumpy bus ride to the north of the island to Gozo, then to Paradise Bay, a secluded beach a 1-2 km hike behind the ferry dock. It was worth the hike and the million stairs. There were fewer then twenty people on the beach, and the beachside restaurant actually served some really good, traditional Maltese food. I had juicy, chargrilled chicken breast with honey, lemon zest and fresh thyme with a salad, but I was impressed that a small beach grill would be so ambitious to serve Maltese favorites, like fried rabbit.
England won the game last night, and as a cab driver remarked to me, the Maltese cheer so strongly for the British because their fledgling soccer team isn't any good. People were, literally, dancing in the streets and creating such a fuss that it took my little bus about an hour to go what is normally about a 15 minute ride. And they say the Americans create spectacles.
Dinner last night was at a sub par Maltese restaurant in St. Julians. The only thing of note was a soup called "widow's soup", consisting of spices, cauliflower, hard boiled egg, peas, tomatoes, carrots, vinegar, honey, and beautiful chunks of Maltese goats cheese, peppery and with a tang and texture like feta, that slightly melted in, giving the soup a silky mouth feel. The soup I was served wasn't fantastic. The tomato base was too acidic, too much like a jarred tomato paste consistency, but it piqued my interest enough to know that it has the right ingredients to be a winner - one I will certainly try and recreate when I get home. I can never resist a good soup.
Now, its the Malta airport, then a transfer in Rome, a flight to Genoa, a bus to the train station, and a train to Monterosso. I'm pretty sure there is not a form of transportation that I will not cover today (camel?) and I have read my way through all of my books. The Maltese bookstore pretty much carries only American romance novels a la Danielle Steel, but I did manage to scrounge up a copy of the "best of" Hemingway. And though I'm running around the Mediterranean today, no single trip is longer then an hour - plane, train, etc, which makes it more bearable.
Saħħa, Malta e Ciao Italia!