TRAVEL

There’s an unexpectedly familiar voice or two in the middle of the Mediterranean whether you are Brit, Italian or Australian.

The guttural speech reveals its Arabic roots, heavily overlain with foreign words. The lifestyle, the cuisine and the staunch Catholic faith of the Maltese recall southern Italy, whilst the cosy pubs and red phone boxes reassure British visitors.

Even Australians find echoes of their faraway country on this Mediterranean island nation, thanks to a history of post-War emigration.

Well into September, northern Europeans flock to Malta for the Mediterranean sunshine and sparkling waters, whilst the rest of us relish fine food with an Italian touch, and the many other legacies of a tortuous history extending back 5,000 years, including the world’s oldest freestanding structures.

Like Gibraltar, Malta formed a bastion of the British Empire through the 19th and 20th centuries, a rocky outcrop that commanded vital maritime trade routes across the Mediterranean. During WWII, this island fortress withstood heavy bombardment, its people suffering greatly.

Malta’s history goes back much further, the legacies of the crusading Knights of St John being reminiscent at times of the past grandeur of Venice or Dubrovnik. Down the hill and across the water from my guesthouse lies “a fine example of a 15th-century Renaissance fortified city”.

Valletta doesn’t feel like the toy-town capital of a small island state. Rather, it wears the airs and graces of Europe’s grand old capitals bequeathed by empires now faded, as do Vienna or Trieste.

Grand avenues, flanked by majestic public buildings or tree-lined malls, fan out from the city centre, even if they lead only to dusty, huddled towns and villages of creamy limestone, with their impossibly grand baroque churches and sleepy town squares.

In the tourist district of Sliema, the waterfront buzzes with cafés and bars, boutiques and ice-cream vendors, but the steep backstreets are lined with traditional two- and three-storey houses, rows of painted window boxes and, every so often, a brass band clubhouse or a tiny corner store. Fine Renaissance mansions or Catholic basilicas loom up unexpectedly in the narrow streets.

It’s not all history here.

Sun-starved Europeans pack into the busy resorts along the northern coast, and exquisite grottoes, reflected by clear turquoise waters, lie concealed within the formidable limestone cliffs along the southeast coast.

At secluded coves like Ghar Lapsi (not easily reached without a car), the locals think nothing of jumping in for a dip off the natural shelves of limestone rock. On the smaller and sleepier island of Gozo — easily reached by ferry — golden sandy beaches like Ramla, splattered with sun umbrellas, become positively enticing.

In the fishing port of Marsaxlokk (mar-sash-lock), my accommodation is right above a restaurant on the waterfront. Brightly-painted fishing boats chug back and forth, delivering local snapper or lampuki (dolphin fish) to be grilled expertly for lunch. Each boat’s prow is guided by the mystical Eyes of Osiris, a tradition thousands of years old.

Dining al fresco at Duncan’s Bar & Restaurant, I order seafood pizza, which arrives piled high with mussels (still in shells), prawns, octopus and squid. At the next table sit the Baldachinos from New South Wales, family friends of my hosts, whose side door sports a little enamelled plaque celebrating “Sydney Cove” with a sketch of the Opera House and the Harbour Bridge.

In the island’s centre, Mdina is a well-preserved walled city where the local aristocracy long held sway even after the Knights of St John, Napoleon’s troops and other invaders had made their mark on the coastal towns. Mdina is best explored on foot. The “Silent City” teems with package tourists by day but soon falls still as the light fades.

Admire the Roman frescoes or the catacombs of early saints in nearby Rabat, then head back to the town square where Parruccan Confectionary stocks a mouth-watering selection of homemade Maltese cakes, buns, nougat and nut brittle.

Enough from me. I’m off down to the Sliema waterfront for a last swim in the “Med”, climbing in off a rocky shelf. Time afterwards for a pint of the local Cisk and a spot of people-watching along the Strand.

Malta for motorheads

Waiting for a bus is rarely fun, but on Malta, at least there’s the novelty of wondering just what much-loved relic will come lumbering down the road.

Valletta’s teeming City Gate terminus is a working museum of decades-old AECs, Dodges, Leylands and Volvo buses, many decorated with whorls, scrolls and pious aphorisms according to the owner’s tastes.

Whilst you wait, enjoy an iced granita, a fried date turnover, a Maltese nougat or a pastizzio, the distinctively Maltese savoury pastries. Unfortunately, the regular commuters sometimes tire of erratic scheduling and the arbitrary whims of owner-drivers who aren’t always scrupulously honest when counting out change.

As in other small island nations, especially former colonies, Malta has long relied upon a diverse and sometimes incongruous collection of motor vehicles imported more or less randomly from the “mother country”. Commercial vehicles were built up from a basic chassis by local coachbuilders and carpenters, modified by resourceful owners or customised with fancy paintwork, extra chrome and interior trim.

“Route buses” — that is, public transport — have been operating ever since a certain Mr Spiteri imported the first Thornycroft buses from the UK in 1905. By 1931 the total number of buses was not far short of today’s fleet of 508, and Malta’s embryonic railway system had ceased operation.

Bus drivers were locked in acrimonious and destructive competition, and inevitably entrepreneurs emerged who built up fleets at the expense of smaller operators. Since 1977 the operators have adhered to fixed routes and standardised fares, as well as a uniform livery, the distinctive gold-and-orange of the island of Malta fleet and the more subdued grey-and-red of the island of Gozo.

Thanks in part to a hot, dry climate, the legacy of the past remains in the form of an eclectic “car park” of vehicles, most of which are at odds with the European Union’s norms on exhaust pollution. Something will be lost the day slick Scandinavian coaches shoulder aside these proud in-your-face omnibuses of yesterday.

Malta’s motley fleet of public buses is paralleled in the islanders’ enthusiasm for vintage, veteran and classic cars. On Malta’s crowded roads, I spy Austin 1800s, a Morris Estate stationwagon complete with wooden framing, and even one early 60s Austin hauling a stone mason’s trailer.

The parking lot outside the main gate to the walled city of Mdina one hot September evening includes a Ford Model A, a jet-black Ford Zephyr 6, a classic gas-guzzling Cadillac complete with chrome fins and a stately Rolls Royce in two-toned mauve. When does the rally start?

No, these diverse and eye-catching vehicles have been marshalled to chauffeur a group of visiting European VIPs.

I spy a small Ford Consul, smartly liveried in two-tone banana yellow with deep-green roof; a lime-green 1960s Opel Kapitan and an immaculate Rover TC2000, its blue-green panels positively gleaming. I learn that in the nearby town of Rabat, one garage offers a 1933 Vauxhall Grosvenor Limo for hire, claimed to be one of five surviving worldwide.

Harry Caruana, a dapper middle-aged man whom I encounter at the wheel of his black 1955 Chevrolet Belair — the last of its type in Malta — is a motor mechanic who has previously owned Studebakers and Vauxhalls.

How does his family react to his passion for wheels? Well, he’s a bachelor . . . that helps. Caruana, like so many Maltese, has friends and family who emigrated to Australia, and one of these, he declares, owns 10 veteran cars.

Caruana assures me there are many motor shows and rallies staged by Maltese enthusiasts. Indeed, the Old Motors Club, the country’s largest vintage and classic car club, boasts around 300 members who between them have close to 1,000 cars. The oldest car in the club is a 1904 Cadillac, reputedly one of the first motor vehicles ever to reach Malta.

Of the popular makes represented, the majority are British, but American, Italian, French, German and other Continental makes are also keenly sought, and even DKW, Marmon or Goggomobil cars can be found.

Malta’s specialist car clubs provide for devotees of American cars, classic Fords, Toyota and Alfa Romeo; these last enjoy get-togethers with their fellow enthusiasts in Sicily, a relatively short journey by fast catamaran. It’s a chance to savour the novelty of the Italian autostrada, of the rugged terrain of Mt Etna and, of course, driving on the right.

Visitors to Malta can admire the Malta Classic Car Collection in the coastal resort town of Qawra, a lavishly-presented private museum of fine cars, many from the 50s and 60s.