Under the Maltese Sun

As many readers may already be aware, after my first real weekend night working at the restaurant/disco in Taormina, I decided to quit. There were a myriad of reasons why, the most important of which were a)I was exhausted. b) they really weren't paying me enough to work that hard, and c) I felt my dignity slipping away by having to wait on drunk people. One summer spent doing that was enough. On the same day that I was searching for a new job, the agency that I now work for was searching for a replacement group leader for eighteen Italian students between the ages of 15 and 17 here in Malta. And just like that, I left Taormina, made the 8 hour, 125 mile (let's not get into the absurdity of that situation. Suffice it to say that part of it was on foot and part was in Italy's oldest train. I kid you not.) to take a Catamaran from Pozzallo, in the southernmost part of Sicily, to Valletta, in Malta.

The group, well, how to describe them? They are mostly from Rome, or the surrounding area. Not all of them are really that interested in learning English, which is what they are here to do, but I like to think they give it the old college try. They are good kids and they like to have fun. A lot a fun. Sometimes too much fun. No one needs for me to go into details about too much fun, do they? We've all been there. There's also another group here, of about 23 students, the leaders of which, fantastic Italian girls that they are, have already become my good friends. (and sometimes my saving graces!)

I've done many beautiful things since I arrived. On Thursday, while the students were in their lessons, the other two leaders and I went to see the Tarxien Temples and the Hypogeum. I'll be honest. It was difficult to imagine the Tarxien Temples as more than a pile of stones. Although allegedly they once stood 23 meters high. I've always wondered (and secretly doubted) how archaeologists arrive at such precise conclusions from a pile of stones, but thus said the guidebook and so I suppose I'll buy it. But the Hypogeum was a completely different story. A combination temple/tomb carved into the rock underground, it is one of the oldest structures in the world. It is incredible to imagine the ancient peoples making such a thing. I had heard before entering that you can feel the spirituality of the place but my skepticism is gone after experiencing it. There is honestly something otherworldly that is very palpable with that rock-space.

And then yesterday, we took the group of students on a day-long tour of a craft village/Mdina/the blue grotto. Everything was going swimmingly: people bought souvenirs for their families at the craft village, we ate some gorgeous cake a café in the charming Medieval town of Mdina, and then we went on a boat tour at the Blue Grotto. Anyone who knows me well is aware of my passion for boats and Malta has not disappointed me in this way. The journey around the grottoes, what with the water so blue it looked like it had been dyed (I'm serious, how is it that blue? I really don't understand), the sweeping cliffs, and then of course, the intrigue of the caves themselves, was really amazing.

But to keep me from getting to swept up in the grandeur of it all, we were blessed with a very down-to-earth, very insistent, driver/guide. He was extremely determined that we should all get our 3 lire worth. "Look please, blue water," he would say and point. When not everyone looked altogether, in unison, he repeated, a bit more urgently, "Blue water, please. Look." And then repeated as necessary until he felt we had all looked at the blue water for a sufficient period of time. "Coral, look please, coral." "This grotto is called Cathedral. Look, please. The dome." "This one, the temple. Rocks please, look the rocks." A very thorough man indeed. I felt sure that under his watchful eye I would not miss anything.

After the boat ride, I went for a gorgeous swim. Or as it translates directly from Italian, "I made a bath." The cold water relaxed and re-energized me. And a good thing too, because over the next hour, I would need that energy, as we were suddenly hit with a number of tiny disasters.

One student stung by a jellyfish, another vomiting, three others lost, and then finally, half the group marooned (albeit very briefly) by a broken-down mini bus. But we pulled through. The jellyfish stings were neutralized by vinegar; the boy finally stopped vomiting (halfway back to the hotel, at one point he leaned so far out the window I was afraid he would fall out. But then finally it was all over and he fell asleep on my shoulder, exhausted from the effort); the three lost were found, claiming confusion over the meeting time; and the group marooned was rescued by a functional bus. And then at last we arrived back to the hotel to discover one student's passport and identity card (both together!) stolen. Italian consulate of Valletta, here I come!

Two days ago I landed in Sicily. No glimpses of Turi Gulliano just yet. And so far no friends-of-friends have gotten hold of any of my fingernails. As yet, I have met a number of friendly Catanians and one Bagnino (lifeguard) from Palermo, with whom I'm sharing an apartment. We're living in the tiny town of Letojanni, which is basically the northern section of Taormina. It’s a borgo molto carino (a cute little town), for the most part untouched by tourism, which means its still possible to buy things like water and shampoo for reasonable prices. There are stunning beaches a fifteen-minute stroll (down a mountain) from my house where the water is invigoratingly cold, clear, and blue.

On work: So far I haven't really done any. Unless you count carrying a few drinks, lighting some candles, and setting a few tables. I have done a lot of standing around practicing my Italian and trying not to yawn. But this is all about to change in a few weeks when the vacationers really start to pour in.

My new boss is an interesting guy. For some reason he's decided that I don't speak Italian. In spite of the fact that I speak Italian to everyone else: waitresses, bartenders, cooks, his finance (who functions basically as service manager). Whenever he tries to tell me something, he mumbles a few words in Italian, and gestures indeterminably. So I stare back at him blankly. Which is more a result of the fact that he didn't actually say anything than it is a function of my lack of language comprehension. Then he starts spouting off the few random English words he knows. Speak. Receptionist. Ashtray. Oh ok, now it's all very clear. I ignore him and go ask someone else.

My little apartment- and I do mean little- in spite of its general state of chaos, bears many unique charms. For example, the shower is not so much a shower but more a tap, high up on the wall over a drain in the floor. Really it's quite convenient: when in a rush, one can shower and use the toilet at the same time. The TV doesn't really work but who needs one with the sun and sea always close by? But the fridge, oh the fridge. It is wonderfully and marvelously cold. People other than myself who have lived with a functional fridge for the last year could not possibly realize the beauty of this. On the size of the place: picture my apartment at Winston Avenue (those of you that remember it) and then picture an apartment noticeably smaller. With five people living in it. Personal space has become a long forgotten notion. But I think its good practice for the big Italian family I am one day going to have. And what it lacks inside, it makes up for outside with a huge wraparound terrace and a gorgeous view of the Mediterranean Sea. Yes, I did say Mediterranean Sea. Every morning I get to wake up and look out at the Med. And this is no half-assed, stretch-your-neck-around-the-corner-and-peer-with-one-eye-closed type of view. We're talking about a full-on, spread out before you like the centerfold of a travel magazine type of view. So what if I have to climb up a massive hill to get there? I've already decided to think of this absurdly steep and dangerously curvy road as simply a lengthy driveway to my hillside villa. Plus by the end of the summer I should have buns of steel from climbing it. Either that or calves of a mountain goat.

Running Commentary

So I've arrived in Taormina! But more on that another day...this internet cafe is costing me not only an arm and a leg but also possibily my firstborn child! (I still have to negotiate)
Here's a link to the first article in my new monthly column on popmatters.com:
Bridge suspended