I was alone, after leaving the remaining two of my friends from our group Corfu trip in Istanbul. I was tired and out of sorts from staying up all night after missing my flight. I had almost decided to fly back to Prague, thinking that maybe the rest of this trip was a mistake. Waves from my quarter-life crisis earlier that spring were still lapping at my feet. Financial worries floated in after paying for an extra flight and doubts about my life path crept in after having just seen off yet another friend, this time one who had been living in Prague as long as I had. The high tide rushed in to cloud my head. Why was I so addicted to travel? Couldn’t I just “find myself” back home in Prague? Why didn’t I feel ready to go back to America like all the others who had left? My insatiable adventure appetite be damned!- My last thought as I stood trepidatiously at the baggage claim scanning the carousel for my luggage. I waited there for awhile, like an avid Harry Potter fan waits for their letter to Hogwarts, knowing in my mind that it wasn’t going to come. But perhaps magic was working in other ways…
By the bus stop.
A few minutes later, all of the baggage had circled around the carousel a few times, while it was clear that mine had missed the ride completely. After speaking to the baggage claim customer service, slightly worried about my suitcase of my few technology possessions (thankfully my laptop was in my carry on), art supplies, and the best of the best of my summer clothes (when you move abroad with a couple of suitcases…those clothes are it!), I left the airport a bit lighter and headed to the bus stop. They’re material items, it’s no big deal…and a flight from Istanbul was coming in the next day, It’d be fine. But in the back of my mind, I Ionged for the small comforts that resided in my missing luggage.
Normally, I would have packed extra clothes and underwear in my carry on, but I’d never had problems with a direct flight before, although, never say never when you never miss a flight either and accidentally miss said flight.
I took the bus in to town, admiring the monochromatic dusty-tan views of Malta. Here I was, my long awaited self-trip at last, far past my end of March/ April due date. Determined, of course, I was going to make the most of it. There were far far worse situations than being stranded without luggage on a touristy island in the Mediterranean. I got off the bus at the correct stop and gazed out at the sea, snapped awake by my reality check. My next task was to find Boho Hostel. Someone had commented on their site that the directions were a bit confusing, so I had written them down haphazardly on a piece of sketch pad paper and had the hostel site uploaded on my dying laptop (this is how the old-fashioned, no Smartphone girl does it). My first attempt was wrong, but I quickly corrected my path and wandered the streets following the randomly scattered Boho Hostel signs until I 
found a quaint gate and a small sign. I walked past the gate into a peaceful garden area with a tented patio and a hammock swing and walked into the colorful reception/ lounge room. Just as I was checking in, another hostel patron came down the stairs requesting a towel for another girl who had lost her suitcase. “Well, that makes two of us,” I thought…wondering if this was a common occurrence around here. I checked in, dropped off my carry on at the room and headed out to wander the city with my camera to snap inspiring shots, which I could sketch later. Well fuck, it was dead…and my charger was in my missing suitcase.
I had come here on the pretense that I would spend my island retreat painting and drawing in solitude, to gather my thoughts and find some peace after a fast-paced spring and summer. Without paints or a camera or clothes to change into, I was left with just myself to wander and absorb everything with my five senses.
I quickly found that this wasn’t the most serene island to choose from. In fact, it was like a British capitalist playground, full of wealthy British families dining out, shopping, and going on expensive excursions, while their teenage offspring beach-bummed by day and got shipwrecked (Gaga reference) by night. I stood in front of a town map puzzled at the icons for fast food restaurants and shopping malls, desiring none of the branded forms of entertainment. I figured if I walked long enough, I’d find some kind of chill beach. I passed one beach, packed with people and too intense for my liking. On my walk back, I huddled against the buildings as reckless left-side drivers zoomed by on the narrow roads. The island wasn’t exactly designed for street-wanderers like me. I retreated back to the hostel, where I reconnected with one of my best friends, Joey, over Skype. This was not the vacation I had hoped for, but after catching up with a familiar face, I regained my positive perspective.
“This wall should be happier.”
No sooner had I finished Skyping, when my two French hostel mates (who had wandered in during the call) began offering up the contents of their suitcases after a brief, but warm greeting. They’d overheard me talking to my friend about my missing luggage and how I had nothing to wear and here, like a double dose of Cinderella’s fairy godmothers, they were offering me clothes and whatever I needed. I thanked them profusely, but took nothing, sure that my suitcase would arrive the next day.
It didn’t. That morning after having a wonderful conversation about their Malta-travels with two Dutch hostel-mates in my room the night before, I headed off on one of their suggestions to take a bus to someplace called Comino. I ran into the girl who had asked for the towel, Jasmine, and the other girl, Sandra, who had lost her suitcase from the night before. They invited me to the Blue Lagoon, but unsure about our timing and determined to go off on my mini self-trip, I declined….until later when I ran into them at a French pastry shop near the bus stop. Figuring it was fate, I changed my plans and tagged along with them (little did I know that the Blue Lagoon is next to Comino anyway). After waiting for the bus for over an hour and getting dropped off in the wrong place, we finally snagged the proper bus an hour across the island to catch a boat to the famous Blue Lagoon.
Our patience had been worth it…..because there it was, for the first time in my life, the water that explained the ideal duplicated pigment of aquamarine blue in swimming pools all over the world. We quickly decided to swim across the narrow inlet to the rocky part of the peninsula, slightly less crowded than the over packed patch of land we’d arrived on. I looked down at my clothes as I started to shape my pre-thought out swimsuit, thankful that I had decided to wear two pieces of black clothing that matched perfectly. I removed my pants, revealing my black thong and tied up my black tank top with a hair binder. Ass bare, I laughed to myself that this was one of the few European beaches where modesty counted. With a waterproof bag that, Jasmine, had just happened to bring, we transported our valuables and selves by swimming across the inlet. Once there, Jasmine sat out to tan, while Sandra and I explored the various surrounding coves. We swam and adventured through the salty waves, our eyes wide with amazement and mouths open, praising the beauty of all that surrounded us until we were merely choking on and squinting out salt water. We’d bonded over our lost suitcases and stories of broken hearts on the bus, and here we were, sorrows cast to the salty seas, bodies free and floating happily.
That night, still without any belongings to distract me, I chatted with a group of Italians in the kitchen and one of the hostel workers who was thinking about moving to Prague. My reserved blanket of confusion was melting away under the warmth of the island and I was feeling more friendly and sociable than ever.
We are some place that has history…meaning it’s not just a playground for drunk youth?!
The next day, Sandra and I met up to check out the capital, Valletta. We wandered around, admiring the tan buildings and sea-weathered architecture. We found a museum, where Sandra got a next-day ticket for the famous Hypogeum (an intricate underground tomb with remains from 4,000 B.C.) since they weren’t available that day. It was a little pricey for me, but something Sandra had been longing to cross off her list. We wandered to the Museum of Archaeology, which was only a couple of Euros, to learn about the history and of the people who had inhabited Malta. Then, we stumbled onto a free walking tour, to hear some brief history about the islands from a friendly tour guide.
“We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children.” – Native American Proverb
While my head was still immersed in thoughts of the ancient first Maltese people, who created the Hypogeum and disappeared from the island without a trace, I decided to head to a beach, while Sandra went to take a tour of the Valletta palace. I finally found my spot at a chill rock beach and set down my stuff. This was my hang out for the next afternoon as well. It was a low-key area with funky street art painted behind, flat rocks for sitting that met sea. I hopped in and floated, with absolutely nothing weighing me down. Later, Sandra joined me until we headed back to the hostel to have some drinks and say goodbye to Jasmine on her last night. To our surprise when we got there, she was preparing a generous dinner and invited us and couple others who we’d made friends with to join her. I ran out to get wine before the liquor stores closed (which doesn’t happen in Prague) and we all sat down to a wonderful hostel-family dinner of massive portions of salad and eggplant parmesan. And just like a Christmas miracle, my luggage magically showed up in the middle of dinner….at one of those moments where I realized I already had everything I needed (although, I was ecstatic at the thought of fresh clothes). That night, we all went out on the town, me reacquainting myself with my rhythm and love of music at a reggae bar and a few salsa/ Latin-style clubs where I couldn’t stop smiling and shaking my hips to Shakira.
A good place to reflect.
I heard no make up selfies are trending.
Sunday, I woke up to a note on the hostel dining table accompanied by a compass, pretty patterned lighter, sunscreen, and a bus card with enough credit to get me to the airport from Jasmine. I couldn’t have been more honored, humbled, and happier than in that moment. It was my last day in
Malta and with my other hostel friends gone and Sandra on a day trip, I wandered around alone in pure joy and gratitude at the past few days events. I hadn’t done any painting and only had photos of my last day in
Malta. I hadn’t spent much time alone on the beach either. I didn’t care. I had learned how to make due with one outfit for a few days, how to walk around carefree with salty hair and no makeup and still feel incredibly sexy 
(which is saying something for an eye make up addict). I had made friends and had brief exchanges that reinspired me. Circumstances had taken my material possessions and humanity had given me everything I needed, to put it simply. I was grateful for the friendly French girls who had offered up their clothing (unsure if I would have done the same in their situation at the time, and now knowing I would be more than happy to), inspired by the Dutch girls in my room who told me of their studies, work in education, and aspirations as well as their travel tips, and happy to share adventures with the wonderfully kind and generous people I had met in and out of the hostel, especially Jasmine and Sandra, my suitcaseless soulmate for the weekend.
The next morning, I said goodbye to the sea, more like, until next time. With my hostel family scattered, I flew to meet my real family in Amsterdam.
6 am and ready for my next flight!
Travel Tips Acquired:
Travel light, you’ll find what you need…and one outfit can be worn many different ways. 😉
Bring a book, music, or good friends to talk to when you need to catch a bus, you may have to wait a loooong time.
Bring a waterproof bag, so you can swim in different areas, while keeping your valuables close.
Hostel: Boho Hostel
Pros: Very friendly staff and hostelmates.
Chill atmosphere with a very nice garden.
They had daily excursions for everyone in the hostel to join and planned group dinners at the hostel.
They had loads of random toiletries in the bathrooms.
The place was bohemian chic and felt very comfortable and clean.
Cons: The location is a bit odd and seems random, but once you understand how to get there, it’s not an issue at all.
Clubs: There are loads of clubs in an area called Paceville. Once there, you can club-hop to check out different styles of music. Most have free entry.
Restaurants: I mostly ate food to go from vendors or got snacks at mini markets.
Transportation: walking, buses, and a speedboat to get to the Blue Lagoon.
Currency: Euro
Malta Sights: the Blue Lagoon, Comino, Valletta (the capital), the Hypogeum, and of course, the beach.
Valletta Walking Tour: A friendly guide and a bit of history from a new company. http://www.colourmytravel.com/valletta-centre.html
Don’t mess with Malta.
“Yo listen up here’s a story. About a little guy that lives in a blue world. And all day and all night and everything he sees. Is just blue…”
Ciao, Malta!
Móda Mel 