It is a lovely day in Malta, sitting at an open air bar in the mid-60s with Christmas music being drowned out by the futbol that clearly takes precedent (except when the French teams come on in which everybody vacated). The gathered fans' criticism, disgusted amusement and shared camaraderie across Maltese, Italian and English languages serves as my personal entertainment as I sip my Maltese cocktail of local Bajtra liqueur, white wine, and soda water.
Below represents one of the very excellent days so far of cliff hunting along the west coast, which is a quest of bendy roads and small villages requiring quick pull offs for cars to avoid head-on collisions (an experience that always seems to be avoided, but only by continual miracles of circumstances).
This followed after some very successful open market shopping in the fishing village of Marsaloxx. All the hand made linens and Italian clothes combined with fresh fish makes for such a unique market that attracts both tourist and local alike; vendors switching languages in mid-sentence as they quickly recognise which nationality they have in front of them.
