So back a week now from a work trip to Malta and there is still an air of calm that insulates me from the stress of this dam desk I write to you from as a result of my time on the island. I used to watch a TV show ‘The Secret Life of Us’ set in Australia when I was younger, a show about pretty 30 somethings having lots of sex and drama, not necessarily in that order and as part of a narrative wrap up by one of the characters one week she said life cant be a smooth continuance of clam but instead seeing the value in moments of perfection that are dotted throughout our days. I had one of these saccharine sounding moments in Malta, when on my last day having felt I should pack in as much as possible to my time there I found myself just letting go of any pressure to be my usual sight seeing motivated machine and enjoy my surrounds. I had even allocated a set amount of time for sunbathing and swimming and wanted to be heading down town for a meal to a restaurant recommended to me and I caught myself walking through an open air bar still dripping from my swim and found myself magnetically drawn towards a stool perched at a table overlooking an area called St. Paul’s Bay nestled nicely within the jagged outline of the north coast of Malta.

The Mediterranean is a salty body of water, I’ve never floated so easily and maybe this made it somehow a better reflector of evening sunshine but it created a scene so beautiful, I have not seen one as picturesque in a number of years. A runway strip of light channelled out of an incline on the other side of the bay, the citadel of Silema adorning the top of it. It was the perfect setting and time to catch myself and this eagerness, almost panic to make the most of my dying hours in Malta and enjoy the peace and opportunity presented to me to be sent on such a trip for work. Cool beer, beads of moisture replenishing my hands shrivelled from the water and the new James Bond book, itself a tale of exotic locations, all gelled into a 2 hour clock during which I forgot about time keeping and a thankfully silent bar man tended diligently to yours truly, his only customer.

All my correspondence with the people I met have remarked since on the easy going and fun nature of the event, originally intended to be a highly interactive conference and exercise representing Ireland. I had gotten great buzz from taking part in the event, little Irish flag at our desk and interpreters in my head piece telling me what the representative from the French community n Belgium was wandering on about. It was no match though for the surrounds of the hotel and the larger island itself. Nestled 90 km south west of Sicily, the island is literally a clump of rock easily traversed in a couple of hours, it’s a dry dusty environment, the sea on all sides tormenting the islanders who must conserve water due to the warm climate. They island has been colonised by every major civilisation making for a distinct culture, history and language. The result though is resoundly positive, the only draw back being the heavily Anglicised tourist culture which left parts of some areas in a faceless tacky tourist daze. A Princess Diana bar was the crowing piece of unfortunate pandering to British tourists. There is still much to see and do, a beach holiday can be supplemented by rambles around gorgeously sedate inner city streets and harbour cruises, looking at the mono tone stone buildings – the colour coming from the rich history of the events inside – our guide himself born under ground as the island, a key strategic point during WWII was being blitzed at the time. For all you table quiz fans, Gozo and Comino are its smaller islands to the north of the island and they are equally places I would like to get to on being presented with a second opportunity to visit Malta.