Malta
In the morning, the light is a soft and gentle haze over the islands. The sense of the potential heat of the day is caught in the streams of light, waiting for the day to stretch out and reveal itself.
The midday sun bounces and blazes, dancing along the rooftops, shimmying off city walls; bright light off white walls. The island is sun-bleached, bathed in strong, white light, and coated in a fine dusting of desert sand.
As the sun begins its move to the west of the island, great swathes of purple fill the sky as the island shines in the orange light, the marigold glow. The sky – the expanse of it – is mesmerising; the light changing, deepening, mellowing with the passing of the day.
The buildings – houses, flats, city blocks – are flat-roofed across the island. Bold blocks, simple and functional in design, like stone boulders dotted across the island. They are all pale in tone so that the cities are full of walls of tea-soaked ivory tones.
Afternoons in Valletta witness the yellowing stone come alive in a honeyed glow. Alleyways fill with yellow light, bouncing off rich stone walls.
The stone differs in areas – in different cities, down different streets. In some parts the stone is smooth, in others, rough and gnarled, with pockmarks and carvings scattered amongst them.
Balconies, outposts of wooden structures upon stone bases, unify them. Some are painted in telephone-booth red, others in shades of blue, some yellow, some purple. Mostly, however, the balconies are a deep, rich, forest green. The repetition of shapes and structures soothes and connects the towns.
The islands are picturesque in their rocky beauty. The fields of drying grass are demarcated by lines of dry stone walls and collections of prickly pear.
Plants are hardy to survive here, and as a result, there aren’t many. The locals remark that there will be no rain from May to October, a statement made with the certainty of lived experience. But if you look closer – look within, and along the walls of cities, you will find a determined tree winding and twisting up and across stone walls. In Rabat, plants are potted and gathered in a brightly coloured collection outside front doors of back streets. Window boxes overflow with flowers and, more frequently, bountiful succulents, relishing in the dry conditions.
The green, no matter how muted, breaks up the white, yellow, and light peach colours of the cities so that the islands, when seen from a distance, when seen from above, are awash with soft, neutral, natural tones.
On the journey to Gozo, the water shimmers and sparkles. The wind whips the waves into action as the ferry pushes on, on through the sea, rich in jewel tones.
Later, a long, leisurely meal – one that can only come from being on holiday, from being truly relaxed – is enjoyed. Xlendi Bay curves as the late afternoon sun bounces off the dimpled surface.
A walk is made along the coastline, up smooth stairs carved into the rock. The walk takes us past and along a rocky hill, covered in small succulents and flowers – green mixed with fine dots of yellow and orange. Down the path takes us, past the sea, glimmering beneath us, down into a pirate cave.
On the way back, the afternoon light catches against the rocks, making radiant their honeycomb tones. The twists and turns of the rock, the textured surface, helps to hold onto as feet slip on the well-trodden steps.
The coastlines are stunning – tall drops of cliffs meet rambling seas. In other places, hills roll down and into sparkling azure water. The coastline tempts and teases and yet, it is slightly too cold to dive into.
Another time, perhaps.
"There are eight million stories in the naked city. This has been one of them."
- The Naked City, 1948
All photos taken on 35mm film