Sometimes, a doomed trip can be a beautiful trip. Malta was not supposed to be a solo travel destination, but both my travelling companions’ tickets were cancelled last minute by airport strikes. By flying out a day later, I kept my trip but had to figure out what to do last minute.
The advantage of traveling alone is that you can be entirely selfish in when you wake up, what you eat, and what you do. I am a big fan of hikes, so I looked up a coastal hike from Marsaskala to Marsaxlokk. I was one of the first people at the hotel breakfast, then I took an Uber to Marsaskala just in time for morning mass. It would have been a true pilgrimage to start my travel with a sermon, but I got a coffee instead and walked for four hours to the next town.
The coast is winding, beautiful, and covered with hummingbird hawk moths. There were pockets of stray cats too, which made for mandatory rest points. I would have made good time, had I not gotten lost in private gardens for an hour, and I reached Marsaxlokk by noon. I was there for the fish market; I forgot it was Carnival weekend.
The music was so loud that I could hear it all the way up in the hills. I walked down into town listening to the banter of two children’s performers and breaks for dance numbers. The square was full of children in costumes, dance troops, and an overpriced cannoli for me. What it also had was a lot of traffic, which made getting a bus or uber to my next destination, Hagar Qim Park, next to impossible. I redid the schedule to go to the Park before the airport the next day instead, then took the first bus I could wherever it lead me, which was back to Valetta. Carnival was in full swing there – the floats barely squeezing down the street, people drunk in the afternoon, plenty of restaurants packed, and everywhere something to do.
I wasn’t expecting to love Malta as much as I did. But it’s so God damn beautiful, especially Valletta. Watching the sun set there actually made me tear up. It was overwhelming. The white buildings going gold and rosy at sunset, people perched on every roof and gate, and the air full of confetti blown wayward from the parade.
I didn’t read much in Malta, though I’d planned to. I even brought one of my favorite authors with me to really savor it. Helen MacDonald’s Vesper Flights is pure honey. A single essay sustains me for hours and the language is so rich that I can only digest it in parts. I’d read a chapter and close my eyes just to linger with it.
Birds, nature, travel – it’s candy to me.
I reached her chapter on Migraines by the time my trip was mostly over, which ended up being quite the omen. I read it after ordering a protein-loaded meal, which I usually do after a hike, but found that the food nauseated me. I picked at the rice and a few vegetables, and I avoided the searing, marinated pork belly after numerous half-hearted nibbles.
In her chapter, MacDonald told of how she could feel a migraine coming on.
I did not feel sickness coming on; I figured the meat was probably a little off and went back to the hotel instead to turn in early for the night. Sickness woke me up hours later. I was all chills, nausea, and fever. The simple action of walking across the room had me throwing up water.
I’ve never been so sick on vacation, nor have I missed a flight, but there was no way I was well enough to travel the next morning. The downside of traveling alone means that you have to take care of yourself when you’re doing terribly. There’s no pharmacy or convenience store runs that friends can take for you. There’s only you using the last of your strength to stock-up before throwing up multiple times in your hotel room from the exertion of walking for ten minutes.
Getting fever-aches after a day of hiking is a bad combination.
I was too sick to read or watch TV. I spent the entire day in darkness. Too sick to even worry about how I would get back to Germany. Too sick to even care.
Next to me, MacDonald’s migraine chapter was bookmarked.
It was fine, in the end. The fever ebbed and I booked a flight the next day. It’d be a few more days before I could stomach anything but toast and rice, but the stomach flu usually only ever comes on hard and quick.
I never got to see the ruins, but that’s not too bad – it means I’ll have to go back.
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