Danger everywhere

In Malta danger is never far away. Not from crime or some other urban spectre, but from everyday life. When I visit the island I'm always struck at how unforgiving a place it is, and wonder why I don't see more people with broken bones. Everything is made of stone with sharp angles. A fall or bump inevitably hurts, or worse.

I find when walking around Malta I need to keep my eyes on the ground instead of looking at the places I'm passing through because sidewalks routinely end, dropping down a foot or so to the pavement below. Back in Toronto, I can always trust the pavement or sidewalk will be there for me. Along an otherwise nice stretch of sidewalk here in Malta there might also be a large, unmarked hole in the middle waiting to twist an ankle or worse. It is simply the way it is here. When I go for runs in the evening I approach the streets of Malta the same way I would an off-road countryside run, ready to respond to unexpected bumps and rough terrain.


One of the few places to run or walk without concern is the promenades that run along the sea in many towns. This is where the sidewalk budget got used up, and the only things to dodge here are tourists and ice cream cones.

Children's playgrounds built not over sand or crushed stone but pavement.



A real shock to anybody used to a hyper-regulated society is a visit to a village festa. Malta is crazy for fireworks, and when a town is celebrating its Feast -- essentially a giant street party ostensibly for the patron saint of that church, but as much a secular event as it is religious -- fireworks will blast day and night. While the air fireworks tend to be launched just outside of town -- though in built up areas you can get rather close and watch -- it's the ground fireworks that are the most thrilling in terms of risk.


Giant elaborate pinwheels are set up in the town square, surrounded by people, waiting to be lit later in the evening. A small sign might ask people not to smoke nearby. When the man with the light wanders by to start the show, people make room, but not much, around the one that's about to go. Then sparks fly into shirts, on-fire cigar shaped missiles fly off the pinwheels and hit little girls' legs (their dads wave off their concern and cries) and thick sulpher smoke drifts through he crowd.

I'm not advocating changing any of this, because it is unlike anything I've experienced elsewhere. Elemental maybe, being so close to fire that has the means to reach out and poke you in the eye.

Driving, of course, is an entirely separate subject in Malta. There are apocryphal stories that even notoriously wild Italian drivers think Malta is a bit over the top. I like this too though as it's one of the most emotional and instinctive experiences I've ever had. You simply just go forward and things take care of themselves, somehow. You get on the roundabout, and get off, by pointing the car. And it works. I've tried to figure out how it works, and can't, but it does. Some anger at times at the ridiculous drivers, but when there are no rules (there are rules on the books they tell me) it's hard to get hung up on anything, and the (road, biking, pedestrian) rage that so often comes in Toronto seems unnecessary here.


There are, however, reminders at every curve that this kind of driving kills people. Roadside shrines are plentiful in Malta, many with flickering candles lit by vigilant relatives. You can also find shrines and memorials on the edge of cliffs, where people were too enthusiastic about the view.

Cross posted to Spacing Toronto.