This post, Malta 3 – talking with strangers is something I delight in, though it is not without some risk. While I am adept at striking up a conversation with people at home, I wasn’t too sure what it would be like in Malta, after all there might be cultural differences.
My first encounter was in the hotel restaurant, just after we had arrived. Our waitress was very willing to chat. Turns out she was from Nepal and not Malta. After a week I had met so many people from Nepal, each one finding their home on a relatively small island in the middle of the Mediterranean.
Our waitress was keen to talk. She was quite petite and young, almost as if she was of gap-year age. Behind the smile and enthusiasm to impart her knowledge of the island, her white shirt took me by surprise. The sleeves were filthy, hadn’t been washed for several days I’d say. Why? Not quite what we expect in a 4* hotel. Why Malta I mulled over to myself. Sensing we were delighted with her service, she handed us a QR code and invited me to post a nice review for her, which I duly did and made sure all of her other colleagues were also praised.
Perhaps the most remarkable encounter was with the gentleman with his Mercedes car. For the purposes of this post, I’ll call him Marcel.
On the Sunday morning we went to an English speaking church which prided itself on being a Bible believing church. It was free of all the gaudy paintings and elaborate decorations, just a simple building painted plain white inside.
After the morning service we, along with most other people, went down into the lower hall for refreshments , thinking someone is bound to see we were new and come over for a chat. I was expecting “are you just visiting?” in a slightly cautious voice. Instead we just stood there while everyone caught up with everyone else. I decided to break this impasse by making the first move.
Marcel was standing on his own by a door, looking a little lost if I’m honest. His cup was now empty and I think he was hoping someone would go and chat to him. He was probably expecting it to be a local church member; instead it was me.
Immediately I realised I’d struck gold. His English was perfect, he was only too happy to chat. In fact I’d say it was more than that. He had a certain charm, his English was quite eloquent and he was definitely well spoken. Some of his expressions were exactly right, albeit quite old fashioned. Thankfully he explained, without me having to ask. He had attended, in Malta, an English college when he was young. The rule was everyone had to speak English, no other languages were allowed. He also picked up a number of quaint expressions and the only way you would question his Englishness was because of a slight accent which was difficult to put your finger on, so to speak.
After a while there was a natural pause in the conversation and I asked if he could point us towards the promenade, having explained we hadn’t quite got our bearings. Even better, he excitedly said, he could give us a lift. We wouldn’t be taking him far out of his way and besides, I think he was quite proud of his Mercedes. It certainly was a lovely car, in such good condition! He proudly lifted the bonnet (or “hood” for you American readers) and explained he had some special cleaning solution which he used once a week to make sure the engine sparkled like it was new. The rest of the car was absolutely perfect.
Once we were underway, we all hit the end of a traffic jam. It took so long to get to the coast, I suggested we bought him lunch, since we were getting a little peckish ourselves. I even said we could go anywhere he fancied. So he took us to probably the most expensive hotel in Malta! I admit, it was nice and for a short time, I felt like a king.
Sure, all this cost us a lunch in an expensive place. It was so nice listening to Marcel talk. He had quite a rich experience of life which was fascinating. He even went onto tell us how sorry everyone was when Brexit took place – music to my ears!
I could go on. I could recount more about Marcel or perhaps the myriad of other people we encountered. The South African couple, the English couple, the young hotel staff who grapple with the same issues many other people struggle with – affordable housing.
Perhaps the most curious of people were the tour guides. We had two, both mature women of a certain age, both with very good English. I got the impression both were possibly archaeologists of some sort and doing some tour guide work as a side hustle.
All this points to why I love travel. Sure I do like all the sights and sounds, now increasingly I find myself enjoying these fleeting conversations with strangers from far away places. They say travel broadens the mind and I hope it is all having a good effect on me.