Hippo-what-um?

That'd be the Hypogeum of Hal Saflieni. Ron, Kristi, Erwin and I headed to the Hypogeum after being given a heads up about Malta's most famous temple before leaving the states. The tickets sell out 2-3 weeks in advance, they only have about 5 tours a day which are conducted on the hour, and only ten people per group are allowed into the temple. We soon found out why. (I am sad to report they confiscated all of our bags and photos were strictly prohibited. I snagged a few poor-quality shots off google-image search, so for the time being you'll have to trust that I was there!)





The Hypogeum is a 5000-6000 year old underground temple. that served as the burial ground for some 7,000 bodies. It was discovered in 1902 during construction of some homes in the area, and was covered up for a few years. The significance of the original discovery was not initially appreciated, and neither were the locals fond of the idea that their homes would be uprooted should they tell anyone about what was underneath the floorboards.




The temple had 3 levels, the topmost was exposed during construction of homes in the area. The lowermost was some 15-20 meters below the earth (if I remember the informational billboard correctly). The photo on the right of the temple is the central chamber, and largest of all of the Hypogeum. To give you an idea of scale (which surprised me) that top of doorway you see in the middle probably reaches my shoulders. The man made paths and stairs were only large enough for one person to pass in one direction at a time (thus, the 10 people-per-tour rule). It was air conditioned and lights were on timers. Neeldess to say when the lights in one chamber went off and we were plunged into total darkness in a 5,000 year old subterannean grave I had conflicting urges to both hop the railing and explore and turn tail towards the sunlight. Seeing as how I had no light source of any kind, I was leaning towards the latter. Combine that with the eerie audio tour they provided complete with chants performed that echoed off the cave walls, and it was enough to give anyone the goosebumps. Overall, definitely worth seeing!




Last night I headed back to the World Cup Village to watch the U.S. play Ghana. Many of you may not know this, but Malta is home to a large population of African refugees. After trekking across the Sahara, they're often captured in Libya and forced into work camps. Those who make it to the sea are often picked up by FRONTEX who runs border patrol, and since the Maltese territorial waters are so expansive, they wind up in Malta while their final desired desintation was often Italy. That being said, there were more people cheering for Ghana last night than the U.S. Knowing the history of these refugees, and knowing that no other African team has advanced in the world cup, watching hundreds of people with Ghana flags and banners singing and dancing on a giant stage after the game last night to "It's time for Africa" (the World Cup theme song) was incredible. You couldn't help but be happy for them. I definitely felt differently about the game than if I'd watched it anywhere within the U.S., and it was a once in a lifetime experience. I have videos, so if I ever figure out how to post that I'll throw them up here.



The past few days I seem to have developed some sort of bug, and visited the local pharmacy here where they have doctors in a back room (which severely resembled a supply closet). He asked me a few questions, took my blood pressure, poked around with a stethoscope, and eventually concluded it was most likely an environmental irritation. (WAIT- you mean dust and diesel exhaust AREN'T good for my respiratory system!? who knew.) So after prescribing some syrup crap and pills to take a few times a day, I was only out 22.50 Euro (there's something to be said for on-the-go healthcare).


It's my last full day in Malta! (To say that I'm not ecstatic to be leaving would be a lie.) Nice to visit, but I'm ready to get home to the cockroach free land of moderate pollution control.

I'm headed to the beach with a garbage girly fiction book to lay out and soak up the last of the sun that I can. From what I hear, sunlight and warmth seem to be sparse back home.



see you all back in MN!
-KB

Stockholm Syndrome

As you know, I was in Stockholm, Sweden this past weekend. The weekend can be surmised pretty aptly by the phrase “the good, the bad, and the ugly.” Here’s a run down of some of the highlights:

The Amazing Race:

Half of both the bad AND the ugly involves the journey to Sweden itself. It began on Thursday on the overheated Oscar Myer Mobile busses here in Malta. There was some sort of traffic jam, worse than usual, so our bus driver took it upon himself to invent his own bus route. This included barreling the wrong way down a one way for some time. No worries, family..he was following the way being paved by his fellow weiner-mobile. After we got back on track and I was sufficiently drenched from head to toe in sweat (“clean and dry” in Malta is NEVER a reality..) I was finally back to the apartment. After packing up we met Kristi back at the bus stop only to hop on the same bus I had narrowly escaped hours before. This ride was considerably better.

From bus to plane, we arrived at the airport for our Ryan Air flight. If you have never flown Ryan Air and can avoid doing so at all costs, please do so. We check in and head to the gate only to find out there is absolutely no organizational system when it comes to boarding this plate. We stood in a “line” that bore closer resemblance to a mosh-pit as they checked us into the flight. The method of check-in was also very sophisticated and involved our gate attendant finding our ticket number on a giant bingo board and X-ing it off with a pencil. There are no pre-assigned seats on RyanAir flights, so the gate “opened” and we all bum rushed the tarmac (yes, they let you out right on the tarmac) to the back of the plane where we were lucky enough to find 3 seats together and threw ourselves down. The flight itself consisted of loudspeaker announcements, or should I say advertisements, for Clinique perfumes and makeup, scratch offs, and other strange contraptions from the Sky mall. People milled about the cabin with drinks in hand, chatting with friends and family scattered about, as if this were a Bon Jovi concert or something. The captain announces our descent in Sweden and I glance out the window and see green for MILES. Not only was the sight of vegetation a surprise, the sight of absolutely NO ‘downtown’ looking area was somewhat unnerving. We were in the middle of a forest and our airport resembled a cabin. We touched down to the “off to the races” bugle, and clapping. Yes, it was as strange as it sounds. After touchdown we asked a girl who was from Stockholm if she could tell us where our hotel was, and handed her the hotel print-off. She rattled off a few instructions but said she’d point us in the right direction after the shuttle-bus when we got to the train. We exchanged glances, “how far exactly are we from the train?” she replied, “it’s about an hour and a half bus ride to central Stockholm.” Ahh…..duh. what?! SO after an hour on busses in Malta, 4 hours on planes over Europe, we hurry into the airport and print off our “Flygbuss” tickets and locate what bore a striking resemblance to the night bus in Harry Potter. It may have been the cobblestone and the strange language but I had many HP moments in Stockholm. From bus to train, the girl and her boyfriend pointed us to the right subway station. We hop on the Red Line to Fruangen with directions to Midsommarkransen, nearest our hotel. We hop off there, and ask another unsuspecting Swedish couple for further directions. She pulls out her iphone to locate us on a map and show us where to go. (I have discovered the origin of ‘Minnesota nice’ and it can be traced back to the Scandinavian motherland, people). We followed her through a park and she pointed us into a dark tunnel underneath the highway. We weren’t in much of a position to argue and had no other options so we plunged into the tunnel and found ourselves on the other side of the E4 freeway in what looked like the warehouse district. We took a left down some access road and another right down some hill in what resembled a loading dock of sorts. Another left, and we saw it: Hotel Vastberga. It also, looked like a warehouse. We rang the after hours buzzer and were let in by a very sleepy night security man who tossed us our keys and grunted to the second floor. After letting ourselves into what looked like an IKEA showroom, we passed out around 2 a.m.

Wedding Crashers:

It was in the subway en route to our train that we first learned that we were in for a wild and unique weekend in Stockholm. When asking what were the sites we needed to see, the couple from the plane rattled off a laundry list of things to do including visiting the Royal Palace, normally. We were then told the Royal Palace would be closed for the duration of our visit, as Victoria was getting married on Saturday. The CROWN PRINCESS OF SWEDEN, Victoria, was getting married on Saturday. We unknowingly booked our ‘long weekend trip’ to a country that has been preparing for this wedding for YEARS, on the day of the wedding. We were also told this meant that the entire SL system (the Stockholm transportation) was free Saturday, in honor of the Princess. Sweet, I can get down with free trains. Congrats, Vicki!
Friday we wander into the city and unknowingly discover the magnitude and proximity of this wedding business. Gamla Stan, or “Old Town” as it’s called, was a few stops away and the former center of town. Complete with cobblestone streets, winding alleyways, and quaint café’s and shops. Very old town Europe. We were poking around when we came across a crowd of people. Being curious tourists, we ambled over and craned our necks to get a look at what the fuss was about. There were about 20 men in military dress and berets lining the street outside a massive building, and cameras on rolling cranes. “A movie!” we thought. “How authentic of a set!” We walked around some more and found ourselves on the border of Gamla Stan near a bridge lined with Swedish flags that led to a building the size of the White House. Directing your eyes vertically downward from the rows of flags there were at least 50 or more military men lining the streets at attention. A woman with a microphone hurrying after a man with a TV camera walked by, and we followed her to ask what the commotion was about. “It’s for the wedding!” she replied. What we were witnessing was not a movie being filmed, it was the most epic dress rehearsal dinner of sorts of all time.

Late Friday and early Saturday the police presence became significantly more pronounced. After our hop on hop off boat tour, where we spent the whole day on Djurgarden, an island across the channel, we noticed a few new additions to the harbor in the form of a British destroyer, and a submarine. Wedding security. (no joke). Saturday was shaping up to be interesting.
We get back from the boat tour at 3 on the dot to find barricades and SWARMS of people lining the streets, look across the bay and see a string of white cars processing behind a police motorcade up the hill to the church. We avoided Gamla Stan for most of the afternoon and opted for the Slussen area for shopping instead..returning just in time to see Daniel & Victoria on the steps of the Royal Palace waving to a cheering crowd and being serenaded by a choir. Newspapers with coverage of the wedding were being handed to us not more than 2-3 hours later, while we were in southern Stockholm. Talk about hot from the press!

Aside from congestion we probably wouldn’t have experienced otherwise, free subway rides Saturday (no complaints here) and more “Victoria & Daniel” merchandise than you knew what to do with… I think we experienced a pretty typical weekend in Stockholm.

“E.4. .. you sunk my battleship!”

We spent half the day Friday at the Vasa Museum. The Vasa was a royal warship from 1628. It was the most elegant, and expensive warship of its time- constituting 10% of the state’s budget at the time. On it’s maiden voyage people crowded the harbor to see the Vasa set sail. The ship made it 20 minutes and 3 km from port when the ship sunk in the harbor, killing 40 onboard. Apparently the guy who was designing it died, his brother took over, and t here were some design flaws. The ship was too tall and too thin, the weight system did not allow for buoyancy, and after the cannon salute before taking off the ports were left open: so when a strong wind blew the ship on its side, instead of springing back up the port holes filled with water and it sunk. Woops? There was discussion on who to blame (kill) for this failure and since the king authorized it with “the direction of god”, and you couldn’t blame the king OR God, nobody died for the blunder. Except the 40 young people, women, and children on board. Apparently on a maiden voyage some commoners and friends and family of soldiers were permitted onboard. The ship remained in the Baltic for 330 years until 1961 when the salvaging process began. This process took 30 years. The original ship was painted in bright colors, although the three of us felt it looked more foreboding in the coppery color it was in after being raised from the Baltic.

“It’s a small world after all”

After Vasa we went to Skansen, which resembles a life size version of the It’s a Small World ride in Disneyworld. It’s the largest open air museum, and has hundreds of replicated homes and shops from what Sweden would’ve been like in the 1600s and later. Complete with period actors in authentic old school clothes who were in the shops and homes to answer questions. It was here, after visiting the reindeer on the far side of this 75 acre museum, that the monsoon hit. By the time we made it to the gate, we were all soaked (myself only from the knee down, having brought my Malta umbrella, which still made no difference in the level of discomfort). Kristi purchased an umbrella just in time for it to stop raining. We headed back into Gamla Stan and found a warm restaurant where I paid an obscene amount of money for a cured beef brisket that unsettled my stomach for the remainder of the evening. Apparently the lack of beef in my diet since being in Malta was noticeable and my digestive system went on strike. Uuf. We stopped at the grocery store near our hotel, bought sweets and drinks, took LONG hot showers and crawled into bed around 9. Capping off our evening with a very strange Keanu Reeves flick.

Archy-pellago:

I spent the better part of 4 hours hearing about and in the archipelago and still am unsure how to say it correctly. Oh well. We cruised from the main harbor up into Stockholm’s archipelago, the largest in the world, with 30,000 islands that house 10,000 permanent residents and 20,000 during the summer months. The resemblance to cruising one of northern Minnesota’s larger lakes is uncanny, especially Lake Vermillion: steep hills with trees, and an occasional cabin poking through. The boat dropped us off at Vaxholm, the capital of the Archipelago, where we poked around the citadel for a few minutes. After discovering the museum there was closed, we realized we needed to take a ferry to the main little city. It was honestly 100 yards across the water, but we were forced to pay for a ferry (the most expensive 2 minutes of my life) where we were only left with 35 minutes on the island. We cruised up the street and I split off to find myself the most satisfying banana cake with buttercream frosting and a coffee, quite possible ever, and camped out on a patio until 12:55 when we ran back to the ferry to meet up with the ship that was picking us up. Back to the Old Town in time to see part of the wedding processional, we headed to the hub of the shopping district where Kristi and I did some damage, and finally tried on hammer pants. I thought molly was insane when s he came back to MN after a summer in Spain with these purple genie looking MC Hammer pants. Not until getting here did I realize: they’re EVERYWHERE. So we finally tried on some hammer pants at Cubis and snapped photos in the dressing room. They’re disturbingly comfortable. I purchased a zebra print dress with pockets. If there’s one thing that should’ve happened to women’s fashion YEARS ago, it’s formal dresses with pockets. Awesome.

Back to Old Town for a late meal, and then to Medborgarplatsen where we had a beer on the patio of this outdoor restaurant, and chatted. We left in search of ice cream and found ourselves back outside the homemade waffle cone shop we spotted our first day here. I had the most amazing ice cream cone ever, still warm from the waffle iron. It was the perfect way to end our trip. We stopped in one more pub near our hotel for an evening drink, and headed back to the hotel just in time for dusk: 11:45. That’s the thing about Stockholm.. sunset is 11:00, sunrise is 3:00. This entails waking up at 4:30 a.m. in a cold sweat thinking you’d overslept only to find out it’s the dead of night. No thank you.

Alas, the weekend came to an end and I find myself back in the land of limestone and car horns. On deck for this week is the Hypogeum and St. Peter’s Pool. The Hypogeum requires booking 3 weeks in advance and is Malta’s most famous underground temple. Only 4 of us on the entire study abroad (those of us in session one who were staying for session 2) have got tickets. I’m pretty excited, having been told about this site before leaving the states.

Stay tuned!
-KB

The Ick Factor

Those of you with TV sensibility will recognize the post title from a SATC episode involving Carrie and Aleksander and his romantic gestures that were seemingly too good to be true. With that preface, and a full understanding that reading onward may make you gag slightly should you feel a resounding bitterness to romantic gestures, read on:

We’ll start back at Wednesday. I headed out to the airport on the overheated tubes of death they call the public busses here, to get Matthew. Having not heard from him since Newark, I was concerned as to whether he got on his flight to Germany or not, since he had such a short layover. I was thoroughly relieved and elated to see him walk through baggage claim at MLA looking like a lost puppy. :). With only a little trouble from Mein Kampf in Germany, who confiscated the Ortega fajita mix packets Kristi requested, he made it to Malta in one piece.
Thursday was a beach afternoon, and the rest of Thursday into early Friday was spent studying for tests that we were all in heavy denial we had to actually take. They proved slightly more difficult than expected, but rest assured the money did not go to waste and I got my credits. (I hope!- just kidding Dad, I’m sure I did fine).
Friday after the exam Matthew attempted to “name his price” at the cab stand for a ride to the Gozo Ferry, where his surprise was taking place. The conversation unfolded as follows:
Matthew: “how much?”
EuroFreak: “40 Euro”
M: “Oh wow, uhh that’s okay, we’ll take the bus”
EF: “ok ok how much you want to pay!?”
M: “20 Euro”
EF: “Ok, you want 20 Euro? You find a horse, or you walk it!”
we proceeded to walk away, only to be tracked down by another cabby who offered us a 30 Euro ride, and then later tried to change his mind at the ferry station. Matthew was stern, and we made it to Cikewwa Ferry unscathed and unscammed. A ferry ride over to Gozo, where we piled into another taxi for my “surprise” for M. I was told, on our previous Gozo excursion, we’d passed my “surprise” destination once before. This made me unbearably nervous since I saw nothing but shanty’s and corner shops in a desolate and quiet village. Then the cab turned left into a walled off community, wound his way down a driveway and rolled us out in front of the Kempinski Hotel- M’s surprise. Ever see those Wiley Coyote cartoons where they see these expansive mirages of water and heaven in the middle of the desert? That’s what this place was. Only imagine MORE desert and MORE heaven. No hotel, I will EVER stay in, will EVER top this place. We were greeted at reception by hotel staff, who escorted us up the elevator, into our room- complete with bathrobes, slippers, and a terrace overlooking the Mediterranean countryside- and offered us a tour.

ICK warning: (as it turns out, M also had a surprise for ME on this Gozo excursion,.. details forthcoming)I was admiring the fuzzy bathrobes and overall in schoolgirl awe at the ridiculous majesty of this room I found myself in, when M told me to come out on the terrace. I meandered through the double doors and saw three small boxes adorned with white bows, all bathed in a familiar shade of blue: robin’s egg blue. Tiffany & Co., blue. I sat down and opened them in succession, each one revealing jewelry more beautiful than the last box. When I was done, I had a set of “Return to Tiffany’s” classic heart pendant jewelry, including a bracelet, earrings, and necklace.
After I regained composure and was sufficiently blinged up to fit in with the upper-class patrons of the Kempinski, we headed down to the pool, one of three outdoor pools, and lounged by the cabana with a glass of wine. It was here I first met Sphinx, my feral cat friend. M thought he was dirty, I thought he looked well-traveled. (don’t worry Squish, I still love you most.) We headed inside for a brief stint at the spa and indoor pool, before heading upstairs to get ready for dinner at Tratoria, where I had the most filling and phenomenal Risotto, and M had ravioli stuffed with king prawns. (commence flashback drool). We headed upstairs with every intention of enjoying some wine from the vineyard tour I went on Tuesday after class, and both found ourselves nodding off on the terrace. Long, hot days soaking in the sun in Malta, it’s a draining life really. Saturday we headed back to Malta after a breakfast buffet I will not see the likes of in my lifetime, again complete with homemade electric green kiwi jam, banana jam, and an assortment of juices you wouldn’t believe possible of squeezing- including fresh watermelon.

We made it back in time to bump into some of the crew heading to the Paceville beach, an excursion we joined in on. We then changed and I hosted a mini-dinner party at my apartment where we met some of my new roommates/classmates for Session 2, had pasta, wine, and Gozo cheese- a staple if you’re to spend any time at all on the island. We finished up dinner, headed to Bar Celona (Pundo- I thought of you! Haha) where we watched team U.S. scrape a tie out of England off of an ugly goal in the World Cup. I will tell you this: I am NOT a soccer aficionado usually, but there’s something about being in a country, lined with café’s and bars, ALL of which seem to be in stereo as you walk by because every last one has on the soccer game. ALSO being one of very few Americans (although others were cheering for the U.S. we were the only authentic Americans around), instilled a sense of patriotism that caused even me to fist pump and scream a tad when we scored- Not as much as Matthew, however, who exhibited a Tiger-Woods esque diving fist pump after the goal. Some gelato after the game, and we were tucked in bed before midnight.

Sunday M, Kristi, Ron, Erwin & I boarded the catered Captain Morgan cruise ship for an all day cruise around Malta with a staycation on the island of Comino and the Blue Lagoon: Malta’s most famous swimming hole, known for its crystal clear waters and sparkling caves. SHOULD be known for it’s high population of fearless jellyfish, which claimed SaraBeth’s leg, Mark’s arm, and most recently Erwin’s hand today, during the study abroad so far. We cruised back to harbor, bussed back to the apartment, changed again quick and met up with the rest of the newbies for a session 2 orientation meal of sorts overlooking the water at Piccolo Padre’s. A good (free) meal, courtesy of South Texas. I seem to have developed a bit of a hack, so I type this from bed, very much looking forward to passing out and hopefully feeling refreshed in the morning! It’s M’s last full day here, so he’s going to tail me into Valletta again, do some shopping, and then we have plans to head to Manoel Island, which was once the home of Malta’s contagious diseases hospital- but is now connected to Malta by a bridge and is home to the World Cup Village. Apparently it’s a mini-WC knockoff, so M’s going to sport his Italia jersey and we’re going to go cause a ruckus and watch us some football tomorrow!

Stay tuned,

KB

cultural extravaganza

For being the size of a thimble, roughly, Malta is PACKED with culture. It embarrassed me slightly today as I trekked through prehistoric caves, jetted through rainbow colored grottos, and wove my way through a temple that predates any consciously designed structure on the PLANET, at what we have at home….quite frankly, Minnesota, in comparison, sucks. Before you throw tomatoes, hear me out. I love the STP as much as the next guy, but think about what we did on field trips in grade school. The apple orchard? Under-water world?... ACK. Lame. It’s comical when you think about it, actually.

I digress. Anyway, I was an uber-tourist today. Can you imagine those giant double decker busses, you know the kind: kitchy writing all over the side advertising “the sites you’ll see!” open-air top, packed with pasty foreigners flailing their cameras every which way so they can catalog all the culture they experienced in the form of a slide show they’ll torture their immediate family members with in 2 weeks time. Can you picture it? Yep. That was me today. Flailing camera and all. SarahBeth and I decided it’d be an efficient way to take in the south east, and south side of the island since we spend most of our time elbow to elbow with euro-tourists in St. Julian’s, where we live.

We trekked up to the Westin Dragonara resort-which made my apartment complex look like a shanty- to catch the first bus in the morning. We stayed on the bus until reaching Marxaxlokk, where we got off to explore and have lunch. The busses run every hour, so you can hop off and take in the site for an hour or two, and then hop on another bus at your whim. Marxaxlokk is a quiet fishing village on the east side of the island, and somewhere that for some reason I knew I wanted to go to before arriving in Malta. I figured out why upon arrival today.

It’s sleepy harbor loaded with colorful boats, friendly café owners, and a peppering of other bus-goers and tourists. I had a burger and fries (dad, I can hear you shaking your head across the world. YES, I know, only I would go to a FISHING village and not order fish. I accept your shame, my burger was delish, we’re moving on), and SarahBeth had fish & chips. (that's me at Marxaxlokk)

After that we boarded the bus again for a short ride to the stop immediately following, which was Ghar Dalam. SarahBeth and I were the only two from the bus to get off, which left us questioning our decision only slightly. It appeared to be a highway souvenir shop in the middle of no where, we walked through the gallery and out the back door. Down an abundance of stairs overlooking the countryside canyons, and to a nondescript set of gates. I got to the mouth of the gates and my jaw dropped. Here was an underground prehistoric cave, rife with stalactites and stalagmites. The lights along the path illuminating the cave, although man made, gave the entire place a whimsical feel. I’ll post pictures, but they won’t do it justice. (Here's Ghar Dalam)

A quick hop on the bus and we were on to the stop immediately after the cave, which was the blue grotto. A ridiculously tiny seaside village, whose 4 or 5 cafes all had some form of “blue”, “cave” or “grotto” in the title, lined the cliff. It quickly became apparent this area is known for one thing, and we soon learned why. After nearly breaking our ankles on the slick limestone hill, we reached the ticket office, and climbed into a traditional Maltese fishing boat, complete with a motor, threw on some sexy life vests, and we were off around the cliffs. Here the tour guide took us on a 20 minute tour I would repeat from sunup to sundown if given the opportunity. The water is a color blue that doesn’t even exist in a Crayola box, and when the light hits it a certain way, it takes on a neon glow. Where the waterline meets the cliff walls, a purple iridescent amethyst looking coating lines the walls. While this was breathtaking, it’s clear why the cave known as “the blue grotto” is the tourist hot spot it is.. I took a video, so if blogger permits, I’ll post it. The speedboat sailed ahead into the mouth of a cliff and the water lit up the walls, which were amethyst, cerulean, and jade in color..and sparkled like a diamond. It was indescribable natural beauty. We jetted back to land, poked our heads in a gift shop where I did the last bit of souvenir scouting for friends I needed, and were back on the bus. (here's me with my super sweet life vest, and the cave itself)

The last stop was the Hagar Qim and Mnajdra temples. I’m questioning whether our tour guide in Gozo lied to us, or if I was zoned out when he was spouting out dates, but we were told the temples we visited TODAY were in fact, the oldest free standing structures on earth. Regardless, they were megalithic, and awesome if you consider the fact that they had no ropes, no cranes, no ANYTHING to hoist these rocks into place besides manpower and logs to roll them on top of each other. After the temples, we boarded the bus and headed back to Sliema, and to another bus back to St. Julian’s.

I type this again from my kitchen, having just eaten ‘chicken noodles to go’ which is European for ‘Ramen noodles’.. I’m sure some of you are disgusted I’m on the Med and eating Ramen, but a) it was curry flavored, had a chili pouch, another powder, and some Burma somethingorother sauce, so I dub it “fancy Ramen” and b) I’m saving my money to do sweet things like a Maltese hip hop show tonight (yep, you read that right. And are understandably jealous) and fly to Stockholm for a long weekend. So no comments from the peanut gallery. Matt will be here soon to spoil me and fatten me up. (hehe just keeeeeeding Matthew!)
That’s all for now from the Med,

-KB

My "not so ordinary" existence

As I laid in bed last night I was thinking about what to write, since weekdays here don’t usually involve extravagant adventures.. and then I realized being in Malta IS an extravagant adventure itself, so I’ll share some ‘every day’ stories:

British Rosa Parks:
Erwin, Paul and I are waiting for the bus to come.. I flag it down (if you just stand there, they drive by), Erwin tries to get on with a to-go coffee cup, lid on it and everything, and he says “no coffee on the bus, this is not a cafeteria!” so he gets off to drink and it set it somewhere, he takes 5 steps away and the bus just drives off. So that sets the tone for a great ride. Maybe a mile or so down the road this british woman gets on the bus, flashes the driver her day pass thing, and sits in the first seat. He says “I need to see the date, show me the date!” (admittedly, this guy was NOT pleasant..) and she says “it’s right there, I showed you” and he yells back “I can’t see it, bring it to me!” and she says “well if you say please I’ll show you.. do you know the word please?” and he gets all pissed and pulls the bus over and lets it sit. For a minute we thought it may be him trying to sync up his route.. and then he turns the bus OFF. A Scottish or Irish guy heads up to the front and says “what’s the problem?” and the bus driver confirmed what I didn’t think could be possible.. and barks back, “she didn’t show me her ticket, I need to see the ticket!” and the boy turns to the woman and says “please, can you just show him the ticket.. we have places to be” and she remains indignant, “I’ll show it to him when he says please. I’m not going to let him yell at me” (meanwhile, “Let It Be” by the Beatles is playing over the speaker.. the irony is not lost on me) ..so he gives one more good effort and then just gets off the bus and starts to walk to work. Another Maltese guy gets up and off, and calls her a name, I didn’t hear what he said until she replies in a British accent (which cracked me up) “don’t you dare call me a c**t you ignorant dog!” … Paul and I get off the bus because we need to get to school..then she finally gets off, he starts up the bus again, and we jump back on and are on our way to school. Never a dull moment in Malta.

No English, Please:
Wednesday we visited the local court here. The interior resembles the Ramsey County main courthouse, with the marble and the goliath pillars, but the interior setup is substantially different. In the United States (or at the very least I can attest to Minnesota)..the defense and the prosecution sit side by side, directly across from the judge, while the jurors are seated on the left hand of the judge perpendicular to the parties tables. There’s public seating available behind the parties tables. (ya’ll have seen an episode of Law & Order, right? That’s the one thing that’s accurate in that show In Malta, the defense and the defendant is seated directly across from the judge, the jurors are on the left, but the prosecution sits directly across from the jurors, seated in proximity to the judge and sometimes angled outwards towards the defense. This may not seem like a monumental difference, however, it enables the prosecution to assess the body language and facial expressions of the jurors from a head on advantage, and is considerably more adversarial to the defense. The judge we met with discussed many detailed nuances between the American system and the Maltese, which I won’t get into as many of you wouldn’t notice a substantial difference in the way the civil procedure aspects work anywhoo ;-). The route to obtaining a degree, I found interesting: You declare a ‘legal studies’ and then attend 3 years of what we would consider undergrad, where you receive a law degree and a general B.A. in whatever you choose. The next 3 years are divided up, the first 2 spent learning procedural law (both civil and criminal) and the third year is spent writing a thesis. They have a written bar exam similar to ours as well as an oral interview with a justice. The judge told us back in his day judges and lawyers used to walk in and out of the room and give students answers, it was quite informal. (IF ONLY in MN…ugh..). While it only requires 6 years of higher education to obtain a Maltese law degree (which I would’ve signed up for at the outset), it also requires an affluence in the Maltese language- no other languages are permitted in the courtroom by attorneys or judges. The judge we met with told us a jewish-american lawyer tried to challenge this and be permitted to speak English (since 85% of the population is fluent in English as well, and legal education IS in English), the court forbid it. He was required to hire a Maltese attorney to translate. I think, and some others here agree, it’s to keep out an influx of foreign lawyers.. there are only a couple hundred on the entire island and only 11 legal aid attorneys (think, public defenders) who have PRIMARY jobs as private attorneys. Imagine the dedication there, yowza! (the picture is of Sarah, myself, the judge, kristi and erwin after court. the 2nd is prof. Dennis and the judge).

Craft village:
After court we grabbed some lunch, changed out of our business attire and headed to the Ta-Qali crafts village. First stop was Mdina Glass- one of the most well known glass blowing factories around, where we got to watch them hand blow glass, it was incredible! If my internet capabilities permit, I’ll post the video I took. You can somewhat tell he’s spinning and widening the mouth of the vase with tweezers. It’s such a delicate process and they are clearly highly skilled artisans. After that, we bussed a short distance to the remaining craft shops, for more pottery, leather, and filigree. Filigree is very fine pure silver and gold that’s manipulated into intensely intricate designs. I don’t have a picture to show you, and I didn’t buy anything there, so I guess your only option is to google it? My bad. I DID, however, find a blue freshwater pearl ring, for..wait for it.. FIVE EURO. That’s about $6.50, IF that. I snagged that, along with a little something for dad (to have with breakfast), a little something for Matthew (that may or may not last until his birthday July 13th. Likely will not. Haha) and a little something for Tori (whose birthday is July 20th and BETTER come back from NYC to claim her gift. I hope you’re reading this, t-stein).

(Here he is blowing the glass into a vase)

I type this from my kitchen as I just polished off a plate of ricotta and pesto stuffed ravioli. There’s something about successfully operating a stove/toaster oven European monstrosity that makes the meal taste THAT much better. I also find myself significantly hungrier here than I EVER was at home, and far sleepier/weaker. The hot sun, combined with all the walking we do, certainly takes a lot out of you. It’s good thing water bottles are so cheap here (0.21 Euro at my local supermarket.. 4.50 for a 12 pack!) since there are tiny microorganisms doing the backstroke in the tap water. God, how I MISS free tap water. Time to shower up, read a bit more for family law (love you prof. Musselman, but someone needs to tell this dude: we’re on the Mediterranean.. NOBODY works this hard over here!), and head to a group meeting for Refugee & Asylum law. We have group presentations the next couple of days regarding the five categories one must establish a well founded fear of persecution in (at least ONE of the categories), in order to qualify for asylum. Blue lagoon this weekend, on the island of Comino: home to one permanent hotel and 3 farmers, no vehicles on the island. Can’t wait!

KB
How’s everything going for you all back in the states?