Images of the North West

These are images to accompany the adjacent post, more or less in the order of the text. Somehow I managed to put up two copies of the same picture and I still don't know how to get rid of it! Here are headings for each photo.
1. Skorba standing stones
2. Floor of one of the ancient dwellings found next to Skorba temple
3. Ta Hagrat
4. Plant and rock at Ta Hagrat
5. The cat of Ta Hagrat
6. Rolling stones - one theory is that these were used to move the stones into place
7. The fault line
8. Tiny garigue plants with my loaned stick
9 & 10 Sedimentary rock layers

The North West

Something about the North West of a region seems to bring out the more rugged, wild side. I was born on an island on the wild West coast of Scotland; in the North West of Australia I have traveled through the dramatic landscape of the Kimberley; in the North West of Tasmania, I have been humbled by the Tarkine wilderness area, that is now under threat.

Malta is a tiny island, heavily developed with an ancient history of human influence, yet the North West retains something of the natural landscape and boasts the first of Malta's National Parks, il Majjestral. This is the area that the Malta Ramblers chose for their weekend pre-Christmas retreat this year.

Alex Vella and Sam Grech had laid on a full programme for us. I am not used to the luxury of having someone else make all arrangements for me and I really enjoyed falling in with the group for a whole weekend. If I had twinges of conscience about staying at a luxury hotel that intrudes outrageously on the landscape, my misgivings were assuaged by the fascinating natural and cultural resources we were able to access readily from such a base.

I missed out on the first walk on Friday afternoon because there was too much happening at home, the bus route between Valletta and Golden Bay is tortuously slow and I was unsure about how my recently sprained ankle would deal with what promised to be a difficult walk. The route led along the Westerly cliff of the park and dipped down into the boulder strewn drop-off below the fault line that forms the cliffs. For now, I have to content myself with looking down on this rich terrain from the garigue above. I have attended an excellent lecture by Analise Falzon, Parks Ranger, in which she discussed how the tumbled, boulder strewn areas below the cliff edge becomes a protected habitat for a variety of flora and fauna. The park area also extends out into the sea.

I arrived at the hotel on Friday evening in time to be stunned by the magnificent sunset view over Golden Bay to the Ghan Tuffieha headland. It was a dramatic cocktail before finding my way down for the first of our indulgent buffet dinners. There is something about being in a large group of people that gives us all permission to eat far more than we need. Perhaps it is a deep memory of more ancient times when clans and communities would come together to celebrate a successful hunt in a lean season or fatten up before an anticipated period of scarcity. Whatever the excuse, it was a great way to mellow out before the quiz night that had been planned for us by the unstoppable Sam.

Saturday was planned as a full day of walks and visits that we could drop out of at several points during the day if we wanted an early return to the hotel. First we walked to the Elysium, a plant nursery run by the GAIA foundation where Maltese native flowers, shrubs and trees are reared from seed to be planted around the island. This was a great opportunity for me. I came away with an enormous list of possible plants for my dream roof garden.

The groundswell of public opinion in favour of preserving and extending the cultivation of endemic species is now supported by the development of nurseries such as Elysium. I am hopeful that it won't be too long before roundabouts and public gardens will boast collections of garigue and endemic plants. I recall when I lived in Redlandshire, south of Brisbane in Australia, the local council ran a native plant nursery where they had laid out examples of private gardens using only endemic species. Local people were enabled to consider how to develop their own gardens using endemic plants rather than exotics.

From the nursery, we walked up over garigue paths past Ghan Tuffieha bay where my father painted a water colour of the bay sixty years ago. The old hotel that must have been operating in those days is now abandoned and falling into ruin awaiting permits to develop. I am hopeful that the unpredictability of the terrain in that area and a changing climate about over development of tourist sites will prevent that from happening.

From there, we followed paths and country roads until we arrived at Zebbiegh where we paused for lunch. Very few of us felt like eating after an over-indulgent buffet breakfast. Some decided that the morning's walk had been enough for them and caught a bus back to the hotel. My ankle had felt vulnerable on the garigue and I was grateful to another Rambler who arranged for her husband to meet us at Zebbiegh with a stick for me to use.

The lunch stop was close to the Skorba temple which was our first afternoon visit. I have walked past the site several times and have read about it in the archeological books I have on my shelves but this was the first time I was able to enter the site with a knowledgeable guide. The site is quite small and bounded by more recent development but nevertheless is very significant in terms of a fuller understanding of the temple building era.

The site at Ta Hagrat in Mgarr which was our second visit is no bigger than Skorba but the familiar layout of circular apses is more readable. The site is unique in having steps leading up to the main entrance.

I was tired as we completed our tour of the two temples and was happy to catch a bus back to the hotel along with several other members of the group including our leader, Alex! The remaining members walked back along the cliffs to join us at another over indulgent buffet dinner followed by a quiz night.

On our last day we were scheduled to walk through il Majjestral National Park accompanied by leading naturalist, Analise Falzon. We met up with her at the entrance to the old British barracks which have recently been handed over to the Parks administration. As we walked up through the barracks we were treated to a first-hand glimpse of the tensions that needed to be negotiated between Parks administration and habitual users of the area.

During our initial briefing, several off-road vehicles roared past us and Analise explained how signs or closed gates usually had a life-span of less than one week before being ripped down or vandalised. Traditional hunters and fishers also expected to have parking areas as close as possible to their hunting or fishing spots. Even family picnicking puts unexpected demands on the park administration. One family arrived and established themselves in one of the buildings of the barracks as though it was their own weekender and another family who were using the electronic vehicle track assumed a right to start a BBQ fire using sparse garigue wood.

It will be a long road to establish a shift in patterns of useage for the park. Organisations such as the Ramblers have a role to play in modeling appropriate behaviour and we have also undertaken to help with some clean up work in 2012 but it will require a lot of good will on the part of government and NGOs before we begin to see a shift from a culture of exploitation to one of nurturance.

Once we got out onto the garigue, it was most clearly the culture of nurturance that Analise was able to demonstrate as she stopped us by rich groupings of flora and explained to us the diversity of plants that grew in the various habitats generated by geological processes.

The walk finished at the Manikata medieval farming community at the edge of the park where we had a rustic lunch. This area is now managed by a co-operative of local farmers who have done a great job restoring the old dwellings, caves, apiaries and gardens. By this time, the scheduled short morning walk had extended well into the afternoon and I was happy for the offer of a lift back to Sliema where I would find more frequent buses to Valletta and home.

It was a great weekend that left me pondering several of the dilemmas and contradictions associated with the task of moving from a culture of exploitation and over-development to one of nurturance and conservation. Development such as the luxury hotel at which we stayed cannot now be reversed but perhaps we can find ways of enabling the man-made to support and nurture the recovery of the natural and we can certainly be more careful in granting permits for further development. Some cultural practices exploit and damage the natural environment and it will be difficult to shift these patterns unless we can show that there is real joy in cherishing what we have left and this legacy is the right and responsibility of all.

Pictures for Sunday

Sunday in Valletta and the images are more or less in the order I write about in the following blog!

Sunday in Valletta

Summer changed my routines, stirred me around a little, made me restless. That's my excuse for leaving the blog for six months.

Now it's winter and the scaffolding of my life is slipping back into place. Lunchtime concerts, weekend walks, writing my blog...

And there is a new feel to Valletta, a new liveliness, more people strolling the streets and they're not just tourists trotting behind a bright umbrella. What are they here for? It's not the restoration work that seems to be happening everywhere, nor the new festivals like Ziguzjag, nor the Christmas decorations (same as last year except for the gorgeous glass ball tree that heads up the post) nor the instant trees with seating down Merchants street. There's an excitement, something is happening in Valletta.

Yesterday I woke to a beautiful sunny day. The harbour entrance was calm and the new footbridge to the breakwater almost glowed in the morning light. (I tried to put a picture here but it insisted on going at the top)

I decided to go out for the Sunday papers and then wander down for the open day at the Museum of Fine Arts.

Something was happening in St George Square. The fountain was off, there was a blow-up gateway where Republic street enters the square and a crane was holding a big screen announcing the President's fun run. Even more startling was the sight of Queen Victoria on her plinth as always but in solitary splendour - no cafe table, chair or umbrella in sight. I have never seen her square denuded of hospitable clutter. The surrounding buildings including the National library and the old sun calendar above Cordina's stood out magnificently.

As I strolled on down Republic street, a sense of gathering hung in the air - band players were arriving in ones and twos with their instruments tucked under their arms, people were leaning cautiously over the barriers to touch the glass balls of the Christmas tree to make sure it wasn't plastic.

At the museum of Archaology, I decided to call in and see the exhibition of Spanish Treasures from the Khalili collections, Magic Metal. This remarkable collection of Damascene metal objects is set up in the upstairs gallery and the accompanying book, Ornament and Malta, An Introduction, draws together the Moorish and Spanish influences on Malta's decorative arts.

I was on my own at the exhibition apart from the young woman security guard who engaged me in conversation and encouraged me to continue my stroll to the Museum of Fine Arts as well as taking in the War museum (another day perhaps?).

I was certainly not alone as I came back out onto Republic street! The walkers in the President's Fun Run turned the street into a purple river, chattering and swirling around the silver Christmas trees, pushchairs, wheelchairs, dogs making little eddies in the stream. I stood on the ramp outside the museum for several minutes before plunging in and walking against the current up towards South street to turn off to the Museum of Fine Arts. I rejected the idea of crossing the stream to go to St James Cavalier and catch their 11.00 am Sunday concert.

The air of something about to happen hung about the museum as well. There was the sound of a piano in the courtyard and as I went up the stairs I could see children drawing on a large board set up on the mezzanine. I glanced at the familiar Mattia Prettis and spent a bit of time browsing the book stall for bargains. Then went down to the basement for the Paul Caruana exhibition, Short Stories, a charming, nostalgic look at growing up in Valletta.

Back in Republic street, the bands were playing and walkers were dispersing into side streets and cafes. My pace had slowed to an amble now, partly due to my sprained ankle but mostly because I really wanted to linger with this new Valletta feeling. In St George's square, children were gathering around Minnie mouse demanding hugs.

I turned the corner for home, my backpack heavy with Sunday papers and reduced price art books. Sweet Sunday in Valletta...