Art, a Silent City and the problem of history

The first few days of our visit to Malta had been full; full of sights, tastes and bustling. As with any feast we needed a bit of a pause afterwards to digest and take a breath before we plunged on into dessert.
So on the Wednesday our first activity wasn’t running to a bus but strolling to the nearest beach. There we paddled, splashed, read, dozed and generally ignored the passing of time. Neither did we pay attention to the sunscreen that was washing away in the gently lapping water, though we certainly noticed it later.
The rest of that day, a reverse hump day, passed with grocery shopping at a van, a ‘beer-tail’ and views of the sea.

Cisk and chips

Cisk and chips

Having cleared our minds of stress and bother, we began Thursday with a bus ride and soon found ourselves waiting for a second bus, wondering after 45 minutes if it wouldn’t be easier to walk. Luckily, before the heat caused us to actually start this mad trek, the bus arrived and we gratefully squeezing among the other holiday goers and locals, heading to the old capital.
Mdina sits on a hill just above the neighbouring Rabat, looking down on the surrounding countryside from behind high, honey-coloured limestone walls. The bus took us up to the walls, but before venturing into the city we took a detour to a small and unassuming museum to find out more about a period of Maltese history that we’d missed so far.

The Domus Romana museum is, as the name suggests, located on top of the remains of an ancient Roman house and though it was small and the staff seemed almost comatose from boredom it was one of the most surprising museums I’ve visited. I was expecting the mosaic floors that I’d read about to be of the smiling masks and abstract patterned variety, and they did have those. But as I looked down at the largest mosaic, which had probably been the centrepiece of the peristyle, I thought I was seeing something modern. The mosaic had been done in a series of 3D maze like twisting patterns that looked as though they were coming out of the floor. I’ve seen Roman mosaics with chariot drivers, faces and animals, some of which looked almost lifelike and many with incredible detail and skill, but the modernness of these was amazing.

3D mosaic

3D mosaic

Just off from the peristyle was a room that might have been the study, decorated with black and white diamond shapes in a pattern that again seemed to lift out of the floor. In a corner damage had been fixed inexpertly, showing that the owners had fallen on hard times. I wondered why, and how and who they are and as usual wished for a time machine.

Old and often repaired

Old and often repaired

Outside were more remains, less well preserved, of other houses and streets which ended suddenly on the right with a large ditch. This had been built a few decades ago when they were building a railway, cutting through and demolishing part of the house and other buildings, not even leaving rubble behind. They had known about the remains, but had cut through anyway, which I guess isn’t all that surprising in a country where you can’t avoid history even if you wanted to.

It’s the same problem, if you choose to think of it as a problem, that lead to us having to walk across a construction site to reach the bus stop or run along a highway to get to the nearest town. The construction was part of a roadworks project that should improve the roads along the north-eastern part of Malta, and I’m sure will be appreciated by tourists and locals alike when/if it ever finishes. The problem is that there has been a major delay. While preparing for the roadworks someone found the remains of a Neolithic tomb, and after calling in archaeologists and doing excavations and studies the roadworks were delayed by 3 months, pushing it into peak tourist time and generally making life irritating for everyone except the archaeologists.
The same person who told us about the roadworks also mentioned that anyone building a house in Malta had better have a lot of patience and time on their hands, as all houses have to be in a set style, upgrading a house is fraught with paperwork and gods forbid you find anything historical lying around. Just don’t bother, she said, shrugging with a mix of pride and exasperation.
History, she seemed to imply, may be all very well and good, but we’ve got to live and how can we do that if it keeps haunting us?

Having gotten our fill of the Roman history of Malta, we walked through the gardens and along the moat and walls that surround the old capital. It’s been inhabited for about 6000 years, fortified by the Phoenicians in the 700sBCE and called Malet, then taken over by the Romans and named Melita and over time it was passed through the hands of the Saracens who gave it the name Mdina, followed by Normans, French and English until we get to today. They all left their marks with high walls, an impressive city gate and a maze of palaces, cathedrals and houses that add up to the almost unearthly ‘Silent City’. It has apparently also been a site for the filming of Game of Thrones where stood in for King’s Landing at one point, which I guess must have made it briefly a little less silent.

Mdina city gate

Mdina city gate

It’s called the ‘Silent City’ partly because no cars are allowed to enter, and possibly also because just under 300 people live there. It seemed to me though that the main reason for the silence, broken only by the quiet chatter of tourists, clip-clop of horse-drawn tourist buggies and bustle of small souvenir and craft shops, is the thickness of the doors and the height of the barred windows on all the houses. There is a definite impression of there being two cities, one passing by on the streets, and the other inside the walls of the houses, and never the twain shall meet.

Silent streets

Silent streets

After exploring the twisting streets and alleys, we found a cafe that had been recommended by our Bulgarian roommates. Fontanela sits perched on the city walls, overlooking the countryside to the north. From our table we could see all the way to the sea and beyond, even making out Valletta to the east and many small unknown villages in between.

View from Mdina walls

View from Mdina walls

Filled with pastizzi and ftira (a local tuna sandwich), all of course delicious and surprisingly cheap, we wandered some more and encountered no one who wasn’t a tourist or a shop keeper.

Mmmmmm, pastizzi

Mmmmmm, pastizzi

Just out of the shadow of Mdina sits the craft village of Ta’Qali. While my fella went off to explore the nearby Aviation Museum, I wandered around the complex of former airforce huts, many of which contained the typical tourist fare. I soon found some that were more interesting, shops divided into the display area while at the back craftsmen and women worked away. Potters painted, carpenters carved, glassblowers blew and silversmiths twisted filigree. Near the back of the complex I walked into a glassmaker’s workshop, where a craftsman was molding something with the ease of much practice. I stayed to watch for a while, as he molded, coloured, blew, heated and pinched the blob of glass into shape, while the furnaces thrummed behind him and an industrial sized fan kept the temperature to a liveable level.

Making a swan

Making a swan

After I’d been watching with interest for a few minutes he gestured for me to climb over the rope dividing his workshop from the watching area, and indicated that I could choose a colour. I chose blue and then green, and he then explained and demonstrated the steps of molding, heating, stretching and pinching, which turned a pear shaped lump into a delicate swan. It was something like magic to watch him at work, and as the swan disappeared into one of the ovens to gradually cool I wished that I could have it myself, so I could be reminded of the fascination of watching a craftsman at work whenever I saw it.

Then he got a new lump on a long, hollow stick and held it out to me.
‘Blow hard and steadily,’ he advised and I tried to do so, watching light-headedly as the lump ballooned out into a clear bauble of glass, perfectly round. After saying that I may have blown a bit too long, but smiling, he gently tapped it against the side of the tray in front of his chair, where it smashed into shards unrecognisable from the remnants of sculptures and other tourist attempts.

The remains of my first attempt

The remains of my first attempt

Then another group of people wandered closer, curious, and I slipped out, glancing once at the oven where the swan sat as I went.
The last stop was a silversmith workshop, where the owner demonstrated the twisting, welding and beating involved in making the delicate and intricate works around him. There was a tiny grand piano, complete with strings and a stool and a Spitfire plane made of tiny twists of silver. I found a small Maltese cross and bought it, as my personal reminder of Malta.

Having both finished exploring, my fellow explorer and I met and waited at the bus stop, as bus after bus went past. After about an hour the bus we were waiting for arrived, and we climbed on, tired but satisfied with our day. The traditional rabbit stew and local wine that evening also helped.

Advertisements

A journey up the river

Recently I had an entire day to myself, during a week free of classes and work, and so I escaped the city for a little while. I had an urging to visit a museum, and spend the cloudy coldness absorbed in artifacts and old stories.
Which is how I found myself at a train station, surrounded by fields and chirping birds, in a valley that had once been the centre of Västra Götaland.

Those who have peeped at the history of Göteborg may know that it was officially founded in 1621. Ok, but what about before that time, you may ask, at such a significant point between Denmark and Norway there must have been some sort of settlement, you may point out? There were, seemingly shifted down the river Älv with time as boundaries shifted and kings had great new ideas. The first of these towns on record was Lödöse, located about 40kms up the river from Göteborg. It was here that I went on that day, or to be specific, it was to the museum of Lödöse.

Lödöse as it was

Lödöse as it was

Lödöse has faded somewhat over the years, now boasting a population of around 1300 according to Wikipedia, but in the museum at least you can get a sense of what it must have been like when it was a thriving trading city.

Ancient Lödösians thriving Medievally

Ancient Lödösians thriving Medievally

The museum is full of pot and glass shards from all over Europe, the fragments of a Venetian glass hinting at the wealth that must have been here, as well as signs from everyday life. There were replicas of houses, clothes and a case with rune carvings, and mysterious fragments left from churches and the various inhabitants. I spent a while wandering among these, before climbing up to the second story, where the theme seemed to cover history in a much more general sense.

The head of a saint

The head of a saint

There were artifacts again, but rather than a plaque stating the archaeological equivalent of ‘I donno’, there were cartoons depicting suggestions in a style that didn’t ask to be taken too seriously.

Necklace or tankard ring?

Necklace or tankard ring?

There was a section about evolution, religion and race biology, which certainly didn’t pull any punches in terms of Sweden’s own history of eugenics and the clash between science and religion. Facing it was a slowly rotating globe on which stood figures from the evolution of humans, caught with a fish, a spear or empty handed, leaping from the lands they’d been discovered in.

Humanity

Humanity

There was a cartoon showing previous generations, a queue of women in gradually modernising clothes, at the end of which was a woman with a phone. It made me very much want my own history sketched out, so I can see the faces of the ladies who preceded me.

A generational queue

A generational queue

After a final poke around the rest of the museum, the library and a snack, I headed out to wait for a bus, taking in the suburban modernity that has mostly buried the old town.

Modern Lödöse

Modern Lödöse

Soon the bus arrived and took me on the next leg of the journey: Åmål.

I kid, I got of the bus before it got there. Because Åmål.

After about an hour on the rather comfortable bus, I got off at Vänersborg, and miraculously the weather began to clear. As the name suggests Vänersborg lies next to lake Vänern, near to the starting point of the river Älv. Lake Vänern is the largest lake in Sweden, and the third largest in Europe, so it is no exaggeration to say that it is really very big. I’d seen it once before and marveled at the complete lack of anything within vision on the other side.

The lake in autumn

The lake in autumn

The lake was the main reason I wanted to visit Vänersborg, so after hopping off the bus I headed along the canal to the edge of the lake. As I went past an apparently normal block of flats and cafes I was hit full in the face by a very familiar smell. People who haven’t been to Australia may have been reminded of a brewery or a yeast factory. If you have been to Australia you would have instantly recognised the heady smell of vegemite. As there was no Kraft factory or back-packers in sight, I have to assume that it was from something beer or yeast related. At least until I next get to investigate.

The lake edge was reached through a park, complete with statues, bowing willows, shimmering birches and a fountain. The lake at this point was narrow, but in between the distant hills was empty water. It’s a strange feeling to be inland and feel as though you’re staring out at the sea, imagining continents in the distance.

The endless lake

The endless lake

After turning away from the lake, I headed into town and found freshly cooked pancakes swimming in jam and cream, which I gave a thorough eating. It was then time for the train home, so with a last look around the the town I climbed onto the train and began the journey back into town. It followed the path of the river Älv, including the wide valley where an old trading town had once ruled the region, before the town was pulled as I was to the coast and the future.