Malta Travel Guide

2025–2026

Islands of Timeless Beauty

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 COPYRIGHT

[2025] by All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, Ki distributed, or

transmitted in any form or by any means, including
photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical
methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher,
except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical
reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by
copyright law.

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 Acknowledgment

To write about Malta is to write about a thousand layers of

memory, stone, sea, and sound. This guide wouldn’t have been
possible without the generosity of the Maltese people, who
welcome travelers not as tourists, but as temporary neighbors.
To every local who shared directions, recipes, legends, or smiles
—thank you. You brought this place to life on these pages.

Special thanks to the archaeologists, curators, historians, ferry

operators, hoteliers, and guides who keep Malta’s history not
only preserved but alive. Your knowledge and care are reflected
in every temple stone and every exhibit plaque that helped shape
this guide.

Finally, gratitude to every reader planning their own Maltese

chapter. May your travels be filled with beauty, meaning, and
just the right amount of adventure.

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 Preface

This book was born out of a love for places that are more than
just picturesque—they’re powerful. Malta, with its weathered
walls and sunlit sea, does not seek to impress with grandeur. It
moves you with soul. I first set foot in Valletta expecting
beautiful sights and good food, but I found so much more—a
layered, living island with a quiet confidence and a fierce heart.

I wanted this guide to reflect that spirit. Not just facts, but
feelings. Not just lists, but language. Not just what to see, but
how to feel when you’re there. Every chapter is a window into a
different mood, whether it’s the serene cliffs of Gozo or the
buzz of a Valletta street café. I hope you’ll find, somewhere in
these pages, the version of Malta that speaks to you most.

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 Dedication

To the islands of Malta, Gozo, and Comino—thank you for

being my compass, my muse, and my peace.

And to every traveler who dares to go beyond the obvious, to

look closer, linger longer, and listen deeper—this book is for
you.

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 Disclaimer

This travel guide is intended to provide accurate and up-to-date

information as of its publication. However, prices, schedules,
availability, and other details may change without notice. While
every effort has been made to ensure factual correctness, the
author and publisher do not accept any responsibility for loss,
damage, or inconvenience caused by errors or changes.
Travelers are encouraged to confirm details with local
authorities, official tourism offices, or service providers.

This guide reflects the personal experiences, research, and

interpretations of the author. It is not affiliated with any
governmental or tourism agency in Malta. All opinions
expressed are solely those of the author. Travelers are
responsible for their own safety, decisions, and travel
documentation.

Enjoy the journey—and always travel with care, curiosity, and

respect.

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 TABLE OF CONTENTS

Table of Contents
COPYRIGHT.......................................1

Acknowledgment................................2

Preface...............................................3

Dedication..........................................4

Disclaimer..........................................5

TABLE OF CONTENTS......................6
Chapter 1: Welcome to Malta – An Introduction to the
Archipelago.........................................................................................................9

Chapter 2: Planning Your Trip – Visas, Seasons & Budgets........17

Chapter 3: Valletta – The Fortress Capital..........................................26

Chapter 4: Mdina – The Silent City.........................................................35

Chapter 5: Mdina and Rabat – Where Silence Speaks in Stone. 46

Chapter 6: Gozo – Malta’s Peaceful Sister Island.............................53

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Chapter 7: Gozo and Comino – Malta’s Mystical Sisters Beyond
the Blue..............................................................................................................59

Chapter 8: Culture and Traditions – The Soul of Malta in Sound,

Story, and Celebration.................................................................................65

Chapter 9: Outdoor Adventures – Walking, Diving, and Living

the Maltese Landscape................................................................................72

Chapter 10: Maltese Cuisine – A Feast of Cultures, Flavors, and

Sunshine............................................................................................................80

Chapter 11: Valletta and Floriana – Malta’s Grand Baroque Stage

............................................................................................................................... 87

Chapter 12: The Three Cities – Vittoriosa, Senglea, and Cospicua

............................................................................................................................... 93

Chapter 13: Malta’s Countryside and Rural Villages – Olive

Groves, Stone Paths, and Festa Spirit....................................................99

Chapter 14: Maltese Cuisine – Rustic Roots and Seaside Flavor

in Every Bite..................................................................................................105

Chapter 15: Malta’s Festivals and Cultural Calendar – A Year of

Celebration....................................................................................................111

Chapter 16: Malta’s Charming Towns and Villages – Beyond the

Usual.................................................................................................................118

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Chapter 17: Flavors of Malta – A Culinary Journey Through the
Islands..............................................................................................................125

Chapter 18: Essential Travel Tips for Malta – Navigating the

Islands Like a Local....................................................................................132

Accommodation Prices and Entry fees for attraction sites in

Malta (2025-2026).....................................................................................137

Insightful Reflection..................................................................................140

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Chapter 1: Welcome to Malta – An Introduction to
the Archipelago

You step off the plane and instantly feel it. The warm
Mediterranean sun, the subtle scent of salt in the breeze, and a
kind of stillness that feels timeless even at the airport. Malta
doesn’t try too hard to impress—it just is. And that’s part of its
charm. This sun-kissed archipelago isn’t just another European
island destination. It’s a confluence of continents, cultures, and
centuries. Malta lives and breathes history, yet dances in
modernity. In the span of a day, you can visit Neolithic temples
that predate the Pyramids, sip cappuccinos in a Baroque piazza
that wouldn’t look out of place in Rome, and enjoy techno beats
at a sea-facing rooftop bar. Malta is many things—compact yet
bursting, old yet youthful, and always surprising. Let’s begin by
understanding what makes this Mediterranean gem so
captivating, and why 2025–2026 is the perfect time to be here.

Most travelers think of Malta as a single island. And while that’s

not completely incorrect, it's also not quite right. The Maltese
archipelago is made up of three main inhabited islands—Malta,
Gozo, and Comino. Malta is the largest and the cultural-political
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center. This is where the capital city Valletta sits, and it’s also
home to the country’s main international airport, its most
important administrative institutions, and a large chunk of its
population. Gozo, on the other hand, is smaller, greener, and
more rural, with a quieter way of life and a deeply traditional
soul. Comino is tiny, mostly uninhabited, and loved for its
brilliant Blue Lagoon and snorkeling waters. Beyond these,
there are a few other small islets—Filfla, Cominotto, St. Paul’s
Islands—but you’re not likely to visit them unless you’re into
kayaking or marine biology.

The first thing that hits you about Malta is the light. The islands
seem to glow in honey-golden tones, thanks in part to the local
limestone used in buildings across Malta and Gozo. It catches
sunlight in the most magical way, especially in the early
morning or late afternoon. Valletta, the capital, is often
described as an open-air museum, and it’s no exaggeration. With
its fortified bastions, domed churches, ornate balconies, and
narrow sloping streets, it feels like a city lovingly frozen in time
—but never stuck. It’s alive with galleries, jazz bars, outdoor
theaters, and the laughter of people sitting at cafes with a glass
of Cisk beer or local wine in hand.

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In contrast, Mdina—known as the Silent City—is like a
whispered legend. The silence here is not just literal, but
atmospheric. You don’t just walk the streets of Mdina; you float
through them, especially in the evenings when the cruise ship
crowds have left. The lamps flicker. The air is still. You half
expect to hear the echo of a knight’s armor clinking down a
cobbled lane. It's a place where stories feel close to the skin,
where history and the present blend into something warm and
reverent.

And then there’s Gozo. The island where time slows down.
Where you wake to the sound of roosters crowing and church
bells echoing across valleys. People smile more here. They
wave. They stop for conversation. In Gozo, you learn to exhale.
Whether you’re hiking its coastal trails, getting lost among its
terraced farms, or admiring the red sands of Ramla Bay, you
begin to understand that not all journeys are about how much
you see—but how deeply you feel.

Let’s not forget Comino. Small and sun-drenched, this island is

mostly rocks, shrubs, and sparkling water. Most people visit for
a few hours to float in the famous Blue Lagoon. But there’s

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more to Comino than that. The cliffs offer peaceful walking
paths, the Santa Maria Tower stands with quiet dignity, and the
lack of cars means you hear only wind, birds, and the splash of
water. Some people camp overnight. Others just come to
breathe.

What makes Malta so intriguing isn’t just its beauty, but its
depth. The story of Malta is one of survival, synthesis, and
strength. Strategically placed between Europe and Africa, Malta
has always been a desirable outpost. Everyone wanted it. The
Phoenicians, Romans, Byzantines, Arabs, Normans, Knights of
St. John, French, British—you name it. Each left a layer. And
Malta, rather than discard any of it, folded it all in. This blend of
cultural DNA shows up in its language (a fascinating mix of
Arabic roots with Latin, Italian, and English influences), in its
cuisine (where pastizzi sit comfortably beside rabbit stew and
ricotta-filled kannoli), and in its people—resilient, kind, and
profoundly proud of their home.

One moment you’re standing in front of the megalithic temples

of Ħaġar Qim and Mnajdra, built over 5,000 years ago with no
metal tools, and the next you’re watching a live DJ set by a

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London-based artist at a rooftop club in St. Julian’s. You realize
how absurdly compact Malta is when you can drive from one
end to the other in less than an hour, yet discover more history
and flavor along the way than you’d find across several days
elsewhere. For those with itchy feet and short attention spans,
Malta is a dream. There’s always another cliff, another cove,
another church, or another tiny bar with an unforgettable view
just around the corner.

Traveling to Malta in 2025–2026 has never been easier or more

rewarding. The main Malta International Airport in Luqa has
undergone some impressive upgrades, making arrivals smoother
and faster. Public transport has shifted towards electric buses
and hybrid ferries, with increased frequency to Gozo and
Valletta’s Grand Harbour. New boutique accommodations are
springing up in lovingly restored townhouses, especially in
neighborhoods like Birgu and Senglea. The gastronomy scene is
getting bolder, too, with Michelin-starred chefs blending local
ingredients with global flair in restaurants that keep the Maltese
soul alive on every plate.

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The cultural calendar is buzzing as well. Valletta’s Notte Bianca
is expected to feature extended light installations in 2025, with
Gozo preparing its own arts festival centered around traditional
crafts and folklore. Plus, if you’re into scuba diving, several new
wrecks have been officially opened for exploration. Whether
you’re a culture-seeker, beach-lover, history-buff, or foodie
traveler, Malta’s putting its best foot forward—and doing so
with grace.

But don’t come just to check boxes. Don’t just rush from the
Upper Barrakka Gardens to the Blue Grotto, snapping pictures
along the way. Malta asks more of you. It wants your time, your
curiosity, and your willingness to look a little closer. Talk to a
local fisherman in Marsaxlokk. Step into a village festa and
dance with strangers beneath cascading fireworks. Eat food with
your hands. Climb the fortress walls. Sit by the edge of the sea
and count the boats that disappear into the horizon.

This island isn't a checklist. It’s a canvas. You don’t conquer

Malta—you let it unfold before you. Some of your best
memories might come not from the highlights, but from the gaps
between them. That bus ride where the driver called you “ħabib”

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(friend) and waved off your change. That moment when the sea
turned the color of ink just before sunset. That bite of bread still
warm from the bakery, eaten in silence with your feet dangling
over a quay.

In 2025–2026, Malta is in bloom—not just because of spring

flowers but because of how ready it is to be rediscovered. After
years of quiet evolution, the island has learned to speak more
languages—of design, of sustainability, of digital innovation—
without losing its own. It’s still fiercely Maltese. Still grounded
in tradition. Still wrapped in limestone and sea breeze. But now,
it’s also wide open. Welcoming. Creative. Energetic.

Whether you’re coming for a few days or a few weeks, with a

backpack or a suitcase, alone or with company, there’s a place
here for you. A bench facing the sea. A doorway that invites
curiosity. A rhythm that makes you slow down, just enough to
feel.

So, welcome to Malta. You’re going to love it here. Not in a

touristy, brochure-kind-of-way. But in that quiet, undeniable
way that certain places have of sticking with you long after you

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leave. Malta is small, yes. But it leaves a big mark. You’re just
getting started.

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Chapter 2: Planning Your Trip – Visas, Seasons &
Budgets

Before you set foot on Malta’s sun-drenched shores, there’s a

little magic that happens behind the scenes. That delicious
anticipation as you browse flights, the tabs you open for hotel
comparisons, the endless Pinterest scrolls of Valletta’s honey-
colored facades. But planning a trip to Malta isn’t just logistics
—it’s the start of the story. And like any great Mediterranean
tale, it deserves a thoughtful beginning. There’s no one-size-fits-
all approach to preparing for Malta, but there is a sweet spot
where timing, budgeting, and awareness of entry requirements
align to create a stress-free and deeply enjoyable travel
experience. Let’s walk through what matters—visas, seasons,
and how to get the most out of every euro.

Let’s start with the all-important entry requirements. For most

travelers, entering Malta is refreshingly straightforward. As of
2025, Malta remains a member of the European Union and part
of the Schengen Area. That means if you’re coming from
another Schengen country, you won’t face border checks when
you arrive. Just hop on your flight or ferry, land at Malta
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International Airport, and waltz right in. If you’re a citizen of
the EU, EEA, or Switzerland, you don’t need a visa at all. Just
carry a valid passport or national ID card, and you’re good to
go.

For citizens of countries like the United States, Canada,

Australia, the UK, Japan, South Korea, and many others, Malta
allows 90 days of visa-free travel within a 180-day period, as
part of the Schengen visa waiver rules. If you’re not sure about
your eligibility, there’s a handy tool on the official Maltese
government website where you can input your nationality and
see what’s required.

Now, there’s one thing that’s changed recently: the ETIAS.

Starting in mid-2025, the European Travel Information and
Authorization System will be in full swing. It’s not a visa—it’s a
pre-screening travel authorization, and it applies to visa-free
travelers. You’ll need to apply online before your trip, pay a
small fee (around €7), and get approval that’s valid for three
years or until your passport expires. It’s quick, usually takes just
minutes, and is tied electronically to your passport. So yes, it’s
one more thing to tick off your list, but it’s pretty painless.

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If you’re coming from a country that does require a Schengen
visa, you’ll need to apply through the Maltese consulate or visa
center in your area. The standard short-stay Schengen visa
allows you up to 90 days in Malta or across the entire Schengen
Area. Be prepared to show travel insurance, accommodation
proof, financial means, and a return ticket. Processing times
vary, but applying 4–6 weeks in advance is ideal.

Now that the paperwork is out of the way, let’s talk seasons.
Malta wears many hats throughout the year, and your experience
will shift dramatically depending on when you visit. The islands
enjoy a classic Mediterranean climate—hot, dry summers and
mild, rainy winters. But that’s just the surface of the story.

Spring, from March to early June, is arguably the most beautiful

time to visit Malta. The countryside comes alive with green
fields and wildflowers, especially in Gozo. Temperatures hover
in the sweet 20–25°C range, the sea begins to warm, and the
skies are generally clear. This is the perfect season for hiking
along coastal cliffs, visiting ancient temples without the glare of
midsummer heat, and enjoying outdoor café culture without
elbowing through crowds. Plus, airline fares and hotel prices

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tend to be moderate. You’ll see locals still wearing jackets while
visitors sunbathe—it’s charming.

Then comes summer, the most popular time and, unsurprisingly,

the busiest. From mid-June to August, the islands are drenched
in sunlight for nearly 14 hours a day. Temperatures often rise
above 30°C, especially in July and August, though coastal
breezes offer some relief. Beaches are in full swing, festa
fireworks light up the skies, and nightlife pulses in St. Julian’s
and Sliema. If you love energy, people-watching, open-air
concerts, and never having to check the weather, summer is a
dream. But it’s also crowded. Popular spots like the Blue
Lagoon can feel packed by 11 am. Prices for accommodation
spike. You’ll need to book ferries, car rentals, and even beach
umbrellas in advance.

Come September, the crowds begin to thin, but the sea remains
warm and inviting. This early fall period, stretching into
October, is something of a golden window. Temperatures
soften, the pace slows, and the countryside begins to dry out into
romantic golds and browns. It’s a particularly wonderful time to
visit Gozo or explore rural villages like Żebbuġ or Qrendi. The

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light during this season is painterly. And with fewer people,
you’ll find better deals on lodging and more room to breathe at
famous landmarks.

Winter is Malta’s off-season. Between November and February,

temperatures can drop to the low teens, and rainfall is common
—but snow is unheard of. While you won’t be lounging on the
beach, there’s a serene beauty to Malta in winter. The streets of
Valletta are quieter, local life feels more accessible, and there’s
a romantic quality to cloudy skies over Mdina’s ramparts.
Christmas in Malta is surprisingly festive, with twinkling lights,
nativity displays, and traditional sweets like qagħaq tal-għasel
(honey rings). And if you love dramatic coastal photography,
winter waves against the Dingli Cliffs are majestic. Just be
prepared for shorter days and the occasional ferry disruption due
to winds.

Now, let’s talk money. How much does a trip to Malta cost in
2025–2026? The answer is, as always, “it depends.” But let’s
sketch out a few scenarios to give you a real feel.

If you’re a budget traveler—think hostels, public buses, cooking

some meals—you can easily spend under €60 a day. Dorm beds
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in Valletta or Sliema start at around €18–25 a night. Pastizzi
from a local bakery cost less than a euro, and you can have a
delicious sit-down Maltese meal in a no-frills eatery for under
€12. A 7-day unlimited Tallinja Explore bus card costs €25.
With free beaches, public gardens, and pay-what-you-can
church visits, you can have a rich experience without breaking
the bank.

For mid-range travelers who enjoy boutique hotels, daily

restaurant meals, and a mix of taxis and tours, expect to spend
between €100 and €180 per day. That gets you a charming
guesthouse in Birgu or Rabat, a boat trip to Comino, and wine
with dinner. It’s a sweet spot for couples or solo travelers who
want comfort without opulence.

High-end visitors will find no shortage of luxury in Malta.

Think seafront suites in five-star hotels, private yacht rentals,
spa treatments, and fine dining. For this level of experience,
€300+ a day is a reasonable baseline. And it can go up from
there—especially if you’re eyeing Michelin-starred tasting
menus or exclusive countryside villas in Gozo.

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Here’s a sample 5-day moderate budget breakdown for one
traveler in 2025:

Flights from central Europe to Malta average €80–120 return

with low-cost carriers. Accommodation in a boutique hotel in
Valletta or Sliema might cost €100 per night. Daily meals at
mid-range restaurants average €25–35. Local transportation by
bus adds around €5 per day. Add a boat trip to the Blue Lagoon
at €35 and a guided temple tour for €30, and you’re looking at
roughly €700 for the whole trip, flights included. And you’ll
come home with stories for a lifetime.

One question travelers often ask is whether they should rent a

car. It depends. Malta drives on the left (a legacy of British
rule), and the roads are narrow, winding, and sometimes chaotic.
If you’re staying in Valletta, Sliema, or St. Julian’s, you can
easily rely on buses, ferries, and taxis. Parking is limited and
often confusing. However, if you're planning to explore rural
villages, Gozo, or off-the-beaten-path beaches, a car offers
freedom. Rental prices vary from €25 to €60 a day, and gas is
around €1.50 per liter. Just be sure your accommodation
includes parking.

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Connectivity is excellent throughout Malta. SIM cards from
companies like GO and Epic are widely available at the airport
and major towns. A prepaid data plan with a few gigabytes costs
around €10. Wi-Fi is standard in hotels, cafés, and even some
public transport hubs. Cash and card payments are equally
accepted, though some small vendors or market stalls prefer
cash. The euro is the official currency, and tipping is appreciated
but not obligatory—rounding up or leaving 5–10% at restaurants
is more than enough.

One final but important note—consider travel insurance. While

Malta has good medical facilities and EU citizens can use their
European Health Insurance Card (EHIC), it’s always wise to
carry coverage for unexpected events, especially if you plan to
dive, hike, or travel by boat. Some high-end credit cards include
travel protection, so check before you buy.

Packing for Malta is simple, but not to be underestimated. In

spring and autumn, layers are your best friend. A light jacket for
evenings, comfortable walking shoes for cobblestone streets,
and swimwear always—yes, even in October. In summer, it’s all
about light fabrics, sun protection, and staying hydrated.

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Winters call for a waterproof layer and warm sweaters,
especially in Gozo where it can feel cooler.

When planning, always keep one or two days unstructured.

Malta has a way of revealing itself when you least expect it.
Maybe you’ll meet someone who invites you to their village’s
festa. Maybe the weather shifts, and you end up spending a
blissful afternoon at a cliffside bar instead of on a boat. Leave
room for spontaneity. The island appreciates it—and rewards it.

So whether you’re planning three nights or three weeks, solo or

with a tribe, on a shoestring or splurging freely, Malta offers a
graceful canvas for whatever story you want to write. It doesn’t
require perfection—just presence. The planning matters, yes.
But so does the willingness to let the island surprise you. And
trust me, it will.

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 Chapter 3: Valletta – The Fortress Capital

There are cities that feel like museums, where everything is

precious and behind glass, and then there’s Valletta—a place
where history breathes with you. You don’t visit Valletta as a
passive observer; you walk through it as if stepping into a living
opera. It’s the kind of city where turning a corner means
walking into a baroque church you never expected, or catching
the distant sound of violin strings from a side street, or finding a
cat sleeping under a statue of some long-dead knight. Valletta
doesn’t shout for your attention. It whispers stories through its
balconies, its narrow shadows, and its golden limestone walls.

Built by the Knights of St. John in the late 1500s, Valletta is one
of the smallest capital cities in Europe, but it carries itself with a
grandeur usually reserved for capitals ten times its size. With
only about 6,000 residents in the city proper, Valletta still holds
the heart of Malta’s culture, politics, and pride. This is the city
of domes and bastions, of solemn co-cathedrals and eccentric
jazz bars, of heritage and hedonism wrapped together in a sunlit
symphony. And the best part? You can walk across the whole

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thing in less than 20 minutes—if you’re not distracted by the
charm at every corner, that is.

Most visitors enter Valletta through the City Gate, a modernist

cut in the ancient walls that was redesigned by Italian architect
Renzo Piano in 2014. The juxtaposition is striking. On one side,
the contemporary Parliament building with its honeycomb
façade; on the other, the looming stone bastions and
watchtowers that have guarded the city for over four centuries.
This is Malta in a nutshell—old meets new, seamlessly and
unapologetically.

Once you pass through the gate, you’ll find yourself on

Republic Street, Valletta’s main artery. Lined with government
buildings, cafes, souvenir shops, and churches, it leads straight
through the heart of the city. But don’t make the mistake of only
sticking to this one road. Valletta’s true essence is found in the
side streets—the ones that slope downward toward the Grand
Harbour or climb upward toward secret gardens. These alleys
are quiet in the mornings, echoing with the clatter of delivery
vans and the chirp of birds. By late afternoon, they fill with the

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murmur of conversation, the clink of glasses, and the laughter of
children racing home from school.

You can’t—and shouldn’t—miss the Upper Barrakka Gardens.

Perched on the city’s southeastern edge, this public garden
offers one of the most breathtaking panoramic views in all of
Malta. From its stone arches, you’ll see the Three Cities—Birgu,
Senglea, and Cospicua—standing like sentinels across the Grand
Harbour. Below, the Saluting Battery still fires a ceremonial
cannon blast at noon every day, echoing across the water like a
memory from the island’s military past. Come here at sunset
when the light turns everything gold and the sea sparkles like
glass. Sit on a bench, listen to the breeze rustle the oleanders,
and you’ll understand why this place feels sacred.

Just a few minutes away lies St. John’s Co-Cathedral. And let’s
not sugarcoat it—this might be one of the most breathtaking
churches you’ll ever step into. From the outside, it’s severe and
almost plain. But step through the door, and you’re transported
into a world of gold leaf, marble inlay, and baroque splendor.
Every inch of the interior is designed to awe. The tombstones of
knights, laid into the marble floor, are works of art themselves.

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The ceilings are dizzy with painted narratives. And in one of the
side chapels hangs a painting that stops many in their tracks—
Caravaggio’s "The Beheading of Saint John the Baptist." It’s
raw, haunting, and lit with that signature chiaroscuro drama.
Caravaggio fled to Malta as a fugitive. He left as a scandal. But
he left this behind as a legacy.

Now, Valletta isn’t just churches and cannon fire. It’s a city of
layers. Walk along Merchant Street and you’ll pass cafes with
tables spilling into the sidewalks, bakeries selling almond-
stuffed pastries, antique shops tucked behind faded blue doors.
There’s a rhythm to Valletta, a gentle swell and fall that matches
the pulse of the sea. You can stop for lunch at a bistro that
serves freshly caught lampuki or wild fennel risotto, sip a cold
Kinnie (a local bittersweet soda) or order a spritz with Maltese
vermouth. Everything feels local, and nothing feels rushed.

One of the city’s most enchanting features is its balconies. Not

just because they’re pretty, though they are, in every shade from
sea green to burgundy to robin’s egg blue. But because they tell
stories. These closed timber balconies—gallariji, in Maltese—
have become a visual symbol of Valletta. They jut out into the

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streets like curious little faces, each with its own wrinkles, paint
chips, or flower pots. Some are freshly painted, some are clearly
leaning into retirement, but all of them are watching. And if you
walk Valletta’s grid at twilight, you might see silhouettes behind
them. Families sitting down to dinner. An old woman brushing
her cat. A flickering TV screen casting shadows. Valletta is
lived in, and these balconies remind you that it’s not just a
postcard city—it’s a real home.

When the sun starts to dip, head toward Strait Street. For
decades, this narrow alley was infamous for its seedy reputation
during Malta’s days as a British naval base. Sailors came here
for whisky, jazz, and more than a few vices. Today, Strait Street
has transformed into one of Valletta’s liveliest nightlife areas.
You’ll find wine bars playing vinyl records, underground
cocktail lounges with candlelit tables, and outdoor terraces
where locals and expats swap stories until well past midnight.
It’s the kind of place where you can wear a tuxedo or flip-flops,
and nobody blinks. The energy is bohemian, inclusive, and
beautifully chaotic.

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Art lovers will find plenty to swoon over in Valletta. The
National Museum of Fine Arts, now housed in the MUŻA
gallery near Auberge d’Italie, showcases both classical and
contemporary Maltese art. The building itself is worth the visit
—an 18th-century masterpiece thoughtfully reimagined for the
21st century. For something a little grittier, seek out the city’s
thriving street art and independent galleries. The Valletta
Contemporary gallery, tucked behind a nondescript door,
exhibits cutting-edge modern works in a converted warehouse.
It’s unexpected, bold, and deeply Maltese in its reinvention of
space.

Don’t leave Valletta without visiting Casa Rocca Piccola, a still-

inhabited 16th-century noble residence. The de Piro family has
opened much of the house to visitors, offering guided tours
filled with quirky anecdotes, antique weaponry, vintage fashion,
and hidden tunnels that once served as WWII air raid shelters.
It’s part-museum, part-time capsule, and entirely charming.

Getting around Valletta is almost too easy. Cars are limited

inside the city walls, which keeps the air fresh and the vibe
relaxed. Most streets are pedestrian-friendly, though be ready

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for hills and stairs—flat shoes are a must. If you’re arriving
from Sliema or the Three Cities, hop on the public ferry. It’s
cheap, scenic, and delivers you right near the heart of Valletta.
The ferry ride across the Grand Harbour, especially in the early
morning or at golden hour, is one of those pinch-me moments.
You’re not just crossing water—you’re crossing time.

For a more nostalgic ride, look for the dgħajsa—traditional

Maltese water taxis that resemble Venetian gondolas, but
chunkier and more colorful. The boatmen are characters in their
own right, often happy to share stories, jokes, or just a knowing
smile as they glide you across the harbor.

Shopping in Valletta is less about malls and more about charm.

Explore St. Lucy Street or Old Bakery Street for independent
boutiques selling handmade leather goods, vintage jewelry,
ceramics, and local designer fashion. The Sunday market at St.
George’s Square sometimes features artisans selling soaps, olive
oils, and quirky Maltese souvenirs that are far from tacky. Look
out for filigree jewelry, a delicate lace-like metalwork that’s
been part of Maltese craftsmanship for centuries.

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For foodies, Valletta is full of surprises. Try rabbit ravioli at a
family-run trattoria. Sample bigilla, a broad bean paste served
with crusty bread. Stop for a quick snack at Café Jubilee, with
its vintage posters and nostalgic ambiance. Or go fine-dining at
Noni or Grain, where traditional flavors meet Michelin-starred
precision. In 2025, expect more restaurants to embrace zero-
waste kitchens and local sourcing—Valletta’s food scene is
growing not just in flavor but in conscience.

Valletta by night is a different creature. The light softens, and

the city exhales. The grand buildings glow under golden
lamplight. Jazz music floats out from open doors. Couples walk
hand-in-hand, heels clicking on stone. The silence between the
sounds becomes part of the symphony. The harbor reflects city
lights like ripples of melted gold. You might end the night
sipping limoncello on a rooftop, watching boats drift like ghosts
through the water below.

Valletta is not a city that rushes you. It doesn’t need to. It knows
what it is—majestic but modest, storied but spontaneous. You
don’t need a long list of must-sees here. Just a willingness to
wander, to look up, to step into churches even if you’re not

33
religious, to order food you can’t pronounce, and to let the city
move at its own pace. Valletta isn’t built for speed. It’s built for
meaning.

It’s a city that invites you to slow down and savor—not just the
past, but the present moment. And when you finally leave its
gates, you might find that part of you stays behind, lingering
like a perfume in the folds of an old coat. That’s Valletta. Not
just a place to visit. A place to feel.

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 Chapter 4: Mdina – The Silent City

Mdina doesn't whisper. It echoes—softly, timelessly, through

golden limestone walls and sleepy alleyways where every step
feels like it’s brushing the edge of another century. Known
affectionately as “The Silent City,” Mdina isn't just Malta’s
medieval gem; it's a living, breathing relic, still pulsing with
quiet elegance while the world beyond its bastion walls hustles
in modern time. There’s a stillness here that doesn’t ask for
silence—it commands it. Not out of austerity, but reverence.
And once you enter through the Main Gate, flanked by statues
of saints and guardians of stone, it’s impossible not to surrender
to its spell.

Mdina perches above Malta’s central plains, almost like a

watchful queen on her throne, regal and reserved. The view
from its ramparts rolls over vineyards, olive groves, and red-
tiled villages until the sea itself glimmers far off like a final
blessing. You’ll feel it in your bones before your feet have fully
crossed the threshold—this isn’t just a city. It’s a portal.

There’s a rhythm to exploring Mdina, and it begins not with

sights but with pace. Everything slows. There are no roaring
35
engines—cars are mostly banned within the walled city except
for residents and horse-drawn carriages that trot like echoes
from another life. Walk here, don’t rush. Let your eyes linger on
the wrought-iron balconies, the soft curls of ivy climbing
window ledges, the colored glass lanterns that guard ornate
doors. Some locals still whisper that time moves differently in
Mdina. After a few minutes, you’ll agree.

Your journey might begin at the Main Gate, dramatically

cinematic in its symmetry and familiar to fans of “Game of
Thrones.” Step beneath its archway, and the air itself feels
different—cooler, quieter, thick with story. The wide, slightly
curved road inside gives way quickly to a labyrinth of slender,
golden corridors. They twist like memory itself, leading you
past aristocratic homes with wooden shutters and private chapels
tucked into corners.

The star of the show is Mdina Cathedral, formally known as St.

Paul's Cathedral. It’s said to stand on the site where Roman
governor Publius met St. Paul after the shipwreck, a
foundational story in Maltese Christian tradition. Its Baroque
façade ripples like it’s carved from light itself, and inside, the

36
marble floors, celestial ceiling paintings, and solemn stillness
take over your senses. Pay attention to the floor tiles—each one
is an intricately carved tombstone of the city’s nobility. Walking
through is like walking over the history of Malta’s ancient elite.
In the dim afternoon light, with the sound of your breath
echoing off centuries-old stone, it’s easy to forget what year it
is.

Just a stone’s throw away lies the Cathedral Museum, an

unexpected trove of artistic, religious, and numismatic treasure.
On display are rare woodcuts by Albrecht Dürer, antique maps
of Malta before the British even stepped foot here, and sacred
vestments that shimmer with gold embroidery. It’s the kind of
museum where the silence feels sacred, not stifling.

But it isn’t all grandeur and cathedrals. One of Mdina’s most

magnetic experiences lies in its smaller, quieter moments—
moments that often happen when you least expect them. Like
turning a corner and discovering a silent courtyard adorned with
bougainvillea in riotous pink, or finding an open wooden door
with a brass lion's head knocker and wondering who might live
behind it. There’s Palazzo Falson, a lovingly preserved noble

37
house filled with antiques, curiosities, and whispering tapestries.
The rooftop offers one of Mdina’s best-kept secrets—a view
that stretches over terracotta rooftops to the green fields of
Rabat and beyond.

Speaking of rooftops, it would be a missed opportunity not to

stop at Fontanella Tea Garden. Yes, it’s somewhat of a tourist
staple, but it earns every bit of its reputation. Their chocolate
cake is dangerously decadent, the kind that imprints itself on
your taste memory long after your trip ends. But what truly
elevates the experience is the panoramic terrace where you can
sip local coffee or nibble on ftira while soaking in one of the
most beautiful views in the entire country.

By mid-afternoon, the sunlight on Mdina’s limestone glows like

honey. Locals often describe this time as golden hour, not
because of the lighting—though that’s sublime—but because
it’s the hour when the city starts to return to itself. The day-
trippers begin to fade away, and Mdina stretches back into
silence. If you’re staying overnight nearby, this is your moment.
Wander the streets as the lanterns flicker to life. Listen to the

38
clip-clop of hooves echoing in the distance. Feel the ancient
hush settle around you like a velvet cloak.

Now, if you have a taste for the eerie and the poetic, the Mdina
Dungeons Museum adds a darker shade to your experience. It’s
a literal walk through Malta’s more macabre history, from the
Inquisition to pirate torture chambers. Yes, it’s dramatized—but
also deeply illustrative of how the Maltese withstood occupation
after occupation with stubborn resilience.

Walk outside Mdina’s walls and you’ll find Rabat—its louder,

more animated sibling. But don’t rush past the city gates just
yet. Take one last lap through Bastion Square, where the silence
is broken only by a low breeze or the occasional bell. Look out
over Malta and imagine the waves of people who have stood in
this very spot over millennia—Phoenicians, Romans, Moors,
Crusaders. Mdina has held them all, and she holds you now.

And if you listen closely, really closely, the city might just tell
you a story. Maybe about a noblewoman who disappeared into
the shadows with her secrets. Or a knight who once swore an
oath beneath a full moon by the city’s ramparts. Or maybe the
story is yours—written as you turn a final corner, caught by the
39
scent of citrus blossoms and the silent thrum of history wrapping
itself around your heart.

Valletta may be the smallest capital city in the European Union,

but don’t let its size fool you—it packs more punch than cities
ten times its footprint. Step into Valletta, and you step into a city
that feels carved out of golden light and spirited ambition, a
living monument to the grit of knights, the grace of baroque, and
the beating heart of Maltese culture. Here, every corner tells a
tale. Every façade, no matter how faded or ornate, seems to lean
in and whisper a secret of centuries past. This is a place where
ancient cathedrals sit shoulder to shoulder with cozy cafés,
where cannon-lined bastions guard glittering harbors, and where
the hum of modern Malta pulses through lanes barely wide
enough for two people to pass.

Begin your journey through Valletta not with a map, but with
your senses. The first thing you’ll feel is the warmth of the
limestone underfoot and overhead—this city seems to glow,
especially in the late afternoon sun. Then you’ll hear it: the mix
of church bells and chatter, espresso machines and the
occasional brass band practicing for a festa. Smell fresh pastizzi

40
from a street vendor and the salty sea air wafting in from the
Grand Harbour. And when you look around, it’s like stepping
into an open-air museum that just happens to be alive with
office workers, shopkeepers, and curious travelers.

Republic Street runs through the center like Valletta’s spine. It’s
vibrant, flanked by shops, ministries, cafés, and stalls selling
postcards and prickly pear jam. This street has a pulse—
especially on Saturday mornings when locals pop into markets
or rush to Mass. But don’t just stay on the main drag. Valletta's
charm blooms in the side streets where sudden staircases climb
and plunge, where clotheslines stretch between balconies
painted in soft blues, greens, and crimson. Walk slowly. Glance
upward. Those balconies often hold little flowerpots or curious
cats perched like sentinels above the street.

St. John’s Co-Cathedral is the city’s crown jewel—and rightly

so. Its exterior may be understated, even austere, but inside it’s a
symphony of gold and marble, bursting with drama and
devotion. Built by the Knights of St. John in the 16th century,
the cathedral is a masterclass in Baroque excess. Every inch of
wall and ceiling tells a story, whether it’s in the ornate carvings,

41
the vivid frescos, or the solemn chapels dedicated to each of the
Order’s langue (or nationalities). Then there’s the Caravaggio—
yes, an actual masterpiece by Caravaggio hanging inside a
cathedral. “The Beheading of Saint John the Baptist” is moody,
massive, and mesmerizing, a stark counterpoint to the golden
opulence surrounding it.

Continue toward the Upper Barrakka Gardens, a serene perch

offering one of the most iconic views in the entire
Mediterranean. From here, you can see the Three Cities across
the Grand Harbour—Senglea, Cospicua, and Vittoriosa—with
their historic fortifications and colorful boats bobbing in the
water. Every day at noon, the Saluting Battery below the
gardens fires a cannon, a centuries-old tradition once used to
greet visiting ships and mark the hour. It's loud, it’s theatrical,
and it adds a spark of drama to the already majestic panorama.

Speaking of drama, Valletta doesn’t lack for performance. The

Manoel Theatre is a quiet gem, one of Europe’s oldest working
theaters. Slip inside, and you’ll feel the old-world glamour of
plush seats, intricate woodwork, and a candle-lit ambiance.

42
Whether you catch an opera, a local play, or just visit during an
open tour, it’s a tangible brush with Malta’s artistic soul.

Then there’s the Grandmaster’s Palace, which once served as

the residence of the Grand Masters of the Knights of St. John
and today houses the Office of the President of Malta. Its
Armoury collection is worth a slow wander—room after room
of lances, breastplates, and antique firearms that look plucked
straight from a Crusader’s dream.

Yet Valletta isn’t just about grandeur. It’s also cheeky, bold, and
surprisingly bohemian. Walk down Strait Street—once the
island’s infamous red-light district where Allied sailors once
sang, danced, and fought their way through liberty nights.
Today, it’s buzzing with intimate bars, jazz clubs, and trendy
spots that have brought back the energy without the seediness.
Sip a Negroni or a Cisk, Malta’s iconic beer, under strings of
fairy lights while a local band belts out folk tunes with a
Mediterranean twist.

Hungry? Valletta delivers in spades. Tuck into a plate of rabbit

stew at a family-run restaurant or grab a ftira sandwich stuffed
with tuna, olives, and capers to eat on the steps of a sunny
43
piazza. Cafés here are social theaters in themselves. Sit long
enough, and you’ll hear political debates, wedding planning, and
old men trading gossip in Maltese. It’s a flavor all its own.

The museums are many and varied. MUZA, the national art
gallery, combines Maltese heritage with European masterpieces
in a space that feels modern yet grounded. The Lascaris War
Rooms are another must-see, burrowed deep beneath the city’s
bastions. It’s where Allied commanders coordinated operations
during World War II, including the defense of Malta and parts
of the invasion of Sicily. The war rooms feel like time capsules,
complete with old telephones, faded maps, and stiff-backed
chairs that once supported some of history’s sharpest minds.

Valletta by night is a different sort of beautiful. Lanterns flicker

along narrow lanes. Wine bars spill onto sidewalks, their patrons
engaged in animated chatter. Churches light up like stage sets.
The city quiets, but it doesn’t sleep. Walk toward the harbor
again and feel the sea breeze, cool and constant, brushing
against golden façades that look like they’re glowing from
within.

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There’s something about Valletta that lingers, long after your
footsteps have echoed through its cobblestones. Maybe it’s the
way the city seems to live in multiple timelines at once—
Baroque and modern, sacred and secular, stoic and wildly alive.
Maybe it’s the locals, proud yet humble, always ready with a
smile and a story. Or maybe it’s the sheer density of culture
packed into every square meter.

Whatever it is, Valletta doesn’t just invite you to visit—it dares

you to fall in love. And once you do, you’ll never walk through
another capital city without missing the warmth of its stone, the
echo of its bells, or the soft hush of its secrets.

45
 Chapter 5: Mdina and Rabat – Where Silence
Speaks in Stone

There’s something deeply poetic about the way the wind moves
through Mdina. It doesn’t howl, nor does it whistle. It glides,
softly and intentionally, like a whispered secret being passed
along ancient limestone walls. The city’s nickname—“The
Silent City”—is more than just romantic branding. It’s a state of
being. And the moment you step through Mdina’s main gate,
flanked by statues of lions and cloaked in a Game-of-Thrones-
worthy sense of grandeur, you understand that silence here isn’t
empty—it’s sacred.

Mdina is not big. In fact, you could circle its honey-hued

perimeter in twenty minutes. But size means nothing in a place
where every corner holds a thousand years of layered stories.
The streets are so narrow, you’ll find yourself walking shoulder-
to-wall rather than shoulder-to-shoulder. Car traffic is nearly
nonexistent—residents number fewer than 300, and most of
them descend from noble families whose lineages stretch further
back than the city’s medieval fortifications. It’s this intimacy
that makes Mdina feel like a beautifully preserved diorama of
46
Malta’s nobility. Every street seems to end in a tiny piazza,
every alley opens to a sudden view of the rolling countryside,
and every wall glows amber in the late afternoon light.

You might start your Mdina wanderings in Vilhena Palace, the

city’s regal welcome mat. This grand Baroque building, which
now houses the National Museum of Natural History, is a
masterpiece of symmetry and restraint. Even if you skip the
museum itself, just standing in the courtyard and admiring the
bold, balanced lines of its façade is enough to transport you to
another century. From there, let your feet—and your curiosity—
take over. There is no wrong turn in Mdina.

One of the most striking things about Mdina is its stillness. It

isn’t just quiet; it feels like time itself has slowed down. The
echo of your footsteps on the polished cobblestones lingers. The
clang of a distant church bell seems to suspend in the air. You’ll
find cafés tucked into corners where vines spill down over
shutters, and if you’re lucky, you’ll grab a seat at Fontanella Tea
Garden. Order a slice of their famous chocolate cake and look
out over the bastions—on a clear day, you can see all the way to
Mosta Dome and even the Mediterranean Sea hugging the

47
island’s edge. It’s the kind of view that tricks you into staying
for hours, sipping slowly and forgetting you had anywhere else
to be.

Cathedral Square is where Mdina reaches its full cinematic

potential. Standing proudly at its heart is the Metropolitan
Cathedral of Saint Paul, a Baroque beauty of restrained
grandeur. The twin bell towers strike a perfect vertical balance,
and the sandstone façade reflects sunlight like polished gold.
Inside, the coffered ceiling and marble tombstones embedded
into the floor tell their own tale—of bishops, nobles, and a city
built on faith. Look closely at the side chapels and you’ll notice
something uniquely Maltese: the fusion of intense religiosity
and high art. The cathedral museum nearby, housed in the
Archbishop’s Palace, displays a rich collection of ecclesiastical
silver, rare coins, and engravings by Albrecht Dürer.

But Mdina is only half the story. Step outside its fortified gate
and you enter Rabat—a town with a different energy, more
grounded in the earthy pulse of local life. While Mdina is like a
hushed prayer, Rabat feels more like a sung hymn, full of
everyday rhythm, clinking coffee cups, and children playing

48
football in the piazza. The two are siblings, but they carry
themselves differently—Mdina in regal silence, Rabat in easy
familiarity.

Rabat is also where Malta’s deep Christian roots sink into the
soil—quite literally. Beneath its streets lie the famous St. Paul’s
Catacombs, a sprawling network of early Christian burial
chambers that seem to breathe history. You descend into
darkness via uneven stone stairs and find yourself surrounded by
carved tombs, circular dining tables used during funeral rites,
and the silent remnants of a people who gathered here centuries
ago. The experience isn’t spooky—it’s reverent. The catacombs
feel like a sanctuary beneath the surface, a place where history
chose to hide itself rather than shout.

Back above ground, St. Paul’s Church dominates Rabat’s

skyline. Tradition holds that the apostle Paul lived here for a
time during his shipwrecked stay in Malta. The Grotto beneath
the church, dimly lit and encased in polished marble, is said to
be where Paul preached. Whether or not you take the legend
literally, standing in that quiet cavern feels profoundly moving.

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Locals often drop in not as tourists but as pilgrims, leaving
prayers, lighting candles, whispering hopes into the stillness.

Rabat is also home to the Domus Romana, a Roman townhouse

unearthed in the late 19th century. It’s a modest museum by
modern standards, but the mosaic floors are stunning, especially
the precise geometric designs and vivid portrait of a man
thought to be the Roman master of the house. The house’s
layout gives you a glimpse into elite Roman life on the island,
back when Malta was just another outpost in the Empire’s
Mediterranean reach.

Walking through Rabat’s streets brings you back into the now.
This is a lived-in town, not just a preserved artifact. You’ll see
nanniet gossiping on wooden benches, street shrines with
flickering candles tucked into stone walls, and bakeries
perfuming the air with the scent of crusty ftira and sweet
kannoli. If you stop by one of the local pastizzerias—say,
Crystal Palace—you’ll get a real taste of Maltese street food.
Try a hot pastizz filled with ricotta or mushy peas, flaky and
golden and served with no pretension. Just don’t try eating it
gracefully. It’s impossible. Flakes will fly, filling will drip, and

50
your fingers will be gloriously greasy. That’s how you know it’s
the real thing.

Rabat also hosts some beautiful gardens. Howard Gardens, right

next to Mdina’s walls, acts as a green buffer between the past
and the present. Come here in the early evening and you’ll find
teenagers hanging out under palm trees, elderly couples strolling
hand in hand, and entire families playing under the shadows of a
skyline that hasn’t changed in centuries. The sense of continuity
is powerful. Life flows here, uninterrupted, blending what was
with what is.

If you happen to be visiting around Easter or Christmas, Rabat

becomes a stage for deeply heartfelt, hyper-local traditions. The
Good Friday procession is solemn, rich with symbolism, and
full of passion, while Christmas transforms the town into a
glowing maze of nativity scenes and twinkling lights. Even if
you’re not religious, the sense of community and devotion is
palpable.

In both Mdina and Rabat, there’s a sense that history isn’t

something stored behind glass—it’s something you breathe,
touch, and walk through. It’s in the knockers shaped like
51
dolphins on heavy wooden doors. It’s in the worn thresholds
smoothed by thousands of footsteps. It’s in the bells that chime
every quarter hour, not because they must, but because they
always have. These towns don’t just preserve Malta’s story—
they are the story, written in limestone and candle smoke,
spoken in whispers and quiet pride.

So go ahead. Get lost in Mdina’s shadows and Rabat’s sunlight.

Let the silence say what words never can. Because here, in the
heartbeat of Malta’s history, the past isn’t past—it’s alive,
listening, and ready to meet you.

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 Chapter 6: Gozo – Malta’s Peaceful Sister Island

Mdina is the kind of place that feels too magical to be real.

Perched on a hill in the center of Malta, it’s often called “The
Silent City,” and while that nickname is charming, it doesn’t
quite capture the full spell of Mdina. This isn’t just a quiet old
town—it’s a living diorama of medieval elegance, where time
slows, footsteps echo through sun-dappled alleys, and golden
stone glows against an endless sky. Walking into Mdina is like
stepping through a portal, not into a frozen past, but into a
carefully preserved dream where modern life tiptoes so as not to
disturb centuries of layered memory.

The first thing that hits you is the gate. Oh, that gate. The Mdina
Main Gate is a baroque masterpiece, with its sculpted coat of
arms and symmetrical stone flanks, designed in 1724. It feels
like entering a sacred realm, guarded not just by walls but by
centuries of pride. Once you pass through, the hush takes over.
The traffic noise fades. Conversations drop to whispers. You
find yourself slowing down—not because you must, but because
you want to. Every corner demands your full attention.

53
The streets are narrow and winding, paved in smooth, warm
stone that reflects the golden hue of the buildings. Mdina
doesn’t shout for attention. It’s subtle, elegant, and irresistibly
photogenic. Here, even shadows seem to fall more gracefully.
Some streets are barely wide enough for a single person to walk
comfortably, while others unexpectedly open into sunlit
courtyards framed by crumbling chapels or intricate ironwork
balconies. And then, around a curve, you catch your first
glimpse of a horse-drawn carriage making its patient way
through the city, adding that final layer of fairytale ambiance.

St. Paul’s Cathedral dominates the skyline with a grandeur that’s

breathtaking but not overpowering. Built in the late 1600s on the
site where, according to tradition, the Roman governor Publius
met Saint Paul after his shipwreck, the cathedral’s baroque
façade is a symphony of curves, cornices, and twin bell towers.
Step inside, and you're greeted by marble tombstones beneath
your feet and a ceiling bursting with frescoes that feel as though
they’ve been lit from within. The cathedral’s museum is equally
compelling, housing religious artifacts, woodcuts by Dürer, and
a coin collection that spans Malta’s ancient and colonial past.

54
But Mdina’s enchantment isn’t confined to major sights. It lives
in the details. A carved wooden door, weathered but still
standing proud. A faded doorknocker shaped like a lion’s head.
The scent of bougainvillea spilling over a wall. Look closely,
and you’ll notice plaques commemorating noble families who
once ruled from these very palazzi. These were the homes of
Malta’s elite—families like the Testaferratas and the de Piros—
who shaped Maltese history from behind these limestone
facades.

Palazzo Falson is one such noble home you can step into. This
13th-century building is now a museum, and walking through its
rooms feels intimate, almost voyeuristic—in the best way.
You’ll find everything from antique furniture and rare books to
medieval weaponry and Oriental rugs. The rooftop terrace offers
a quiet spot to reflect while looking out across the countryside,
where church domes dot the horizon and farm fields roll gently
toward the sea.

Mdina isn’t just for the eyes—it’s for the palate too. Fontanella
Tea Garden is the most beloved spot for good reason. Yes, the
views are unparalleled—especially at sunset when the sky

55
blazes orange and the lights of nearby Rabat begin to twinkle—
but it’s also the cakes. The chocolate cake, rich and
unapologetically decadent, is practically a Maltese rite of
passage. Sit with a slice, a pot of Earl Grey, and watch as clouds
drift lazily over the island. It’s a moment you’ll file away
forever.

And speaking of Rabat, it’s impossible to separate it from

Mdina. The two towns blend like sisters, Mdina regal and quiet,
Rabat more casual and animated. Just outside the walls of
Mdina, Rabat offers its own collection of treasures—especially
the St. Paul’s Catacombs. These Roman-era burial grounds
stretch beneath the surface in a warren of carved chambers, once
used by early Christians for both burials and clandestine
worship. They’re cool, dark, and deeply atmospheric. It’s
history you don’t just learn about—you feel it in your bones.

Back inside Mdina, as evening falls, something extraordinary

happens. The city empties. Day trippers vanish. The streets go
silent once more, and lamplight flickers against the sandstone
walls like soft candle flames. This is Mdina’s true moment. You
might pass a local on their evening walk, or hear the distant

56
clatter of cutlery from one of the quiet restaurants that tuck
themselves behind ancient doors. Dine at de Mondion, and
you’ll be treated not just to refined cuisine but a terrace view so
wide it seems the entire island is yours for the night.

There’s no nightlife in Mdina in the conventional sense. No

clubs or late-night noise. Instead, there’s a peaceful rhythm that
draws in the romantics, the thinkers, the lovers of silence and
story. It’s a place where you walk slowly not because you’re
tired, but because every moment feels precious. Even the air
seems stiller here—as if the city holds its breath to preserve its
spell.

If you’re staying overnight, the Xara Palace is the ultimate

immersion. This luxury hotel is built into the old city walls,
offering opulence without disturbing the city’s harmony. The
rooms feature antique furnishings and modern comforts, all
designed to make you feel like nobility. Wake early, crack open
the shutters, and you’ll be greeted by morning light so soft it
feels like a blessing.

Mdina’s magic lies not in its museums or churches, though

they’re glorious. It lies in the feeling you carry with you long
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after you’ve left. That moment you stood in an alley with golden
walls on either side, unsure whether you were in a city or a
dream. That hush that seemed to cleanse your thoughts. That
unspoken promise that some places don’t need to shout to be
heard—they only need to whisper beautifully.

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 Chapter 7: Gozo and Comino – Malta’s Mystical
Sisters Beyond the Blue

To truly understand Malta, you have to leave Malta. That’s not a

contradiction. It’s a quiet truth whispered to those willing to
drift just a little further north, across the channel, into the arms
of her smaller, wilder sisters—Gozo and Comino. Each has its
own personality, distinct from the mainland. Together, they’re
like twin spells cast across the sea: Gozo, with her lush valleys
and village rhythm, and Comino, a water-wrapped whisper with
nothing but the wind and waves for company.

The journey begins at the Ċirkewwa ferry terminal, where locals

line up with car keys in hand and day-trippers clutch backpacks
stuffed with snorkels, sun hats, and that thrill of adventure. The
ferry to Gozo isn’t just a means of transport—it’s a ritual. The
boat hums softly as it glides past the cliffs of Marfa Ridge, and
as you pull away from Malta’s northern tip, the skyline gently
fades behind you. On the left, Comino appears like a limestone
dream rising from the water, and just beyond, Gozo emerges—a
rolling patchwork of green and gold that looks more like a
Tuscan hilltown than a Mediterranean island.
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Arriving at the port of Mġarr, the first thing you notice about
Gozo is the light. It’s softer than Malta’s, more golden and
diffuse, as if the sun itself respects Gozo’s quiet soul. The
harbor bustles modestly—fishing boats bobbing, seagulls
circling lazily, and whitewashed chapels tucked into the hillside.
From here, the road winds upward into a land that feels like time
has loosened its grip. Gozo is rural, rich in folklore, and deeply
proud of its identity. The pace is slower. The roads narrower.
But the beauty? Broader, deeper, and more honest.

Victoria, or Rabat as locals still call it, is Gozo’s heartbeat.

Nestled at the center of the island like a pearl in a shell, this
town feels half-fortress, half-fairytale. Its star attraction, the
Citadel, rises like a crown above the town. Climb the ramparts
and you’re gifted with a panoramic sweep of the entire island—
the patchwork of fields, the church domes peeking through
clusters of houses, and the Mediterranean stretching endlessly in
every direction. The narrow lanes inside the Citadel whisper
tales of sieges and resilience, of villagers who once slept inside
these walls to avoid pirate raids, and of sunsets that have
watched over this stone heart for centuries.

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Just beyond Victoria, the island spreads out like a storybook.
Each village seems to hum its own melody. In Xagħra, ancient
wonders lie waiting beneath the soil—specifically, the Ġgantija
Temples, older than the Pyramids and Stonehenge, built with
monoliths so massive it’s no wonder their name comes from the
word “giants.” Standing among them, you can’t help but run
your fingers across the stones, wondering how, and why, people
five thousand years ago moved these slabs into perfect harmony
with the stars and seasons. There’s no big production here—no
neon signs, no velvet ropes. Just raw history, quietly
commanding your awe.

Drive west, and Gozo’s dramatic coastline begins to rise.

Dwejra Bay is the island’s cinematic showstopper. Though the
famous Azure Window collapsed in 2017, the landscape still
stuns: cliffs plunging into deep cobalt waters, a mysterious
inland sea connected to the ocean through a narrow tunnel, and a
towering rock stack known as Fungus Rock standing like a
sentry at the bay’s edge. The place smells of salt and sagebrush,
and it feels like the edge of the world. Scuba divers dip into the
abyss here, while kayakers glide through sea caves carved by

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centuries of storms. You don’t need a camera here—you just
need your senses wide open.

If serenity had an address, it might be found in Xlendi. This

fishing village, hugged tightly by cliffs on either side, curves
into a peaceful bay where restaurants spill right onto the
waterfront. Sit down at one of the open-air terraces with a plate
of grilled octopus, a crisp glass of local wine, and a breeze that
carries both sea salt and the faint strum of a guitar from
somewhere nearby. The sea here is impossibly clear—shifting
from turquoise to sapphire—and children leap fearlessly from
the rocks into its gentle embrace while older couples stroll along
the promenade, hand in hand, in no particular hurry.

Gozo isn’t just about sights—it’s about soul. Attend a village

festa and you’ll understand. Every parish on the island has its
patron saint, and every summer weekend brings another village
alive with fireworks, brass bands, church processions, and lights
so bright they outshine the stars. These feasts aren’t for tourists
—they’re for the people, a celebration of faith and family and
belonging. But if you’re lucky enough to be there, you’ll be

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pulled into the dance, handed a drink, and told stories under the
glow of colored bulbs strung across centuries-old balconies.

Then there’s Comino—the whisper between Malta and Gozo.

Smaller than some neighborhoods, this island has only a handful
of residents, no real roads, and a sense of stillness that’s rare
anywhere else in the Mediterranean. Most visitors come for the
Blue Lagoon, and rightly so. On a sunny day, its waters look
almost artificial—blinding turquoise so clear you can see fish
darting like silver brushstrokes beneath the surface. The sand is
soft, the limestone cliffs stark white, and the whole scene feels
like a tropical postcard accidentally dropped into the middle of
the Mediterranean.

But Comino has secrets beyond the crowded lagoon. Follow the
rocky trails inland and you’ll find wild thyme growing in
clusters, medieval watchtowers rising from lonely hilltops, and
the eerie ruins of an abandoned hospital that once housed
quarantine patients. In spring, wildflowers blanket the island in
color. In winter, it’s a place of windswept solitude. At any time
of year, if you step just a little off the path, you’ll find yourself

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completely alone, save for the cry of a kestrel or the rustle of
lizards in the underbrush.

For the adventurous, Comino’s coastline offers sea caves perfect

for kayaking or snorkeling. Santa Marija Bay, quieter than the
Blue Lagoon, offers a tiny sandy stretch for those who want to
nap in the sun without a crowd. And if you stay the night—
either at the tiny hotel or wild camping under the stars—you’ll
witness the island’s true magic. At dusk, the last boats leave, the
air stills, and the sky turns molten with sunset. By nightfall,
you’ll hear nothing but the gentle lap of water against rock. No
cars. No sirens. No sound at all except your own heartbeat.

Gozo and Comino are Malta in microcosm, yet also entirely

themselves. They teach you that not all beauty shouts. Some of
it hums, some of it whispers, and some of it wraps you in silence
so deep you don’t need words. They remind you to slow down,
to listen, and to look twice—because the second glance always
reveals more. And perhaps that’s the secret they share: that the
smaller places often leave the biggest imprint on your soul.

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 Chapter 8: Culture and Traditions – The Soul of
Malta in Sound, Story, and Celebration

To understand Malta, you must look beyond the ruins, beyond

the coastlines, beyond the spectacular architecture and sun-
soaked stones. You have to listen—not just with your ears, but
with your entire being. Because Malta’s story doesn’t just live in
museums or old churches. It breathes in conversations at street
corners, in the rhythm of village festas, in the cadence of a
grandmother telling a folktale over fresh qagħaq tal-għasel.
Malta isn’t just history and beaches. Malta is culture—thick,
layered, defiantly alive.

Start in the village square, any one of them. It might be Żebbuġ,

or Qormi, or Għargħur, or Nadur in Gozo. Doesn’t matter. They
all share a certain magnetic heartbeat. The square is never just a
place—it’s a stage, a meeting point, a sacred spot where life
unfolds. Here, men with sun-scorched faces sip strong coffee
and debate local politics like it’s the national sport. Women in
floral blouses chat about family matters with the kind of
animated intensity only southern Europe can sustain. Kids run
through alleyways echoing with the creak of balconies, and old
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folk sit quietly on shaded benches, watching it all pass by like
actors who’ve seen the play a thousand times.

The Maltese language itself is a cultural marvel—Semitic roots

fused with Romance flair, born of centuries of conquest and
survival. Listen to it spoken and you’ll hear Arabic syllables
dancing with Italian melody. You’ll hear French influence
tucked into vocabulary, English expressions peppered through
phrases. And yet, it is wholly Maltese. Proudly, uniquely so.
Even names carry stories—Santu, Ġużepp, Karmnu—echoing
generations of saints, shepherds, and seafarers. You’ll hear
affectionate diminutives like “Ħabib” or “ħelu” tossed casually
between friends. You’ll also hear the tone change completely
during an argument, when Maltese turns razor-sharp, then
instantly softens again when laughter returns. It’s a language of
extremes, and in that, a perfect mirror to the Maltese soul.

Religion is everywhere, but it is never sterile. It’s alive and

emotionally charged. Catholicism here is not a formality—it’s
family. Nearly every village is crowned by a church so imposing
it could rival a cathedral in any major European capital. Inside,
candles flicker day and night. Saints peer down from gilded

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niches. Organ music swells during feast days, and silence falls
during Good Friday processions that bring entire towns to a
reverent hush. And yet, for all the solemnity, there’s a joy in the
devotion. A festa in Malta is not just about the spiritual—it’s
about belonging.

And oh, the festas.

Each village celebrates its patron saint with a fervor that borders
on divine obsession. Streets are draped in banners. Balconies
glow with colored lights. Brass bands march past fireworks
displays so loud they rattle windows. Firecrackers erupt in broad
daylight, a defiant symphony to announce, We are here, and we
are celebrating. The church, dressed in its finest vestments,
becomes a beacon of community pride. Statues of saints—
carried shoulder-high by devoted men—make slow,
ceremonious processions through packed streets, often to
weeping crowds, joyful chanting, and the occasional shout of
praise that seems to shake the cobblestones themselves. You’ve
never seen religious passion like this. And it’s not just faith—
it’s culture, family, and identity woven together in a jubilant,
fireworks-laced dance.

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But Maltese culture isn’t just about faith and feasts. It’s also
fiercely artistic. The island is a creative pressure cooker, and
always has been. From the prehistoric carvings in the
Hypogeum to Caravaggio’s brushstrokes inside St. John’s Co-
Cathedral, art here has never been an indulgence—it’s been a
necessity. In the village of Ta’ Qali, you’ll find artisan
workshops producing delicate filigree jewelry, hand-blown glass
in shimmering hues, and intricate lacework that’s so fine it
seems impossible it came from human hands. These aren’t
souvenirs. They’re heritage in physical form.

Then there’s the food—arguably Malta’s most delicious

expression of culture. It’s a cuisine born of necessity and
migration, sun and salt, heart and hearth. You taste the Arab
world in the cumin and coriander, the Italian soul in the olive oil
and tomatoes, the British presence in the odd meat pie or
Sunday roast. Maltese food doesn’t try to impress—it tries to
nourish. A plate of rabbit stew with crusty bread, or a tray of
baked pasta thick with ricotta and eggs, is as comforting as a
grandmother’s hug. Street food, like pastizzi filled with creamy
ricotta or spicy peas, is eaten standing up, with flaky pastry
crumbs falling to the sidewalk and zero regrets. Traditional

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sweets like imqaret, stuffed with sticky dates and fried golden,
are handed out with napkins and smiles.

Music too tells a deeper story here. There’s Għana, the

traditional Maltese folk singing, where men engage in lyrical
duels, their voices sharp and nasal, often accompanied by
guitars. It’s not pretty in the classical sense—it’s raw, it’s
poetic, it’s thrilling. The lyrics are often improvised, touching
on love, politics, or village gossip. It’s the sound of a culture
that refuses to be silenced.

Seasonal traditions add another layer of texture to Malta’s

cultural quilt. During Lent, many homes still prepare carob
syrup and figolli—almond-filled pastries shaped like hearts or
fish and covered in pastel icing. At Carnival, floats as tall as
houses parade through Valletta, their cartoonish characters and
satirical scenes making even the most stoic onlookers chuckle.
Easter brings pageantry and fire, while Christmas transforms
village squares into twinkling wonderlands. And through it all,
the Maltese instinct to gather, celebrate, and hold onto
community pulses with intensity.

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Even daily habits carry cultural weight. The afternoon siesta is
still sacred in many places. The concept of “il-ħin Malti”—
Maltese time—is both joke and philosophy, acknowledging that
punctuality is flexible when life is lived with warmth rather than
rush. A quick errand can become a thirty-minute conversation.
A coffee meeting turns into lunch. And no one minds, because
the moment always matters more than the clock.

Folklore and superstition still hold space in the Maltese mind.

Evil eye charms called għajn dangle on keychains and car
mirrors. Old wives’ tales about the wind, the sea, and seasonal
omens are passed from nanna to grandchild with equal parts
warning and affection. Even the Maltese cross, iconic and sharp,
is more than a symbol—it’s an embodiment of resilience, honor,
and layered history.

You feel the culture not just in holidays and festivals, but in the
silences between them. It’s in the woman sweeping her stoop at
dawn, humming a hymn she’s sung since girlhood. It’s in the
man who stops his car in the middle of the road, just to chat with
someone on the sidewalk. It’s in the child correcting your
pronunciation with a grin, proud of the language that has

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survived sieges and colonizers. And it’s in the way strangers
become friends over the smallest things—a good meal, a shared
joke, a glance upward at the same blinking fireworks on a hot
August night.

Malta’s culture is not something you observe. It’s something

you join. It invites you to lean in—to listen more closely, to eat
more slowly, to dance more freely, to sit more comfortably in
your own humanity. It’s not about being Maltese. It’s about
feeling like you belong.

And in Malta, once you’ve felt that belonging, you carry it with
you. Forever.

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 Chapter 9: Outdoor Adventures – Walking,
Diving, and Living the Maltese Landscape

There’s something about the Maltese outdoors that calls to you.

Not in a dramatic, shout-it-from-the-mountains kind of way—
but in a quiet, persistent voice that becomes impossible to
ignore. It tugs at you while you're sipping a cappuccino in
Valletta’s backstreets, or as you watch waves roll onto Għajn
Tuffieħa’s red sands. It whispers in the wind across Mdina’s
bastions and hums beneath your shoes as you walk ancient paths
that have felt the tread of shepherds, knights, and pilgrims.
Malta, and its sister island Gozo, offer something rare—a world
small in scale but vast in possibility, where every turn in the
path reveals a new way to experience the outdoors, not just as a
playground but as a living tapestry.

Let’s begin at the water’s edge. You can’t separate Malta from
the sea—it’s not just scenery, it’s identity. The Mediterranean
here is wild and wise, a gleaming companion to the rocky
coastlines and golden coves. If you’re the type who thrives on
water adventures, you’ll find plenty to write home about. Diving
in Malta isn’t just an activity—it’s a rite of passage. With
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crystal-clear waters and some of the best visibility in Europe,
Malta’s undersea world is like a secret waiting to be told. Head
to the Blue Hole in Gozo, just beside the collapsed Azure
Window, where divers drop into a surreal, circular chasm carved
by nature. Beneath the surface, cathedrals of rock and light
unfold, with swaying marine life brushing past as if you’re a
guest at their aquatic party.

Then there’s the Um El Faroud wreck off Wied iż-Żurrieq, a

sunken oil tanker turned coral kingdom, teeming with fish and
fluttering plant life. Beginners and advanced divers alike can
explore caves, arches, and tunnels—each dive site telling its
own sunken story. Dive schools in places like Sliema, Bugibba,
and Marsalforn offer friendly instructors, multilingual guidance,
and equipment rentals that make getting underwater easier than
ordering lunch.

If snorkeling is more your style, Comino’s Blue Lagoon delivers

that dreamlike turquoise clarity usually reserved for tropical
postcards. Wade in from the sandy shallows and drift along the
limestone edges, where schools of damselfish and wrasse dance
through seagrass. Early mornings are best—before the day-

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trippers arrive, when the water is still, and the only sound is
your own breathing through a snorkel. There’s something
meditative about it, like being suspended between sea and sky.

Prefer to stay above the surface? Kayaking around Comino or

the Gozo cliffs lets you trace the edges of these islands with a
sense of intimacy and freedom you can’t get on land. Paddle
into hidden coves, under overhangs, past salt pans and
fisherman’s huts, waving to locals who always seem to appear
just when you wonder if you’ve gone off track. Windsurfing and
paddleboarding are increasingly popular too, especially around
Mellieħa Bay and St. Thomas Bay. The breeze here, playful yet
steady, offers just the right challenge for both beginners and
seasoned gliders.

But adventure in Malta doesn’t begin and end at the water’s

edge. Inland, the landscape unfolds like a love letter to the
curious traveler. The countryside, especially in Gozo, is full of
dry stone walls, winding trails, and silence so profound it feels
like a hymn. Hiking paths crisscross both islands, from easy
coastal walks to moderate countryside treks that take you

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through farmland, wildflower meadows, and ancient stone ruins
that seem to appear out of nowhere.

One of the most rewarding hikes begins in Dingli and heads

toward Fawwara and Għar Lapsi. Here, steep cliffs drop into the
sea with almost theatrical flair. Along the way, you’ll pass quiet
chapels perched alone on hilltops, fig trees growing wild, and
stone terraces that have seen centuries of planting and
harvesting. The air smells of thyme and salt. Time feels elastic.
You’re not just walking; you’re communing with something
older and deeper.

Gozo’s Ta’ Ċenċ Cliffs offer another unforgettable route—less

frequented, more rugged, absolutely breathtaking. The trail
meanders past remote villages and down toward the southern
coast, where cliffs rise like guardians above the sea. Stop and sit
for a while. Watch the seabirds wheel and cry in the wind. Feel
the hum of the earth beneath you. It’s not just scenic—it’s
spiritual.

For cyclists, Malta and Gozo offer enough terrain variety to

satisfy both leisure riders and serious pedal-pushers. Renting a
bike is simple—most towns have shops where friendly owners
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will point out the best scenic loops and quiet backroads. The
northern coast of Malta, from Mellieħa to Ċirkewwa, offers a
blend of challenge and reward: steep ascents, panoramic views,
and quiet lanes that lead past old chapels and prickly pear
hedges. In Gozo, cycling through the villages—from Nadur to
Xagħra to Munxar—feels like riding through time. Stop often.
Buy a fresh pastizz. Chat with a farmer resting by his cart. Let
the island set your pace.

Rock climbing might not be the first thing that comes to mind
when you think of Malta, but the island is a rising star in the
climbing world. Limestone cliffs around Wied Babu near
Żurrieq and the Blue Grotto offer sport routes with incredible
sea views. Gozo’s inland crags, like those near Mgarr ix-Xini,
are perfect for climbers seeking both variety and tranquility. The
climbing scene is small but welcoming, and local guides are
passionate about preserving the natural environment while
sharing it with others. If you’re a first-timer, don’t worry.
Guided climbing sessions are available, tailored to all levels, and
always safety-focused.

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Let’s not forget horse riding. Yes, Malta offers this too. Stables
around Golden Bay and Bidnija provide trail rides through the
countryside and along dramatic ridgelines overlooking the sea.
The experience of riding through fields of fennel and
wildflowers, with the soft clop of hooves on sun-baked soil and
the sea glinting in the distance, is quietly unforgettable.

Adventure also comes in slower forms. Birdwatching at Ghadira

Nature Reserve or Simar Reserve rewards patient eyes with
flashes of herons, kingfishers, and migrating flamingos
depending on the season. In spring and autumn, the skies above
Buskett Gardens and the southern cliffs become aerial highways
for birds on their migratory journey. Bring binoculars. Bring
curiosity. Even a short stop here opens a window into another,
quieter world.

For the truly curious, Malta’s caves and underground landscapes

offer mystery and marvel. Għar Dalam, the Cave of Darkness,
holds not just geological wonders but prehistoric secrets—
animal bones and traces of early human life dating back
thousands of years. Climb down the stone steps and into the
cool, echoing interior and you’re literally stepping into Malta’s

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ancient past. Ninu’s Cave and Xerri’s Grotto in Gozo are also
worth exploring, with their quirky family-run tours and jaw-
dropping natural formations lit by kitschy colored lights that
somehow add to the charm.

Even urban exploration in Malta feels adventurous. Wander

through the alleys of Mdina or Vittoriosa, where stone walls
seem to lean in to whisper old stories. Duck into narrow side
streets where cats sun themselves in doorways and laundry flaps
like flags. Climb fort walls at golden hour. Lose yourself on
purpose. There’s always something to discover—an old plaque,
a carved balcony, a door so beautiful you stop and stare.

At sunset, the outdoors turns theatrical. The Maltese sky

performs nightly, especially from spots like Dingli Cliffs, Upper
Barrakka Gardens, or the Gozo Citadel. The light deepens to
amber and lavender, casting long shadows over farmland,
domes, and towers. It feels like a painting you can step into.
And when darkness falls, the stars arrive with little competition
from city lights. In rural Gozo, lay back on a quiet hill and just
watch. The universe is showing off.

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What makes outdoor adventure in Malta so special isn’t just the
activities—it’s the way they integrate seamlessly with life here.
You don’t have to gear up or go far. You don’t need apps or
itineraries. You just need to say yes. Yes to the path. Yes to the
water. Yes to the wind, the wave, the winding trail. And Malta,
in return, says yes to you.

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 Chapter 10: Maltese Cuisine – A Feast of
Cultures, Flavors, and Sunshine

Maltese cuisine isn’t just about eating—it’s about living. It’s the
aroma of garlic sizzling in olive oil, the golden crackle of a
pastizz fresh from the oven, the slow, knowing pour of local red
wine at a terrace table as the sun dips behind honey-colored
stone. In Malta, food is part of the national rhythm, woven into
the hours of the day, the shape of the seasons, and the soul of its
people. It is a cuisine rooted in survival, shaped by empire,
blessed by climate, and elevated by love. And every bite you
take is a little lesson in Maltese history.

Imagine this: You’re sitting in a quiet village square. The church

bells have just finished their noon chorus. Your table is shaded
by a broad umbrella. A waiter brings you a cold, slightly sweet
Kinnie—the national soft drink, made from bitter oranges and
herbs. It’s your first day in Malta, and you don’t yet know what
to expect. But you take a sip, and suddenly, you understand: this
is going to be delicious.

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Let’s begin with pastizzi—arguably Malta’s most iconic street
snack. These flaky pastry parcels come filled with either soft
ricotta or mushy peas, both versions encased in layers of golden,
buttery crunch. You can find them in humble village bakeries or
sleek cafés in Valletta, but the best ones are often discovered by
accident, from hole-in-the-wall shops with no signage, just the
scent of baking and the hiss of steam escaping hot trays. They’re
messy. They’re rich. They’re addictive. And they’ll ruin you for
other pastries.

Then there’s ħobż biż-żejt, a rustic sandwich that takes

simplicity to art form. Made with Maltese ftira bread—chewy,
slightly sour, and wood-fired—it’s smeared with kunserva
(tomato paste), layered with tuna, capers, olives, onions, and
sometimes big slices of pickled vegetables. Every village has its
favorite version. Some include fresh goat’s cheese, others a
drizzle of local olive oil so grassy and green it tastes like
summer. You eat it with your hands, probably at a rocky beach
or on a boat trip, and you don’t forget it.

But Maltese food isn’t all street eats and snacks. It’s also about
home-cooked comfort—the kind passed down in families, rich

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with memory. Stuffat tal-fenek, or rabbit stew, is the national
dish and a perfect example of this. Marinated overnight in red
wine, bay leaves, and garlic, then simmered gently with onions,
tomatoes, and peas until the meat falls off the bone—it’s rustic
and hearty, a dish born in the countryside but cherished across
the islands. Traditionally served with crusty bread or roast
potatoes, it’s best enjoyed in a rural farmhouse restaurant where
you can hear chickens clucking and smell citrus on the wind.

In Gozo, the same soulful approach produces Gozitan ftira,

which isn’t the sandwich version but a pizza-like flatbread
topped with potatoes, anchovies, tomatoes, onions, olives, and
sometimes sheep’s cheese. Baked in wood-fired ovens, the crust
bubbles and browns, crisp at the edges and soft in the center. It’s
a celebration of local ingredients—everything grown, caught, or
made nearby.

Speaking of cheese, let’s talk about ġbejniet—small, round

wheels of sheep or goat’s milk cheese that come in various
stages: fresh and milky, air-dried and slightly tangy, or peppered
and preserved in oil. You’ll see them everywhere: on appetizer
platters, in salads, crushed into pasta, or wrapped in foil and

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grilled. Gozitan farms sometimes welcome visitors to watch the
cheesemaking process. There, you’ll taste fresh ġbejniet still
warm from the press, maybe with a drizzle of honey or a pinch
of thyme. It’s the kind of simple, honest food that tells a whole
story in one bite.

Seafood, of course, plays a starring role in the Maltese kitchen.

Surrounded by the Mediterranean, the islands have always
drawn from the sea’s pantry. Fishermen in Marsaxlokk, Spinola
Bay, and St. Paul’s Bay haul in lampuki (dorado), swordfish, sea
bream, and octopus—each species celebrated in season. Aljotta,
a garlic-heavy fish soup, is Malta’s answer to bouillabaisse:
humble, briny, fragrant. Klamari mimlija—stuffed squid—
offers a heartier dive into seafood richness, often filled with
breadcrumbs, herbs, pine nuts, and raisins, then stewed in
tomato sauce. The Maltese palate, like its history, embraces bold
contrasts.

You’ll also find clear signs of North African, Middle Eastern,

and Sicilian influence. Dishes like bragioli (beef olives stuffed
with bacon and egg, simmered in wine) speak of old British
colonial kitchens. Meanwhile, kapunata, a Maltese take on

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ratatouille, layers tomatoes, eggplant, capers, and olives into
something deeply satisfying, perfect with fish or on its own with
bread.

Let’s not forget pasta—because the Maltese didn’t. Thanks to

the Italian connection, pasta features prominently, but with local
spins. Imqarrun il-forn, baked macaroni with minced meat,
cheese, and eggs, is a Sunday staple. It’s comfort food, often
served in big, messy slices at family gatherings. Then there’s
ross il-forn, the rice version, baked until golden and crisp on
top.

For dessert, Malta charms in a different way—less sugary, more

fragrant. Kannoli, similar to their Sicilian cousins, are filled
with sweetened ricotta and sometimes bits of candied fruit or
chocolate. But it’s imqaret—deep-fried date-filled pastries
scented with anise and orange blossom—that steal the show.
They’re often sold at markets or feasts, still warm from the
fryer, crisp and sticky. Try one with a coffee and watch the
world go by.

Speaking of coffee, Malta’s café culture is alive and well.

Expect strong espresso, sometimes Turkish-style with grounds
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in the bottom, sometimes Italian-style with crema and finesse.
Sit outside. Listen to conversations in Maltese and English and
Italian. Watch the rhythm of daily life—unhurried, sunlit, and
full of flavor.

Wine in Malta deserves its own chapter, but here’s a taste. The
islands have been making wine since Phoenician times, and
while the volume is small, the quality keeps rising. Local
varieties like Ġellewża (red) and Girgentina (white) are unique
to Malta, and wine estates like Meridiana, Marsovin, and Ta’
Mena offer tastings and tours. Maltese wine pairs beautifully
with the island’s food—especially that sun-warmed, slightly
saline white you sip while eating grilled fish as waves slap the
shore.

Then there’s liquor and liqueur. The aforementioned Kinnie

might divide opinion, but it’s unmistakably Maltese. Try
Bajtra, a pink prickly pear liqueur that’s sweet and slightly
syrupy, often served as a digestif. There’s also limoncello,
herbal digestifs, and locally brewed craft beers like Lord
Chambray in Gozo, which adds a modern twist to Malta’s
drinking scene.

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Culinary experiences in Malta go beyond the table. You can join
cooking classes in traditional farmhouses, take food tours
through Valletta or Mdina, visit markets in Marsaxlokk or
Victoria, or even book a boat tour that includes a seafood
barbecue on a remote beach. Every meal, whether high-end or
homemade, offers more than calories—it offers connection.

At their core, Maltese meals are about family. Friends.

Celebration. Sharing. There’s no such thing as eating alone here
—not really. Even if you’re a solo traveler, the waiter will ask
where you’re from, maybe pull up a chair, maybe offer you a
bite of something from the kitchen “not on the menu.” It’s that
kind of place.

So, when you come to Malta, don’t just try the food. Let it try
you. Let it fill your days and stretch your evenings. Let it bring
you into conversations you didn’t expect, with people who
speak with their hands and cook with their hearts. Let it slow
you down and nourish you completely. Because here, food isn’t
a side dish—it’s the main course of life.

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Chapter 11: Valletta and Floriana – Malta’s Grand
Baroque Stage

Picture a city built not by accident, but by vision. Valletta is that

rare jewel: a capital dreamed up in one breath, then carved out
of stone in one extraordinary sweep of ambition. It was born in
the 16th century by the hand of the Knights of St. John after
they withstood the terrifying might of the Ottoman Empire in
the Great Siege of 1565. Their response? Build a city of strength
and splendor, fortified but elegant, austere yet full of artistic
grace. And here it still stands—Valletta, a grid of golden streets
enclosed by bastions, surrounded by sea and sunshine.

Start your exploration at the City Gate, where Floriana ends and
Valletta begins. It’s a symbolic transition. To your left, you’ll
see the Triton Fountain, a modernist beauty guarding the
entrance like a shimmering aquatic welcome mat. Beyond it lies
Pjazza Tritoni, where buses from every part of Malta arrive,
making it one of the best starting points for your day.

Walk up the slight incline and suddenly you’re in Republic

Street, the spine of Valletta. It runs straight through the city

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from City Gate to Fort St. Elmo, and every few meters reveals a
piece of living history. Cafés spill onto the pavement, tiny
boutiques fill the restored facades, and above your head,
traditional Maltese wooden balconies—galleriji—jut out like
colorful theatre boxes watching the show of daily life.

Make an early stop at St. John’s Co-Cathedral. From the

outside, it’s fortress-like—unadorned and stern. But inside, it
explodes into gold, marble, and grandeur. This is Baroque at its
most audacious, with tombstones laid into the floor, ornate side
chapels, and the staggering beauty of Caravaggio’s ‘The
Beheading of Saint John the Baptist’ in the Oratory. Take
your time here. Let the silence wrap around you. It’s not just a
church—it’s a spiritual stage.

Step back into the sunlight and continue down to Merchant

Street, where the old market rhythm still hums. Street vendors
sell lace, local sweets, and vintage postcards. Hidden courtyards
invite you in with whispers of music and ivy-draped balconies.
Don’t miss Casa Rocca Piccola, a lived-in 16th-century palace
still inhabited by the noble de Piro family. A guided tour reveals

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antique furniture, underground war shelters, and quirky stories
that give the city its human edge.

For a breath of air and unbeatable views, head to the Upper

Barrakka Gardens. Perched on the city’s southern bastion,
they offer sweeping vistas of the Grand Harbour, where ships
and ferries glide between Valletta and the Three Cities. You’ll
hear the boom of the Saluting Battery if you time your visit
around noon or 4 p.m.—a tradition dating back centuries. Grab a
gelato or espresso from the kiosk, sit beneath the archways, and
let the view do the talking.

If you’re craving lunch, Valletta’s got range. For refined

Maltese cuisine, try Noni or Grain—both Michelin-starred yet
unpretentious. For something more casual, Gugar Hangout &
Bar offers plant-based dishes with a view, and The Submarine
serves superb ftira sandwiches. And there’s Is-Suq tal-Belt, the
Valletta Food Market—an airy space filled with food stalls
offering everything from sushi to Maltese rabbit, along with
wine bars and patisseries.

After lunch, take a detour to the National Museum of

Archaeology on Republic Street, housed in a grand Auberge.
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Here, the story of Malta’s ancient past unfolds with artifacts like
the Sleeping Lady of Ħal Saflieni, carved thousands of years
ago. Valletta may be a Renaissance city, but its soul reaches
back to prehistory.

Now let’s talk about the theaters. Valletta is not just pretty stone
and sunlight—it’s a performer. The Manoel Theatre, one of
Europe’s oldest working playhouses, glimmers with gold
balconies and velvet curtains. Even if you don’t catch a
performance, try to visit the inside—it’s intimate, gorgeous, and
utterly romantic. Right next door, MUŻA, Malta’s national art
museum, showcases local and European works in the beautifully
restored Auberge d’Italie.

As the afternoon fades, continue your walk toward the tip of the
peninsula, where the city becomes quieter, softer. Here you’ll
find Fort St. Elmo, now home to the National War Museum.
This fort has stood against invaders since the 1500s, and within
its stone walls, you’ll find exhibits detailing Malta’s long history
of resilience—from the Knights to the Nazis.

Now, let’s cross metaphorical borders into Floriana—Valletta’s

green gateway. While Valletta is dramatic and vertical, Floriana
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is peaceful and horizontal, filled with gardens, boulevards, and
public buildings. It’s often skipped by visitors, but that’s a
mistake.

Start with the Argotti Botanic Gardens, a leafy oasis filled

with exotic plants, shaded benches, and glorious views over
Marsamxett Harbour. It’s perfect for a slow wander or a quiet
hour with a book. Then stroll to St. Publius Church, the
dominant landmark of Floriana, with its twin bell towers and
grand square often filled with local festivals and processions.

Floriana’s wide avenues offer plenty of historic touches. The

Granaries of Floriana, a series of stone-covered silos, now
function as an event space. The Mall Gardens, dating back to
the Knights, offer tree-lined tranquility just minutes from the
bustle. Floriana’s Robert Samut Hall, once a Methodist church,
is now a concert venue with Gothic architecture that feels almost
Scottish in mood. These are places that whisper rather than
shout—but they reward the attentive traveler.

Dining in Floriana is quieter, more residential. You’ll find small

bakeries, gelato parlors, and family-owned restaurants tucked
into lanes where cats doze in the sun. It’s also a great place to
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base yourself for accommodation—close to Valletta but far
enough to feel local.

In the evening, return to Valletta for a stroll along Republic

Street lit up by lamps, or duck into Strait Street—once the
sailor’s red-light district, now a bohemian strip of wine bars,
jazz spots, and intimate restaurants. Try Tico Tico for cocktails,
or Yard 32 for gin lovers. There’s always music playing,
laughter in the air, and the sense that something spontaneous
could happen at any moment.

And finally, let Valletta’s timelessness wash over you. Sit by the
Lower Barrakka Gardens or walk along the Valletta
Waterfront, where colored doors mark old warehouses now
transformed into restaurants. Watch the ships roll in. Listen to
the water lapping against the fortifications. Know that you’re
standing in a city that has seen sieges, revolutions, and rebirths
—and still manages to look beautiful doing it.

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 Chapter 12: The Three Cities – Vittoriosa,
Senglea, and Cospicua

There’s something different in the air once you cross into the
Three Cities. Maybe it’s the saltier breeze. Maybe it’s the sound
of tools clinking in the shipyards, the echoes of children’s
voices bouncing off thick ramparts, or the cats curling up on
sun-warmed stone steps as if they’ve been guarding the same
corner for centuries. These cities are not dressed up for tourists.
They don’t try to impress. They just are—and that authenticity
is where their magic lies.

Start your journey from Valletta by taking the traditional

dgħajsa—a little boat shaped like a gondola—across the Grand
Harbour. The crossing itself is a dream. The harbor, once filled
with galleons, Ottoman warships, and British convoys, now
sparkles with yachts and reflections of bastions. The dgħajsa
pulls you gently across, gliding past massive limestone walls
that look almost golden in the morning sun. You’ll land at
Vittoriosa Waterfront, and that’s where the deeper journey
begins.

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Vittoriosa, also known as Birgu, is the oldest of the Three
Cities and arguably the most striking. It was the base of the
Knights of St. John before Valletta was even imagined. Its
streets are tighter, older, and hauntingly beautiful. The vibe here
is contemplative—like the city is remembering things long
buried.

Walk up Main Gate Street and enter the heart of Birgu.

Everything is close, walkable, and intimate. Flowerpots line
window ledges. Wrought-iron balconies curve elegantly above
doorways painted in shades of sea blue and sage green. Make
your way to the Inquisitor’s Palace, one of the few such
palaces left in Europe open to the public. Step inside, and you’re
in a world of confessionals, prison cells, baroque furniture, and
tight stone staircases. It’s eerie and fascinating, and the museum
inside also explores how justice and punishment evolved over
the centuries in Malta.

Right nearby is Fort St. Angelo, an icon of Malta’s resistance

during the Great Siege of 1565. It’s huge, impressive, and not
just a museum—it feels like a walk through war and resilience.
The views from the ramparts are staggering. You see Valletta’s

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domes across the harbor, the sweeping arc of the shipyards, and
the maze of marina masts in the distance. It’s history with a sea
breeze.

As you explore Birgu, don’t rush. The charm lies in detours.

Follow a side alley that smells of frying onions and oregano and
you might find a small family-run restaurant where the day’s
menu is handwritten on a board. Pop into a tiny chapel with
flickering candles and worn stone pews. Listen for the creak of
wooden shutters opening. There’s life in every inch here, but it
hums quietly.

For lunch, stop at BeBirgu or Tal-Petut, where the food is

seasonal, Maltese, and deeply comforting. You’ll taste dishes
like bragioli (beef olives), kapunata (a Maltese ratatouille), and
fresh bread still warm from the oven. Pair it with a glass of local
Girgentina white wine, and let time slow down.

From Birgu, walk to Senglea, also called L-Isla. It’s smaller and
somehow even sleepier than its neighbor. You’ll cross over a
bridge flanked by ancient bastions and enter a grid of narrow
streets that feel unchanged in decades. Senglea is about small
joys. Locals sit on plastic chairs outside their doors. Kids kick
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footballs in the square. The only background sound might be
church bells or distant boat horns.

Climb to the Senglea Point, where the Gardjola Gardens offer

one of the best panoramic views in all of Malta. At the very tip
stands the watchtower, carved with an eye and an ear—a
symbol that Senglea always watches and listens. Look through
its window and see Valletta rising on the opposite shore. At
sunset, it’s magic. The sea blushes pink, and the city across the
water turns the color of toasted honey.

Senglea doesn’t offer a lot of traditional “sights,” but that’s its

gift. It invites you to slow down and notice. Peek into baroque
churches. Talk to shopkeepers. Order a pastizz and a bottle of
Kinnie and sit on a bench. This is Malta unfiltered.

Backtrack and curve inland to Cospicua, or Bormla. It’s the

largest of the Three Cities but also the least touristy. Its
dockyards are still active, so there's always a sense of labor and
motion here—rusty cranes, massive container ships, and men in
work overalls walking through the stone streets. But don’t
mistake it for gritty. Cospicua has beauty, too—it just hides it
deeper.
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The Immaculate Conception Church, the city’s centerpiece, is
grand and filled with painted ceilings and chandeliers. The
surrounding streets, particularly Triq Santa Tereza and Triq il-
Pellegrinagg, wind through everyday life—local cafés, produce
vendors, and ironmongers. You won’t find tourist shops here.
But what you will find is community, pride, and warmth. If you
want to feel like a guest, go to Valletta. If you want to feel like a
neighbor, come to Cospicua.

Cospicua is also a gateway to some surprising regeneration. The

Dock No.1 area, once an industrial zone, is now being
transformed into a modern waterfront. There are new cafés,
walking paths, art installations, and even a university campus in
the making. It’s a glimpse into Malta’s evolving identity—
historic but forward-looking.

Dinner in the Three Cities can be poetic. Try Don Berto on the
Vittoriosa Waterfront, where the terrace faces bobbing yachts
and the Grand Harbour lights. Or choose Il-Hnejja, where you
can sit with locals and tuck into plates of fenek(rabbit stew) and
grilled octopus. Finish the night with a Maltese imqaret (date
pastry) and a glass of Bajtra liqueur made from prickly pears.

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If you want to sleep here, you’re in luck. Several townhouses
have been turned into stylish boutique guesthouses. Options like
Locanda La Gelsomina, The Snop House, or BOCO
Boutique let you live inside the stone walls, waking up to the
sounds of morning church bells and fishermen setting out.

But whether you stay overnight or just spend a day, the Three
Cities leave their mark. They’re humble and mighty at the same
time. They don’t sparkle like Valletta or bustle like Sliema, but
they breathe older, deeper stories. You don’t come here for
spectacle. You come here to listen.

And when you leave—perhaps once again by boat across the

Grand Harbour—you’ll carry that silence with you. That quiet
sense that you’ve stepped inside a part of Malta that doesn't
perform, but endures.

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 Chapter 13: Malta’s Countryside and Rural
Villages – Olive Groves, Stone Paths, and Festa
Spirit

As you leave behind the sprawl of the towns and descend into
Malta’s rugged interior, the tempo changes. The traffic thins.
The limestone gets rougher. The air thickens with rosemary,
carob, and fig. Suddenly, instead of shops and roundabouts, you
see terraced fields stacked like quiet prayers on the hillsides,
dry-stone walls curling around olive trees, and the occasional
shrine tucked under a tree, a small cross guarding the field like a
secret.

This is Malta without the frills. It’s a world of farmers,

shepherds, beekeepers, and stonemasons. It’s where people still
drink coffee in the town square each morning and hang laundry
on their flat rooftops like flags. It’s where festa banners ripple
from balconies in summer and village church bells mark time
more reliably than watches. This is a Malta that welcomes you
gently—if you’re willing to slow down and let it.

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Let’s start in Żebbuġ, one of the oldest inland villages. The
name means “olive tree,” and although many of the groves are
now gone, the connection remains. Żebbuġ’s streets are narrow
and shaded, its stone houses built close like old friends. You’ll
find delicate carvings above doorways, clusters of Madonna
statues watching from corners, and the scent of baking bread
wafting from local ovens. The Parish Church of St. Philip
dominates the center, especially in June during the village’s
festa. The square turns electric—confetti rains, fireworks crackle
overhead, and brass bands weave through the crowd, playing
triumphant marches with the passion of a full orchestra.

From Żebbuġ, follow the winding roads toward Siġġiewi, a

quiet town that feels like it was made to be painted. The main
square is ringed by lemon-colored facades and sleepy cafés.
Here, the Church of St. Nicholas rises with soft grandeur, its
triple domes glowing against the blue sky. On the outskirts of
town lies the Limestone Heritage Park, where you can actually
watch craftsmen carve Maltese stone the way they’ve done for
centuries. There’s a calm pride in their work—chiseling,
smoothing, building something beautiful and enduring from
what seems like just rock.

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Now take a turn off the main path and head toward Dingli
Cliffs, not far from Siġġiewi. As you approach, the land flattens,
and suddenly the island ends. The cliffs drop dramatically into
the open sea, and from the edge, the view is humbling. Wind
howls, birds circle, and the world stretches blue and endless.
These cliffs are Malta’s guardians, rising 250 meters above the
sea. There’s almost always a local woman selling ħobż biż-żejt
—crusty bread filled with tomato paste, tuna, olives, and capers
—wrapped in paper and handed over with a smile. Find a bench,
sit with your sandwich, and just watch the world curve.

Near the cliffs stands a tiny chapel—St. Mary Magdalene

Chapel. It’s simple, just a rectangle of stone with a red door, but
it’s poetic in its solitude. Locals still leave flowers on the step,
and on clear days, you can see as far as Gozo from here. This is
Malta’s countryside at its most cinematic.

Another village not to miss is Qormi, a town famous for two

things: bread and festas. Known as the “City of Bakers,” Qormi
is where you’ll find the island’s most traditional wood-fired
bakeries. Walk into one, like Forn Tal-Misk, and you’ll be hit
with the warm scent of rising dough, crackling crusts, and flour

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in the air like dust in sunlight. Order a round ħobża tal-Malti
and eat it still hot. There’s nothing quite like it.

Qormi also celebrates two separate festas for St. George—one

by each band club—and the rivalry is intense but friendly. In
summer, both factions light up the streets with fireworks,
banners, and music, as if trying to outdo the stars themselves.
It’s loud, chaotic, and deeply joyful. If you’re lucky enough to
witness it, you’ll feel like you’ve been swept into a centuries-old
village opera where the whole town plays a role.

Heading farther inland, visit Balzan, Lija, and Attard—a trio

of elegant villages known as the “Three Villages.” They’re
quieter, leafier, and filled with beautiful baroque homes and
gardens. Here, the rhythm of life is softer. People still greet you
on the street, church bells still chime the hours, and afternoons
are made for coffee under orange trees. Stop by the San Anton
Gardens in Attard, where bougainvillea trails over archways,
fountains gurgle quietly, and peacocks strut like nobility. The
gardens are open to the public and sit adjacent to San Anton
Palace, the official residence of Malta’s President.

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Drive a little farther and you’ll come across Mġarr, a rural
village best known for its strawberries and eggs. Yes, really.
Every spring, it hosts the Festa Frawli (Strawberry Festival)
where the entire town turns into a fruit lover’s paradise.
Strawberry milkshakes, strawberry pies, fresh baskets of ruby-
red berries—you name it, it’s there. Mġarr is also a great base
for country walks. Surrounding it are winding paths that lead
past farms, vineyards, and hidden chapels. One lovely trail takes
you all the way to Għajn Tuffieħa Bay, where farmland
suddenly becomes wild beach. The contrast is breathtaking.

Even farther west lies Baħrija, the definition of a sleepy village.

It’s often just you, a few farmers, and the wind. The main square
has maybe two shops and one restaurant—but what a restaurant
it is. Diar il-Bniet serves authentic, slow-cooked Maltese dishes
with ingredients grown right on their land. You’ll eat fenek
moqli (fried rabbit), roasted potatoes, and qarabali mimli
(stuffed courgettes) while watching the fields where they were
picked. Farm-to-fork isn't a trend here—it’s just how things
have always been.

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One more stop: Bingemma, a hamlet perched near the Victoria
Lines—Malta’s answer to the Great Wall of China. The lines
were built by the British to defend the island’s north from
invasion, and they now serve as an excellent hiking trail. The
area around Bingemma is great for walking. You’ll pass fig
trees, hidden caves, and old watch posts. You might even meet a
farmer who insists you try his olives, still oily from the press.

What makes Malta’s countryside so memorable isn’t just the

scenery. It’s the stories. The old man who tells you his father
built that chapel with his bare hands. The baker who learned the
family recipe at age ten. The children practicing festa music in a
garage, drumming loud enough to shake the floor. These aren’t
touristic moments. They’re human ones.

As night falls and you drive back toward the coast, windows
begin to glow behind lace curtains. Smoke curls from chimneys.
Dogs bark in greeting. Somewhere, a band rehearses for Sunday.
Malta’s countryside may not be fast, flashy, or widely known,
but it offers something even better: peace, connection, and the
quiet joy of places that don’t need to change to be special.

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 Chapter 14: Maltese Cuisine – Rustic Roots and
Seaside Flavor in Every Bite

There’s something unapologetically rustic and real about

Maltese food. It isn’t fussy. It isn’t fashionable. It doesn’t try to
impress with foam or tweezer-plated elegance. Maltese cuisine
is food made by grandmothers, by fishermen, by bakers who
wake long before the sun. It’s stews that simmer for hours,
bread that cracks at the crust, olives cured with citrus, and
cheese wheels tucked into cloth to mature in cool, dark kitchens.
It is, in short, honest food—deeply tied to the island, to its
seasons, and to the Maltese people who love to feed others with
both hands and heart.

Let’s begin with the national dish: fenek—Maltese rabbit stew.

This isn’t your average countryside fare; it’s a celebration. A
slow-cooked wonder that begins with marinating chunks of
rabbit in red wine, bay leaves, garlic, and herbs overnight. The
next day, it’s gently braised with tomatoes, carrots, onions, and
potatoes until the meat falls apart like silk. Served with crusty
bread or sometimes spaghetti, fenek is best eaten at a village
għadira—a rustic countryside picnic—or in a tiny restaurant
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where the owner pours you a glass of local wine and tells you
his grandmother’s version is better than the mayor’s. He’s
probably right.

Speaking of bread—ħobż tal-Malti is not just bread. It’s a way

of life. Baked in wood-fired ovens, this round, thick-crusted loaf
has a chewy interior and a deep, smoky scent. It’s the kind of
bread that makes you want to tear off a piece and dip it into
olive oil before you’ve even left the bakery. And if you want it
the traditional way, ask for ħobż biż-żejt: a sandwich of bread
rubbed with tomato paste, olive oil, tuna, capers, and olives,
sometimes with slices of pickled vegetables. Eaten cold and
with your hands, it’s the sandwich of fishermen, students, bus
drivers, and travelers.

Now let’s wander into a pastizzeria, where the air smells of

butter and dreams. Here, you’ll find the beloved pastizzi—flaky
pastries stuffed with either ricotta or curried peas. Hot, greasy,
flaky, and deeply satisfying, pastizzi are found everywhere—
from cafés to gas stations to ferry terminals—and they cost less
than a euro. No trip to Malta is complete without burning your
tongue on one and instantly going back for two more.

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Maltese cuisine also leans heavily on the sea. The lampuki, or
dorado fish, migrates past the islands each autumn and becomes
the star of many homes and markets. One traditional dish is
lampuki pie, where the fish is layered with spinach, olives,
capers, and sultanas under a pastry crust. The result is sweet,
salty, earthy, and fresh—like Malta in a bite.

And then there’s aljotta, a garlicy fish soup often made with
rockfish and finished with rice, lemon, and parsley. It’s not
delicate—it punches with flavor—but it’s the kind of soup that
brings you back to life after a cold swim or a windy boat ride.

Malta’s relationship with Italy (especially Sicily) means that

pasta features heavily on menus. But there’s a local twist. You
might find ross il-forn—baked rice with minced beef, tomato,
and egg, topped with crunchy breadcrumbs and a browned crust.
Or timpana, a pasta bake encased in flaky pastry. These are the
dishes of Sundays and childhoods, passed around the table in
wide trays and always enough for thirds.

Dairy in Malta often means one thing: ġbejna. These small

round cheeselets, usually made from sheep or goat milk, are sold
fresh (friska), sun-dried (moxxa), or peppered and cured (bietel-
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bżar). They’re eaten on crackers, crumbled into salads, or
drizzled with olive oil and served with ripe tomatoes. Farmers
markets will often have dozens of variations wrapped in cloth or
wax paper, sometimes infused with herbs like thyme or wild
fennel.

In the rural towns—especially Gozo—you’ll likely be offered

soppa tal-armla, or “widow’s soup.” It’s a modest, nourishing
dish traditionally made from whatever was left in the garden:
cauliflower, carrots, potatoes, marrows, broad beans. The magic
comes when a fresh ġbejna is cracked into the bowl, melting
gently into the broth. Simple. Sacred. Satisfying.

Now let’s talk desserts, because Malta knows how to do sweet.

One of the most iconic is imqaret, deep-fried date pastries that
you’ll smell before you see. Shaped like little pillows, they’re
sold at markets, festas, and seaside stands, still warm and often
dusted with sugar. Then there’s kannoli—yes, like Sicilian
cannoli, but with a thicker pastry shell and Maltese fillings,
sometimes citrusy, sometimes nutty.

During Easter, you’ll see figolla—almond-filled pastry shapes

(hearts, fish, lambs) covered in icing and decorated like
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miniature artworks. At Christmas, qagħaq tal-għasel, or treacle
rings, are the star. Made from semolina and black treacle, spiced
with cloves and orange zest, they’re a little dense, a little sticky,
and very, very moreish.

Wash everything down with Kinnie, Malta’s bittersweet

national soft drink made from bitter oranges and aromatic herbs.
Locals are passionate about it—some say addicted. It’s the kind
of drink you either fall in love with or raise an eyebrow at.
Either way, you’ve got to try it.

And if you prefer something stronger, Maltese wine is having a

moment. Vineyards like Meridiana, Marsovin, and Ta’ Mena
are producing award-winning wines from both international and
local grape varieties like Ġellewża and Girgentina. Visit a
winery, sip a glass of chilled rosé under a carob tree, and you'll
understand why these islands make such expressive, mineral-
rich wines. Also try Cisk, the local lager. It’s cold, crisp, and
made for Malta’s sun-drenched days.

In terms of eating out, Malta offers everything from humble

fenek joints in dusty side streets to fine-dining restaurants
overlooking superyachts in the Grand Harbour. In Valletta,
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check out Noni, a Michelin-starred spot blending tradition and
technique. In Mdina, The Medina Restaurant serves local
flavors in a medieval courtyard. And in Marsaxlokk, just pick a
seaside eatery and order the catch of the day—you won’t go
wrong.

But honestly? Some of the best meals in Malta are the quiet
ones: a pastizzi eaten on a church step, a hobż biż-żejt enjoyed
during a countryside hike, a bowl of aljotta slurped at a
fisherman’s shack. Maltese food isn’t just about ingredients. It’s
about where you eat it, how slowly you savor it, and the stories
that flavor every bite.

Because in Malta, meals aren’t rushed. They’re rituals. And

every dish is a memory waiting to be made.

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 Chapter 15: Malta’s Festivals and Cultural
Calendar – A Year of Celebration

If you ever want to understand Malta beyond its beaches and

golden limestone, time your visit around one of its many
festivals. You’ll feel it before you see it—the hum in the streets,
the sparkle on balconies, the murmur of hymns, the crack of
fireworks echoing across a harbor. Malta is small, yes, but its
festival spirit is anything but. From religious observances as old
as the Knights to modern jazz concerts under starry skies,
there’s always something happening, and the Maltese are always
ready to celebrate.

Let’s begin with the most iconic Maltese tradition—the village

festa. Nearly every town and village in Malta and Gozo has its
own patron saint, and every year, without fail, that saint is
honored with a festa that transforms the town into a blaze of
color, music, and devotion. Streets are draped in crimson and
gold banners. Churches are lit with hundreds of bulbs. Statues
are carried through cheering crowds. Brass bands lead
processions. Fireworks light up the night for hours, sometimes
in daytime too—yes, that’s a thing.
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Take St. Paul's Feast in Rabat, for example, held in February.
It begins with solemn processions and ends with grand fanfare,
including intricate fireworks and a jubilant street party. Or St.
Catherine’s Festa in Żurrieq, usually in September, where air-
bursting fireworks—murtali—are launched in daylight, causing
thunderous echoes across the town. You’ll see kids on balconies
waving flags and old women throwing flower petals onto
processions from their windows. The sense of community is
profound.

These festas typically last a week, with the grand finale falling
on Sunday. But don’t expect a single celebration. Some villages
host multiple festas. In summer, it can feel like there's one every
night, and you wouldn’t be wrong. Malta’s summer is
practically a continuous procession of devotion, brass bands,
fireworks, and revelry.

Spring brings with it Holy Week, a deeply moving experience

in Malta. Celebrations begin on Palm Sunday and culminate on
Easter Sunday, but the emotional core is found on Maundy
Thursday and Good Friday. On Thursday, churches transform
into candlelit havens where locals visit seven altars in seven

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churches—“Is-Seba’ Visti”—a centuries-old pilgrimage in the
dark hush of the evening.

Come Friday, processions begin—slow, mournful, majestic.

Towns like Żebbuġ, Mosta, and Vittoriosa become theater
stages. Statues representing the Passion of Christ are carried by
solemn men in traditional white robes. Some participants even
walk barefoot in penance, dragging chains across the ground.
On Easter Sunday, though, the mood shifts—bells ring, statues
of the Risen Christ are hoisted high, and children run alongside
as joy returns to the streets.

Just after spring, you’ll hit Carnival, a riot of color and satire
held the week before Lent. Valletta turns into a party city with
grotesque floats, masked dancers, and music pulsing through the
capital’s baroque streets. It’s a time of mischief, mockery, and
excess. For something wilder and more local, head to Nadur in
Gozo, where Carnival takes on a darker, more spontaneous flair.
There are no rules, and that's the whole point. Think surreal
costumes, edgy humor, and unfiltered fun that often baffles
outsiders—in the best way.

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Summer is Malta’s peak festival season, not just for festas, but
for cultural and music festivals that attract international
attention. The Malta International Arts Festival (June–July) is
a highlight, bringing dance, theater, classical music, and art to
stunning venues like Fort St. Elmo and the Mediterranean
Conference Centre. The Valletta Baroque Festival in January
offers period music in baroque churches and palazzos—imagine
Vivaldi by candlelight in a 16th-century chapel.

If you’re into jazz, you’re in for a treat. The Malta Jazz

Festival (usually in July) is a world-class event set against the
glittering backdrop of the Grand Harbour. Picture saxophone
riffs echoing off ancient bastions as the sun sets over Valletta.
It’s as magical as it sounds.

Film lovers should look out for the Valletta Film Festival,
while foodies should mark their calendars for the Qormi Bread
Festival or BirguFest, where candlelit streets lead to open
house museums, street food, and local wines. Speaking of wine,
the Delicata Wine Festival in Upper Barrakka Gardens is pure
Maltese joy—live music, grilled food, and generous pours under
olive trees with harbor views.

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September is especially magical, starting with Victory Day
(September 8), which commemorates three major military
victories in Maltese history. Valletta becomes the stage for
military parades, rowing regattas in the Grand Harbour, and
church services in memory of the fallen. The day ends in full-
blown celebration mode—concerts, fireworks, and late-night
street dancing.

Not long after comes Independence Day (September 21),

which marks Malta’s independence from Britain in 1964.
Expect patriotic displays, flag-raising ceremonies, and cultural
showcases in Floriana and Valletta.

The Isle of MTV Festival, usually held in Floriana in July,

brings thousands to the Floriana Granaries for a massive pop
concert featuring global headliners. It’s one of the largest free
music events in Europe and a big hit with locals and visitors
alike.

If you visit in November, you’ll see a quieter side of Malta’s

calendar. All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day bring families to
cemeteries to honor loved ones, lighting candles and leaving
flowers. It’s a time of reflection and remembrance.
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December in Malta is pure magic. The streets of Valletta and
Mdina glow with lights, nativities appear in windows and
courtyards, and carolers fill the air with warmth. Christmas in
Malta is spiritual and communal—midnight Mass is a beloved
tradition, and homes are decorated with presepji (nativity cribs),
often handmade and passed down through generations.

Then comes New Year’s Eve, when fireworks explode over

Valletta’s Grand Harbour and parties spill into the squares. But
perhaps most beautifully, the Maltese toast the new year with
hope, generosity, and plates piled high with pastries, olives, and
cheese.

What makes Maltese festivals so special isn’t just the color or

the fireworks or the brass bands. It’s the people. The way
generations come together—grandparents passing traditions to
grandchildren, neighbors opening doors to strangers, choirs
singing with cracked voices but full hearts. It’s the sense that
even if you don’t understand every word of the sermon or every
step of the procession, you are welcomed, wrapped in
celebration, and made to feel part of something timeless.

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So, when planning your trip, ask a local what’s happening.
They’ll almost always light up and say, “You’re just in time.”
Because in Malta, celebration is never far away.

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Chapter 16: Malta’s Charming Towns and Villages
– Beyond the Usual

For all its castles, cathedrals, and coastal cliffs, Malta’s magic is
often found in the quiet places—the towns and villages that
most travelers bypass on their race to the next major sight. But if
you want to feel Malta, not just see it, take a detour down a
dusty lane flanked by rubble walls, olive groves, and
bougainvillea. Because tucked within these golden-walled towns
is a rhythm of life that’s as rich as it is real.

Let’s begin in Żebbuġ, one of the oldest towns in Malta and

known for its pride, tradition, and exceptional festas. This inland
village once stood at the heart of the island’s cotton industry,
and its name—meaning “olive”—hints at its early agricultural
roots. Żebbuġ’s streets are a textbook of Maltese vernacular
architecture, with balustraded balconies, elaborate religious
niches in every corner, and limestone townhouses built long
before your grandparents were born. It’s the kind of place where
locals still sit on stools outside their doors in the evening,
chatting with neighbors and greeting every passerby.

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Then there’s Rabat, which sits just outside Mdina’s fortified
gates and often gets overlooked. But that’s a mistake. Rabat is
full of charm and history of its own. This is where St. Paul is
said to have stayed after being shipwrecked on the island, and
the St. Paul’s Catacombs—a labyrinth of underground Roman
burial chambers—are eerily fascinating. Above ground, the
town hums with life in the form of cafés, patisseries, and daily
rituals. Try a pastizz from Crystal Palace, a near-legendary hole-
in-the-wall bakery that never seems to sleep, and wander
through the sleepy, sun-drenched lanes toward the Domus
Romana, where mosaics and ruins whisper of Malta’s ancient
Roman days.

On the southeastern coast lies Marsaxlokk, a traditional fishing

village famous for its colorful luzzus—those charming, painted
boats that bob on the waterfront, their eyes of Osiris watching
silently from the bow. The Sunday fish market is legendary, but
even on quieter days, the promenade is a joy. Sit with a coffee
or a seafood platter, listen to the seagulls, and watch fishermen
mending nets under the sun. The pace here is slow, the beauty
unforced. Walk inland a bit, and you’ll find old farms and salt
pans, the smell of brine and thyme thick in the air.

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Not far away is Birżebbuġa, a name that may twist your tongue
but a town that warmly untangles the stress from your bones.
This sleepy seaside spot is home to Pretty Bay, a sandy beach
much loved by locals. But don’t stop there—venture slightly
inland to Għar Dalam, a prehistoric cave where fossilized
remains of dwarf elephants and other creatures once roamed
Malta during the Ice Age. It’s a beautiful juxtaposition: the
beachy now and the ancient then, just a stone’s throw apart.

Over in the central part of the island, you’ll find Naxxar, a town
with a heart that beats softly under a large church dome. Here,
the streets form a web of limestone facades, silent during siesta,
alive with laughter by evening. The town’s highlight is Palazzo
Parisio, an 18th-century palace dubbed “mini Versailles,” where
baroque grandeur and Italianate gardens offer an unexpected
burst of nobility. One moment you’re in a sleepy town, and the
next you’re sipping cappuccino in a manicured courtyard
surrounded by climbing roses and marbled hallways.

Another favorite is Mġarr, a rural village surrounded by

vineyards and countryside, where life revolves around two
things: agriculture and food. The domed parish church

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dominates the landscape like a guardian angel, but what brings
visitors in droves is the food—especially rabbit stew (fenek),
which is practically religion here. Local restaurants like Il-Barri
or Farmer’s Bar serve it alongside crispy roast potatoes, crusty
bread, and a glass of local Ġellewża red wine. If you're here in
spring, look for the Strawberry Festival, when the village
square bursts into a sea of red fruit, jams, desserts, and smiling
faces.

Let’s hop to Gozo, because no exploration of Malta’s villages is

complete without crossing the channel. Gozo, with its greener
hills and slower pace, is Malta’s countryside soul—and nowhere
is that more evident than in Xagħra, a hilltop village with
history older than most civilizations. It’s home to the Ġgantija
Temples, one of the oldest freestanding structures in the world,
predating Stonehenge by over a thousand years. But the village
itself is no relic. It’s alive with cafés, craft shops, and proud
locals who’ll happily tell you where to find the best ftira
(Gozitan flatbread).

Not far is Nadur, where Gozo’s carnival takes on a dark and

mischievous twist. But during the rest of the year, Nadur is

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tranquil and pastoral. Walk through its orchards in springtime
when the air smells of citrus and bees hum between blossoms,
and you’ll feel a peace that no big city can replicate.

In Malta’s northwest lies Mellieħa, perched on a hill with

sweeping views of the sea. This village blends resort life with
authentic tradition. The Sanctuary of Our Lady of Mellieħa,
carved into the rock, offers both spiritual calm and panoramic
vistas. Mellieħa Bay below is one of Malta’s best sandy
beaches, but the village itself, with its terraced farms and quiet
back streets, still carries the rhythm of the past.

If you’re looking for something even quieter, try Qrendi, a

humble village surrounded by countryside and ancient sites like
Ħaġar Qim and Mnajdra Temples, which face the sea like
sentinels of time. Qrendi doesn’t shout for attention—it
whispers, offering a peaceful setting for those who listen. Take a
long walk here and hear the rustle of olive trees, the clink of
goat bells, and the soft chatter of neighbors catching up across
balconies.

Then there’s Siggiewi, a sun-drenched village overlooked by

many, despite being one of Malta’s largest. Its church, dedicated
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to St. Nicholas, is massive, its stone square often empty but full
of beauty. Every June, Siggiewi hosts the Festival of Fire, when
pyrotechnic teams compete in a firework extravaganza that
lights up the countryside. It’s local, it’s loud, and it’s
unforgettable.

Each of these towns and villages tells a different story. Some are
steeped in history; others in agriculture. Some thrive on faith,
others on food. What unites them is their authenticity. In Malta,
the village isn’t a throwback—it’s the beating heart. These
places still practice siesta, still ring church bells at noon, still
bake ħobż biż-żejt the way grandmothers did. They are living
archives of Maltese identity.

Take the time to explore them. Walk without agenda. Eat where
locals eat. Ask questions. Get lost on purpose. Because when
you leave Malta, it’s not always the citadel views or the
Instagram-perfect harbors that linger in memory. It’s the little
things. A chat with a grocer in Żebbuġ. A sunset from Mġarr. A
shared smile in Rabat. The distant sound of a village band
rehearsing in a backstreet garage.

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This is the Malta many never see. But once you do, you’ll never
forget it.

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Chapter 17: Flavors of Malta – A Culinary Journey
Through the Islands

If Malta were a person, its soul would be found in the kitchen.

Maltese cuisine is a hearty fusion of Mediterranean ingredients,
Arabic spice, Italian technique, and a healthy obsession with
bread and olive oil. Whether you’re tucking into a flaky pastizz
on the go, sipping wine in a sun-drenched vineyard, or sharing
rabbit stew at a village festa, food here is more than sustenance.
It’s ritual. It’s hospitality. It’s memory served on a plate.

Let’s start with the essentials—the dishes that define the Maltese
table, the ones you can’t leave the islands without tasting.

First up is the national dish: Stuffat tal-Fenek, or rabbit stew. A

rustic, wine-soaked masterpiece often slow-cooked with garlic,
tomatoes, bay leaves, and red wine until the meat falls off the
bone. This dish is sacred to the Maltese. It’s the centerpiece at
Sunday lunches and family gatherings, often paired with crispy
roast potatoes and crusty Maltese bread to mop up the sauce.
Where should you try it? United Bar in Mġarr is legendary for

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its rabbit, and Ta’ Marija in Mosta adds a folkloric twist with
live music.

Speaking of that crusty bread, let’s talk about Ħobż biż-Żejt.

This humble but heart-melting sandwich is a Maltese classic:
thick slices of sourdough bread—ħobż tal-Malti—rubbed with
ripe tomatoes and drizzled with olive oil, then packed with tuna,
capers, olives, and sometimes pickled vegetables. It's picnic
food, beach food, snack food, and bar food. Simple, salty,
filling, and perfect with a cold Cisk lager.

And then there are pastizzi. If Malta had a national snack, this
would be it. Flaky, golden, and devilishly addictive, pastizzi are
phyllo-like pastries stuffed traditionally with ricotta or mushy
peas. They’re sold in hole-in-the-wall shops, gas stations, and
cafés, but the best ones are from places like Crystal Palace in
Rabat or Serkin in Msida, where trays fly off the counter faster
than you can blink. They're cheap, messy, and divine.

Now let’s veer into seafood—after all, Malta is an island, and

the sea’s bounty plays a starring role. Aljotta, a garlicky fish
soup with rice and lemon, is perfect on a breezy evening,
especially when cooked with fresh-caught lampuki (dorado).
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When lampuki are in season—typically from late August to
December—you’ll see them featured on every blackboard menu.
Fried, baked, stewed with tomatoes and capers—it’s a seasonal
star.

In the seaside village of Marsaxlokk, seafood is life. Come on a

Sunday morning and stroll through the fish market, where tables
brim with swordfish, squid, shrimp, and sometimes even
octopus still wriggling in crates. Many restaurants along the
waterfront, like Tartarun or Roots, offer catch-of-the-day
menus, cooked simply with olive oil and lemon to let the
freshness shine.

Another must-try is Bragioli, often called beef olives (though

there’s no actual olive involved). These are thin beef slices
wrapped around a stuffing of minced meat, herbs, and
breadcrumbs, then simmered in a rich tomato-wine sauce. It’s
hearty, homely, and often served at weddings, Sunday lunches,
or religious holidays.

And let’s not forget Kapunata, Malta’s version of ratatouille.

This dish of stewed eggplant, peppers, tomatoes, olives, and
capers often shows up as a side or a vegetarian main. Eaten cold
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or warm, it sings with sun-ripened flavor and makes a perfect
topping on that hearty Maltese bread.

On Gozo, you'll want to sample ftira, a ring-shaped flatbread

baked in wood ovens, topped with potatoes, anchovies, olives,
and tomato. Think of it as pizza’s rustic cousin. Every bakery
has its own take, but Mekren’s Bakery in Nadur is a great place
to start—especially if you want to eat it piping hot, straight from
the paper bag on a clifftop with sea views.

Now, dessert. Start with Kannoli, borrowed (but proudly

claimed) from Sicilian influence. A crisp fried pastry shell filled
with sweet ricotta and sometimes dotted with candied fruit or
chocolate chips. But also try Imqaret—date-filled pastries,
usually deep-fried and sold at village feasts or markets. They're
golden, sticky, and best eaten warm from a paper napkin.

Then there’s Helwa tat-Tork—literally "Turk’s sweet." This

dense sesame-and-almond treat resembles halva and is often
served in small slices alongside coffee. It’s not for everyone, but
it's an acquired taste worth acquiring.

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Drinks? Malta has its share of local beverages that might
surprise you. Cisk (pronounced “chisk”) is the ubiquitous
national lager, light and easy-drinking—great for warm days. If
you’re into craft brews, try Lord Chambray, a Gozitan brewery
turning out creative beers like San Blas Pale Ale and Blue
Lagoon Blonde.

You’ll also encounter Kinnie, a bitter-orange soda with herbal

undertones. Think Aperol meets cola. Locals love it. Some
visitors don’t. But it’s worth a sip (and makes a great mixer with
vodka).

For wine, Malta’s offerings are steadily gaining international

respect. Native grape varieties like Ġellewża (red) and
Girgentina (white) make for light, food-friendly wines that pair
well with local dishes. Vineyards such as Meridiana, Marsovin,
and Delicata offer tastings and tours. For something special,
head to Ta’ Mena Estate in Gozo where wine, olive oil, and
local produce come together in bucolic beauty.

Want to dive deeper? Attend a festa—those wild, wonderful

village celebrations where food is central to the experience. Try
nougat bars, roast meats, grilled sausages, and endless trays of
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pastries handed out freely by neighbors. Or visit during
Carnival in Nadur, where the food is just as chaotic and
colorful as the costumes.

And don’t overlook Malta’s markets. Is-Suq tal-Belt in Valletta

is a gourmet food hall packed with everything from sushi to
Maltese platters, while Ta’ Qali Farmers’ Market near Mdina
offers honey, cheese, olive oil, and produce grown in the
island’s fertile soils. Talk to the vendors. Sample the cheeselets
(ġbejniet), the pickled capers, the carob syrup. Food here still
feels like it’s made for you, not mass consumption.

Want to cook? Try your hand at a cooking class—Diar il-Bniet

in Dingli offers immersive farm-to-table experiences where you
learn to make ravioli, bake bread, or prepare rabbit stew in
traditional clay pots.

Ultimately, eating in Malta isn’t just about flavor—it’s about

culture, connection, and celebration. Meals are long.
Conversations stretch. Wine flows. Plates are passed and
refilled. Whether you’re in a five-star hotel restaurant or a
family-run kitchen in Xlendi, you’ll be welcomed with warmth
and a genuine pride in the island’s culinary heritage.
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So, eat well. Eat slowly. Ask questions. Say yes to dessert. Say
yes to seconds. And always, always accept the olive oil.

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 Chapter 18: Essential Travel Tips for Malta –
Navigating the Islands Like a Local

Traveling to Malta is a dream come true for many: rich history,

stunning landscapes, and a welcoming culture. But as with any
destination, having the right practical knowledge can turn a
good trip into an unforgettable one. Let’s walk through what
you need to know—from money matters to getting around,
staying safe, and blending in smoothly.

First, budgeting. Malta offers a surprisingly broad range of

options. You can dine in Michelin-starred restaurants or pick up
a pastizz from a hole-in-the-wall bakery for under a euro.
Accommodation ranges from boutique hotels in Valletta to
affordable guesthouses and self-catering apartments on Gozo.
For those watching their wallets, buses are a cheap and reliable
way to get around, with a day pass costing only a few euros. On
the other hand, taxis and ride-share apps like Bolt provide more
comfort but at a premium. Cash is still king in many small shops
and markets, so keep some euros handy, though credit cards are
widely accepted in cities and larger establishments.

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Speaking of transport, Malta’s compact size means you can
explore much by foot, especially in Valletta, Mdina, and the
harbor areas. But to truly uncover hidden gems, public buses are
your best friends. The Malta Public Transport system covers
most of the island with routes connecting towns, beaches, and
major attractions. Bus schedules and routes can be checked
online or via apps, but keep in mind that service frequency drops
on Sundays and public holidays. If you want to reach Gozo,
regular ferry services run between Ċirkewwa and Mġarr, with
scenic views that make the crossing a pleasure rather than a
chore.

For a bit more freedom, renting a car or scooter is common and

can be economical, especially if you plan to explore rural areas
or the islands extensively. Remember that Malta drives on the
left, like the UK, and roads can be narrow and winding, so take
it slow if you’re not used to it. Parking can be a challenge in
busy towns, so look for designated parking zones or park-and-
ride options.

When it comes to language, Maltese and English are both

official. English is widely spoken, and signs, menus, and public

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info are usually bilingual. Knowing a few Maltese phrases can
endear you to locals—greetings like “Merħba” (Welcome),
“Grazzi” (Thank you), and “X’hemm?” (What’s up?) are
simple yet effective ways to connect.

Health-wise, Malta boasts modern medical facilities, but it’s

wise to have travel insurance that covers medical care and
emergencies. Pharmacies are plentiful and well-stocked. The
Mediterranean sun is strong, so sunscreen, hats, and hydration
are musts, especially in summer. Tap water is safe to drink, but
many locals prefer bottled for taste.

Safety in Malta is generally very high. Violent crime is rare, and

locals tend to be friendly and helpful. That said, usual travel
precautions apply: watch your belongings in crowded areas,
avoid poorly lit streets late at night, and be cautious when
swimming in rough seas or unfamiliar beaches. Always heed
local advice about currents and tides, especially around cliffs or
isolated coves.

Cultural etiquette matters and is often straightforward. Maltese

people are warm but traditional, so dress modestly when visiting
churches or religious sites—covering shoulders and knees is a
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good rule of thumb. Public displays of affection are generally
accepted but avoid anything too overt, especially in rural areas
or during religious festivals. When attending festas or religious
events, be respectful of ceremonies and processions—
photograph discreetly and avoid loud chatter during solemn
moments.

Tipping is appreciated but not compulsory. In restaurants,

leaving around 10% is customary if service isn’t included. Taxi
drivers don’t expect much tip, but rounding up the fare is polite.
For hotel staff and guides, a small gratuity is a nice gesture for
good service.

Connectivity is good. Free Wi-Fi is common in cafés, hotels,

and public spaces in larger towns. If you plan to roam a lot or
work remotely, consider buying a local SIM card from providers
like GO or Epic for affordable data plans.

Weather-wise, Malta enjoys a Mediterranean climate. Summers

are hot and dry, perfect for beach days, while winters are mild
and wetter but still very comfortable for sightseeing. Spring and
autumn are ideal shoulder seasons—less crowded, pleasant
temperatures, and lively with festivals and harvest events.
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Finally, be open and curious. Maltese hospitality runs deep, and
locals love sharing stories, traditions, and recommendations.
Whether it’s a tiny bakery with the best pastizzi, a tucked-away
chapel, or a fishing boat offering sea tours, asking questions will
reward you with experiences off the typical tourist track.

Malta might be small in size, but it’s huge in character and

heart. Armed with these tips, you’re ready to explore
confidently, respect local customs, and soak up everything this
unique archipelago has to offer.

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 Accommodation Prices and Entry fees for
attraction sites in Malta (2025-2026)

When it comes to accommodation prices in Malta, you’ll find a

variety of options across different budgets. On the affordable
end, budget hotels, guesthouses, and hostels typically range
from about 30 to 60 euros per night. These are great for travelers
who want clean, comfortable stays without too many frills. Mid-
range hotels and boutique guesthouses often fall between 70 and
150 euros a night, offering extra amenities like pools, breakfast,
or proximity to major sights. For those seeking luxury, five-star
hotels and resorts—especially in Valletta, St. Julian’s, or along
the coast—can range anywhere from 180 up to 400 euros or
more per night during peak season. Prices tend to be higher in
summer months, especially July and August, so booking early is
wise. Gozo tends to be slightly less expensive overall, though
top-end places still command premium rates during festivals or
holidays.

As for attraction entry fees, Malta is surprisingly affordable.

Many historical sites charge a modest entrance price: for
example, the magnificent Ħal Saflieni Hypogeum requires
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advance booking and costs about 35 euros per person, reflecting
its exclusivity and delicate preservation needs. The famous
Ġgantija Temples on Gozo typically cost around 10 euros to
enter. The majestic Mdina Old City itself has no entrance fee,
but if you visit the Mdina Cathedral Museum, expect to pay
roughly 5 to 7 euros. The grand St. John’s Co-Cathedral in
Valletta is one of the more popular attractions, with an entry fee
around 15 euros, granting access to its ornate interior and
priceless Caravaggio paintings. Fort St. Elmo and the National
War Museum have entry fees hovering around 10 to 12 euros.
For natural wonders like the Blue Grotto, boat tours generally
cost between 8 and 12 euros per person. Public gardens such as
the Upper Barrakka Gardens are free, providing gorgeous
views without a ticket. Museums and other smaller sites often
charge between 5 and 12 euros. Many sites offer discounted
rates for students, seniors, and children, so be sure to ask.
Overall, the value is excellent considering the rich history and
well-maintained facilities.

Keeping these typical costs in mind can help you plan a trip that
suits your budget while still experiencing the best Malta offers.

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139
 Insightful Reflection

If there’s one thing Malta teaches you, it’s that greatness doesn’t
always come in size. This tiny Mediterranean jewel, barely a
speck on the map, carries within it the weight of centuries, the
warmth of its people, and a coastline kissed by sunlight in the
gentlest, most golden way. Whether you found yourself
mesmerized by the golden walls of Mdina, basking in the blue
waters of Comino, or wandering through Valletta’s regal streets
at sunset, Malta leaves its mark quietly—but deeply.

This guide was created not just to help you navigate Malta’s
winding alleyways and ferry routes, but to help you feel the
rhythm of the islands. To eat as the locals do. To learn their
stories. To fall in step with the pulse of the villages and the hush
of the temples. May this journey stay with you long after you’ve
left—maybe in a photo, maybe in a flavor, maybe just in a
moment you’ll remember years from now, standing barefoot in
the warm sand, thinking: Yes, I really was there.

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