Thoughts and happenings from a life on Malta

Make no mistake. There's no Chinese influence on this post, even though yesterday I was following a multi-national debate on the culinary habits and predilictions of the various nationalities that made up my group of students: Belgian, French, Spanish, Korean, Brazilian, Libyan and Chinese. Neither is this a reference to food, be it main courses or desserts. Besides, it was still 6.55 of a Saturday morning when I was assaulted by the salty and the sweet.

The wide arms of Pwales valley, which extend to form Xemxija bay, offer an open welcome to north-easterly winds. When these reach force 7 or more (as happened overnight), the road which seperates the swelling sea from the Simar nature reserve becomes a breakwater. The result is that the frustrated waves don't only throw a tantrum but anything imaginable at the tarmacked obstacle - the small, like pebbles; the soft, such as seaweed; the sizeable, as the boat which found itself parked close to the Pitstop kiosk. In its foaming fury, the sea's spittle splashes across the sidewalk and, on this particular morning, drenched me (a willing victim, I must add) with a shower of moistened salt. If the ocean thought it would dampen my mood with its actions, it couldn't have been more mistaken. The salt on my lips served as a foretaste of the approaching summer, setting me smiling.

Half-an-hour later, envious that I was still in high spirits, the entity that commands the heavens cracked its whip. The clouds, which until then had been visibly pregnant, delivered a deluge while the accompanying thunder increased in frequency and decibels - that's one hell of a slave driver up there! Despite its best efforts, nature failed to match my mood to the colour of the depressed sky. Rather, the sweetness of the rain water helped wash my body and clothes clean of the encrusting salty grains.

This morning I tasted the sweet and I savoured the salty ... and I relished them both.