Help: crazy Gizmo on the loose!!

As many of you know, about a year ago Andre’ and I decided it was time for the next step in our relationship… We had just bought our beautiful apartment and wanted it to feel like home. Babies are definitely part of our “plan”, but we wanted a “test baby” first and so on a sunny day in March 2008 Gizmo walked into our life and home. Little did we know a baby would’ve been the easier and cheaper option.

We immediately fell head over heels for our chubby black labrador retriever with mischievous eyes. He was the only one of the bunch hiding under the sofa, falling asleep on his uncle Jason’s hand and looking at us with that adorable grin we now identify as the “don’t-leave-me-on-my-own-or-I’ll-destroy-whatever-I-can-find” look.

The first weeks were hell, but we didn’t mind. It was, after all, a new adventure we had been looking forward to. No matter how often we used to walk him, Gizmo would pee and poo all over the apartment, proudly looking up at his masters after every one of his many toilet breaks. Meanwhile, he’s learned our home is not a 130 sqm public toilet, but some of his bad habits remain.

Gizmo likes chewing. He chews everything, from shoes (including my favourite Morgan stilettos) to chairs, quilts and carpets. His most impressive and expensive chew toys so far include a mobile phone, Andre’s passport (much to the amusement of the public servants who had to replace it for him two days before he was due to leave on a business trip), a remote control, two pairs of glasses and my lemon tree.

Another issue is his jumping craze. He’s always liked jumping up at visitors to express his joy at welcoming them into our (or should I say “his”?) home, but lately he’s become like a high jumper, aiming for our face and trying to attack joggers in the garden.

Walking is supposed to be the easiest thing to teach a lab according to our specialised book… We’ve tried all possible chains, collars and harnesses on the market, nothing seems to stop Gizmo from dragging us along. I weigh only a few kilos more than him, so walking him is quite a feat, to say the least. Once I was nearly hit by a car, another time I fell and bruised my leg.

Despite what everyone thinks, we really do try to train him. We scold him whenever he does something we disapprove of, but somehow he just won’t understand. He thinks it’s all a game… and every chase and punishment turns into a face-licking session. We’ve heard of obedience classes in Malta being organised on Wednesday evenings, but to be honest we’re exhausted after a day of work and the last thing we want to do is break an arm trying to keep Gizmo from chasing all his “classmates”.

Any tips or ideas? Any similar experiences? Help us, we’re at our wits’ end…

Italy vs. Malta: account of an Easter break

Being half Italian, I love spending my holidays in Italy. Andre’ and I try to go to Northern Italy twice a year to enjoy the good food, wine and company of friends and family. Last week we had a great Easter break in the Veneto region.

We’re frequent travellers and we’ve tried quite a few airlines over the years. We love Air Malta, because it’s efficient and offers a great service, including in-flight meals, a luxury nowadays. However, as our destination is serviced by a low-cost airline and Air Malta’s prices have failed to drop despite the financial crisis, we’ve had to lower our standards and go for the cheaper option: Ryanair.

I’m not a fussy traveller, but I like comfort and efficiency. Ryanair is known for its no-frills service, but is reliable in terms of timeliness and baggage handling. Its passengers, however, still have a lot to learn! Ryanair doesn’t assign seat numbers, which is acceptable given its low fares (mind you, not always… book late and you’re stuck with higher prices than scheduled flights, partly because of all the additional costs: checked-in baggage, credit-card payments etc.). The Maltese are known for their orderly attitude towards queueing: they form a straight line and patiently await their turn. The Italians, however, tend to be a little more… how shall I put this? Pushy, literally! And once they’ve showed their boarding card at the gate, they break into a sprint… because you never know… the plane might just take off without them!

Suitability as travel companions: Italians: 0 – Maltese: 1

Andre’ and I spent our holiday at my parents’ house, in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by hills. We love it there: the weather is great, the people are amazingly friendly and the food is fresh and delicious. As we both work with computers all day, we were looking forward to a week without internet access… It was not to be. My father has been trying to get internet access in our holiday home for years and this year, after our neighbours had finally managed to secure their adsl connection, he was determined not to leave without an active connection. He had heard about “internet keys”, a kind of USB contraption which is quite popular in Italy. We signed a contract for a “chiavetta Tre” and kept our fingers crossed. After six days of phoning the help desk and several trips to the outlet which sold us the device, we had to give up… No refund, despite all the European regulations which supposedly protect consumers, no explanation as to why the gadget just won’t work and no apology for the crappy service…

IT and customer care: Italians: 0 – Maltese: 1

Pizza… it’s our favourite food! And what better place to enjoy it than Italy? Think again! On Easter Monday we decided to go for a stroll in Padova, where we had lunch in a La Lanterna, a pizzeria in one of the main squares. The prices were average, the interior below average and the food simply disgusting: soggy and tasteless. Then the coup de grâce: burnt espresso. After a long walk to digest that inedible goo, we went to one of the best ice-cream parlours in the city centre for a slush… or so we thought. We were given a plastic cup containing coloured liquid with lemon flavour. No ice anywhere in sight.

Pizza and ice cream: Italians: 0 – Maltese: 1

We had a great holiday. We love Italy and are definitely looking forward to our next trip in summer, but we must admit we were very relieved when the plane touched ground in Malta and all the passengers clapped their hands… the Ryanair tradition. Or maybe just a way to say “thank God we’re home”.

Sludge

I love coffee. No, correction: I’m totally addicted to coffee. I spent half a year studying in Italy, where I used to drink seven to eight espressos a day. The result: I couldn’t sleep and I was moody most of the time. Upon my return home, I swore off the black “sludge”, as Ed, one of my dear friends, calls it… but not for long. I just couldn’t resist.

Malta, as a former British colony, is more of a “tea nation”. Then again, our little rock lies just beneath Sicily, so espresso – the “real” coffee – is readily available. Not all bar attendants are familiar with the different types of espresso, though. Once Andre’ and I went to Birgu for cake and, you guessed it… a nice espresso. It had been a very long day, and we needed a caffeine kick, so we ordered an “espresso doppio” (a double espresso). Unfortunately, something went wrong in the preparation and I ended up sipping a thick insoluble mix of ground coffee… Not very appealing.

My friends don’t understand my coffee addiction (and let's face it, Andre's quite fond of the black sludge too). When they invite us for dinner, we have to take our Bialetti coffee maker with us. Why? Because we refuse to drink tea after eating (not the ideal drink to digest a good meal, but nice with scones on a cold winter afternoon) and we absolutely hate Nescafé (how was that ever labelled as coffee?).

In the end, living in a country where the British and the Italian culture go hand in hand, we have the best of both worlds: afternoon tea and morning coffee (I’m not referring those awfully dry “Morning Coffee” biscuits here!). And the best part is: all the great Italian brands can be found in any supermarket (Lavazza, Illy, Segafredo…). What more can a girl ask for?

Ode to colour

I love colours… In secondary school my classmates used to call me “fluo Amy”, because of my love for bright yellow, orange, red and pink tops. My fashion sense has slightly improved since, but my love for colours remains.

From up high, through the tiny windows of a plane, Malta looks like a pale yellow spot in the deep blue sea. On descending, however, green fields appear, surrounded by meticulously constructed rubble walls and colourful flowers covering the rocks, which boast a vast colour palette, from dark grey to soft beige.

The sky is a magical shade of blue and at sunrise and sunset the sea surface becomes a painter’s easel. Walking the dog in the small garden down the road overlooking the beach at 6 am just makes me feel alive. I love the smells, the silence, that sense of tranquillity… and the colours of the water, the sky, the soil and the plants.

The balconies of traditional Maltese townhouses are painted red, green, yellow, brown, black or blue. The same goes for the doors in Mdina, which are famous for their unusual doorknobs. But what about the new face of Malta, those modern apartment blocks sprouting up on every corner? Well, they too bring a colourful touch to this tiny island with their colourful façades.

Village “festas” decorate the sky with flashy fireworks all summer. A trip to the Sunday fish market in Marsaxlokk, where brightly painted wooden boats adorn the sea front, is a feast for the eyes. A walk around the island instantly brings a smile to your face, even on a rainy day.

Why this ode to colour? Because we often forget what truly makes life beautiful… those seemingly irrelevant bits and pieces of daily life that catch our eye and linger in our minds, those sights that remind us of our childhood, when a simple red flower in a field could fill us with awe…

Service with a smile

“After-sales service”, “customer care”… there are dozens of names for it, that unhelpful attitude that goes with knowing you’ve sold your product or service and there’s no way back for the poor customer.

The Maltese are amazing salespeople: buying new kitchen appliances? Why not upgrade? We’ve got a great offer! There go the 1,000 euros we were saving up for a big glass table (now we’re stuck with a smaller, cheaper version)! Have some extra cash in your account? Why not invest it in a savings plan? The outcome: a monthly transfer from my savings account for the next forty years. You have cable TV with our company? We now also sell mobile phone packages and internet connections… Not interested? Well, maybe you could upgrade your cable package then? We’ve got… Nope, not this time, thanks!

I’m so easily persuaded by small talk. That’s why I should never be left in a shop on my own. Or in a shopping street, or close to a phone… I should never be left alone full stop. I suffer from “compulsive pleasing syndrome”, which manifests itself with a willingness to buy anything that’s offered to me by a smiling salesperson.

The issue is not the fact that I buy, buy, buy… but the fact that everything I buy seems to break within an unreasonable timeframe. New kitchen appliances: cooker doesn’t work within one day from installation (reason: I didn’t know about the magic switch labelled “cooker” on the wall). New washing machine: cannot be installed due to lack of tap (who knew a washing machine just won’t work without a tap?). New ASDL connection: cables between Sicily and Malta are damaged (and I’m cut off from the world for days). New mobile for Andre’: chewed by the dog on two occasions (never managed to get a refund for that one, no matter how hard I tried).

As soon as my cash card has been swiped, the smile disappears. Sure, there’s a one-year guarantee (“we don’t follow the EU regulations guaranteeing two years here”), but it’s only valid in case of damage which hasn’t been caused by wear and tear, the plastic parts are not covered (even if 90% of the bloody thing consists of some form of plastic!) and labour costs are charged by the hour… In short, solve it yourself or buy a new one!

And since we’re mainly a service-based economy, we offer our customers a “service with a smile”… or the typical Mediterranean laissez-faire attitude. Internet connection not working? “Just relax, within four hours or one day max (!) everything will be restored.” Power cut on a weekday at 9 am? “Don’t worry, we’ll be done patching up by noon.” Internet banking account not topped up three days after your transfer? “Wait another two days… that should do it.”

The worst part is… you actually stop caring after a while. You take your cup of tea and patiently wait, and wait… and wait. If you can’t beat them, join them!

Public transport or...?

Andre’ doesn’t like taking the bus. He says – and I quote – that the Maltese buses are “smelly, overcrowded and unreliable”.

My first bus ride was from San Gwann to Valletta. What an experience. Maltese buses are… well ancient, mostly. We do have some new “King Longs” (no joke!) with TV screens advertising cleaning services and the like, but most buses date back to prehistoric times and come with a rope bell, which doubles as a support mechanism when the suspensions (if any) give way (at every traffic light/stop sign/pothole/opportunity for the driver to have a chat with his friends in the middle of the road).

In Malta there’s no such thing as a schedule. Well, in theory there is, but it’s nowhere to be found. And if you do get your hands on one, rest assured it won’t be respected by the amazingly friendly and articulate drivers (by no means am I generalising).

My sister Debbie and I once witnessed the friendliness and approachability of these creatures first-hand. Summer of 2006. Debbie and I are on a bus from Sliema to Valletta. A merry tourist hands the driver LM 0.23 (Maltese liri, our long-lost currency) in 1c coins. The driver grabs the money, gives the tourist an angry look and throws the coins out of the door (bus doors are never closed here… why bother?). Then he mumbles some swear words in Maltese and instructs the puzzled tourist to have a seat (by pointing at the wooden slats covered with gooey foam one is supposed to sit on). Debbie is shocked. I give her a reassuring nod.

October 2008. Andre’ and I go to Valletta for the evening to enjoy the “Notte Bianca”. After a few hours visiting the national library and some churches, and gobbling down pastizzi (for a change), we decide to head home with the night bus. The driver is clearly very worried about health and safety rules, as he spends fifteen minutes chattering on his mobile while zigzagging his way through traffic. I decide to confront him. Bad move. Thank God Andre’ comes to the rescue.

For the record, Andre’ and I have a car. A new one, which we hardly ever use. Our insurance premium is sky-high. Yearly maintenance costs us a fortune. Would we trade it for the greener option, public transport? Let’s face it, would you?

Malta? That would be... somewhere in Europe?

Many people have no idea where Malta is. I must admit that I had no idea when I first heard about it... this being a few years ago. “Is it an island near Portugal?” I asked Andre’. Needless to say, I immediately ran off to the bookshop to gather some reading material on the enlargement of the EU, to avoid any further embarrassment and painful silences.

When I moved here, I didn’t really know what to expect. Holiday island, sunny and hot all year round? 316 square km of claustrophobia-inducing rocks? Overcrowded building site?

Let’s see… Holiday island? Check! British tourists strolling on the beach wearing shorts, long white socks and sandals in January, when temperatures can easily plummet to 7 or 8°C… How to spot them, apart from their inappropriate wardrobe? Just follow the purple legs, yellow caps and sun lotion scent!

Sunny and hot all year round? Now there’s a myth! Ever tried sleeping in a room without air conditioning (or any form of heating for that matter) covered in humid sheets (that’s an understatement, make that: wet and clingy sheets)? Weather-wise, this year has been the worst so far… End of March and still waiting for the sun to shine through our 5-m patio doors! And we bought sunblock blinds and a sun lounger just a few weeks ago… should’ve spent that money on flannel duvet covers instead!

316 square km of claustrophobia-inducing rocks? Yes, that’s right: 316 square kilometres. Hard to believe? It’s really not THAT small… And no, you can’t walk round the island in one day. Rocks: we’ve got loads of those. They come in the form of cliffs, beaches, carved-out (potholed) roads… quite fascinating, I must say, considering I had never even seen a rocky beach before moving here. Claustrophobia? Nowhere in sight. There are so many ways to counter the “island feeling” (you know: “I’m surrounded by water, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide”): boat trips to Gozo, a drive in the countryside (yes, we even have that!) or simply a one-way trip to the airport.

Overcrowded building site? Unfortunately. Cosy houses of character exuding history are making way for modern high-rise condominiums with state-of-the-art facilities at an unimaginable pace. The result: we’re surrounded by sand, cranes and noisy workers. Ah well, Andre’ and I actually bought a brand-new flat in the centre of real estate heaven, so maybe I’m not in a position to criticise…

Trust me, life IS beautiful here. I would never move back to Northern Europe. Like every country, Malta has its flaws… but what beats pastizzi and Kinnie at Cordina on a sunny Sunday morning? Hmm, maybe lemon meringue at Fontanella… You get the picture!