Island of Joy

The early morning light in October is beautiful. It glows softly at the limestone houses. The typical Maltese balconies strike me again with their classic elegance. I like the busi-ness of the people here. Old women walk the narrow streets, dressed in a classic way, almost French. They wear a pleaded skirt with a blouse or a checkered dress with a neat light jacket. And occasionally a shopping bag. They look timeless. As timeless as their age.

I park the car at Saint Francis square to have tea at the Beeheeve. It’s like a chapter from a book. I am the observer, the narrator. I am not part of the scene. The Beeheeve and Tapies bar next to it, have plastic tables and chairs outside. The weather is great. Mid October, Saturday morning 7.30 am. There’s only men sitting here. Timeless men. Countless men. I walk inside and order a tea. I am the outsider. This strange bewildered feeling is what I need right now, right here. Gozo is beautiful. If it’s not this island, what is it then?

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