Queuing up for a couple of cucumbers

What’s happening to Malta? Keep the silly season here or we shall all die of a serious problem: the problem of taking ourselves way too seriously. And if all culprits of this malaise are to be shot I’d have to arrange a firing squad for myself. I promised myself I’d write about humour or the lack of it on this sweet land of ours and what do I do? I have already, in my intro, mentioned the words serious, problem, death and malaise. Google the article and you’d be forgiven to think that I’m Nostradamus prophesying some illness-induced universal doom.
But then, joking and firing of guns and missiles apart, we do take things seriously, don’t we? Maybe we’ve forgotten (have we as a nation started suffering from short-term memory loss?) that we took a few centuries to discuss when the divorce referendum was to be held.
Then a few more parliamentary sessions that dragged on till kingdom come to discuss the proper wording and then we debated the result and the resultant tussle with the conscience of some and the resultant passage of a law that I would have thought should have been on our statute books for long decades. But it is a land of strange deeds indeed.
Now we have gone into the sexual peccadilloes of Cyrus Engerer, the deputy mayor of Sliema, and his lover or former lover. And also his new-found love for Labour and new-found hatred for his old love, the Nationalists. I just hope he does not have impure pictures of his old political love. There’s love and perfidy in the air, so all is fun and frolic.
Cyrus is a politician, besides being other things, which he is more than free to be, lest I be accused of homophobia or some other phobia. But if he did send those photos of his ex-lover to friends, foes and other countrymen then the man is not a trustworthy lover. If a man cannot be trusted in love can he be trusted to keep our roads in Sliema nice and tidy?
But there is more hidden humour and layers of unbelievable fun. Besides the gutter sniggering of silly macho men whose horrid homophobia would scare the pants off any Commissioner of Police of the politically correct, the Cyrus saga seems to have been scripted by some creative comedian the likes of which Hollywood, Bollywood or even Eileen Montesin have never even dreamt about.
Let’s see some of the dramatis personae involved. No, let’s first ask the Stitching guy, who had a play banned because he was way too forward, to come along and get this dramatised. The censors would have a field day banning it. Too lurid for our immature minds, they would all cry in unison. Said drama would have us all at last in stitches and, maybe, we would realise we do take things, even petty things, too seriously.
Back to the cast in this long-drawn-out saga. We have a dad interrogated by the police for allegedly smoking pot; a Cyrus-lover who dumps Cyrus then forgives Cyrus but doesn’t really and who then dumps his lawyers as they are too Labour for him. We have the Labour Party leader who progressively accepts Cyrus into his rainbow fold. We have a high-ranking government official who is also godfather of Cyrus and who phones the Police Commissioner to touch base and, finally, we have a Saviour who remembers three years after the occurrence that said godfather of Cyrus used to visit him in the dead of night to give him juicy tidbits and tittle-tattle to use and publicise in his newspaper. In our Saviour we hardly trust.
If some of these plots and sub-plots were dreamt up by that silly scriptwriter mentioned above he or she would surely have been dragged to court accused of being high on pot. “The plot,” the magistrate would pronounce from his podium, “is way too silly. Console yourself in tears and resign your position this very instant!”
While all this madness was actually happening in Malta and not in some silly and inebriated mind, other stories were unfolding. A man who went on hunger strike hit the news. Again, the Labour camp jumped into the fray.
Camp, unfortunately, could be an opportune word to drag into the discussion, what with Cyrus and the gay porn star being so much in the limelight. But, then again, with Labour dying to show its rainbow credentials maybe it does want to be associated with the world of camp and maybe (just maybe) even drag and drag queens and such lurid stuff. Maybe besides the usual mayhem on Mayday, when Labour leaders all join hands bedecked in flowery wear, maybe they will now also dress in drag. Not sure if we can ask Lawrence Gonzi and his erstwhile ministers to do the same. I think their strong conscience will prick them and stop them.
So where was I? Oh yes, porn in the land. The hunger striker wanted to oust poor, beleaguered Austin Gatt. The Prime Minister, always great at saving, salvaging and solving, visited the striker who immediately ate two kiwis and Dr Gatt sighed a great sigh of relief. Not sure if it was coincidental but some Arriva routes were changed just after the man on hunger strike conceded to eat the prime kiwis.
Now the porn star-turned-human-rights-activist has embraced Dr Gonzi and his ways to the utter exasperation of Joseph Muscat.
The Labour camp was stunned: they were sure that the porn industry was all agog and behind them and their modern new ways of doing politics under one great umbrella. Now the gutter industry, or at least one of its most visible exponents in Malta, has been bought for a couple of kiwis. At least in his infinite knowledge, Dr Gonzi supplied him with kiwis.
Only divine intervention would have saved the day for the scriptwriter of our never-ending farce if he had offered the man a cucumber and a couple of figs.

This article first appeared in The Times August 27, 2011

Santa Maria, Malta's top public holiday

Santa Maria, on 15 August is the day for you if you love festas, food, colour and joyous noise all meshed up in a panoply of fireworks and revelry. However, those not so festa friendly, may say ‘save us from Santa Maria’!

Malta is always colourful but in summer we do go ballistic especially in commemoration of village and town patron saints. Seeing the revelry that goes on during the festa band marches, it’s hard to remember that these feasts are to commemorate people who probably led an austere or merit-worthy life of good deeds.

For a glorious day of feasts nothing beats August 15. In Malta and Gozo the day is known as Santa Maria (or Santa Marija, its Maltese spelling); it’s also a public holiday. There are seven localities which hold a festa that day. Celebrations are held in style and with pizzazz in piazzas. The day is in commemoration of the ascension of Our Lady, mother of Christ. Besides the fireworks and colourful stuff, you also get a variety of food, drink and festive marches with people having endless fun. Our Lady’s entry into heaven is commemorated so grandly here on earth that she might feel a bit let down with what happens up in the heavens above.

Maltese love noise and we also adore making merry for whatever reason, be it the World Cup or the build-up to a general election. It’s not always clear whether the cause or saint being officially commemorated is really the reason for the fun which sees people cavorting in a semi- or fully-drunken stupor. But who cares why we celebrate. We do and we love seeing visitors joining in the fun.

Santa Marija is however also celebrated solemnly (religiously and in good taste in churches throughout Malta) and with gusto in these localities whose parishes honour her: Attard, Mosta, Mqabba, Qrendi, Gudja, Ghaxaq, and Victoria, Gozo (for a full list of Parish Feasts in August, click here).

I must warn you about Gozo on the eve of Santa Maria. A horde of Malta residents heads to Gozo around the 15 August as the week around Santa Marija see most firms shutdown for a summer recess. Ferry trips to and from the sister isle can be a bit more time consuming. If you are going up, remember to take a lot of water and sun protection as you’ll get dehydrated out on the scorching Tarmac at the Cirkewwa ferry terminal as you can wait up to an hour with no shade! Ah, what we do for a holiday! Perhaps it’s best to stay in those airy, cool churches and celebrate the feast that way!

This article first appeared in Malta Inside Out August 2011
Photo: Leslie Vella

The Libyan crisis: a personal view

While business is important nothing is as harrowing as human loss

After the quick ouster of Ben Ali from Tunisia and Mubarak from Egypt some thought or hoped that Gaddafi would be hounded out of Libya in a few days or weeks. The scenario imagined was that the swift transition would then hopefully lead to a type of democratic government; after a few months or years of reconstruction all would have turned rosy and business-like in Libya and also in the neighbouring lands. Dreams obviously are hardly the usual currency used in these times and situations. And the dream of a resurgent, free Libya has sadly turned into a veritable nightmare with its attendant loss of lives and material.

The Libyan crisis has gone on for quite a while and for a long time did not seem to abate or find any solution. Only lately, and after incessant attacks by Nato and some other allies and a seeming draining of the inestimable riches of the old regime, does it seem probable that the fall of Gaddafi is imminent. The rebels, even if assisted by some pounding from the air by NATO and other allies, did not seem to have made much headway against the forces of Gaddafi. Deaths, strategic rape and maiming by the Gaddafi troops, coupled with inefficient and ineffectual rebel forces had contributed to the long-drawn-out stalemate. Gaddafi, his inner and extended family and his cohorts of business associates and backers, desperately tried to keep their hold on Libya and take back the parts of the country they had lost to the rebels. In the meantime people were dying and getting injured.
It is quite amazing that after 40 odd years of subduing and subjugating suffering, the Libyan people, following on the lead of neighbouring populations, rose and seemed to be heading to the same quick results. Gaddafi seemed lost and in a panic – notably when, for some strange PR or morale effect, he first spoke to the nation under a clown’s umbrella after descending from a battered car. Even Saif el islam, his heir apparent, seemed cornered and promised in a bizarre way even “more” democracies and liberties. Now he has once again promised free elections. This promise, coupled with his father’s infamous threat to go from house to house and seek, hound and kill the rebels, seemed to indicate that even in the Gaddafi household not all was rosy and united.

Saif el islam Gaddafi, the son with the influential friends from the west and a loved champion of opening up Libya to more humane western-friendly methods, seemed to imply that in return for remaining in power the Gaddafis would shower the population with ‘more’ liberties. He said this while emphasising that the population is not exactly the most intelligent or deserving: but it doesn’t really matter as, he further implied, we Gaddafis have plenty of liberties in our sack to dish out. It is one of those bizarre stories that show up these tin-pot dictators, even if savvy-sounding and highly educated in the west, for what they really are: to them dishing out a few “liberties” would solve the problem. When the reality was, and unfortunately has, remained that what the population, or a vast majority of it, wants, first of all, is the immediate removal of the regime in toto, and the hope of a better way of life afterwards. Sadly when you have been suffering for over 40 years, any respite is good, so although there might be strange hands lurking behind the rebels, the ones who matter most –the people−want just that: the ouster of the tyrant and basic rights to live happily without constant worries and to have all the western attributes of free press, proper justice and the possibility of running your business or enterprise without interference.
That was the common dream but the nightmare scenario goes on and people go on dying. Unconfirmed and unconfirmable statistics talk of 10,000 dead amongst the rebels. The country which has one of the world’s most lucrative oil supplies is in a paralytic state and all this has contributed to more jitters in the world and plenty of worrying on our shores especially regarding the immigration influx, business and tourism angles.
It is only fair and right to worry and shed tears about the troubles we, as a nation, are facing. But it would be rather more humane and even proper decency to be more concerned with the shed blood and tears of the peoples of Libya. Even if one does not go into the merits or demerits of who is right and who is wrong, we all appreciate that there has been a horrid loss of lives. After living for so long in a country where basic human rights, which we in Malta and in the west take for granted, were denied, they asked for their own share of a better life and all they got was a barrage of tank and sniper fire. So even if the crisis in Libya comes off the centre stage of media attention, we should all keep in mind that all our suffering or potential suffering is a non-starter when compared to what the Libyan people had and have to endure.
We rightly worry about the consequences of the business backlash we are suffering in Malta; we also talk about the effects on the employment of people who were working in Libya; we talk of the potential harm to our tourism sector with bookings being cancelled because of our proximity to the war; we talk of the business ventures of Maltese companies which invested heavily in Libya; we talk of companies which have Libyan co-ownership and which therefore have an inflow of capital suspended because of sanctions; we talk of the very real onslaught of immigrants who are coming to our land and whom we cannot accommodate properly. All this is most blatantly and worryingly true but all pales into insignificance when we think of the dead and maimed and the grieving family members of the dead. All this should be kept in its proper perspective if we are to keep alive our humanitarian viewpoint.
When some of the comments regarding “our” suffering are taken into consideration it does seem that the racist slur on us is valid. We are not seen to commiserate in our feelings towards the Libyans because we, as a nation, seem to look at them with distaste. Would this apparent coolness of ours be the same if all this human suffering was happening in Britain, Spain or Italy? Only a hundred kilometers divide us from Libya and most Maltese people sound and look more like them than the vast number of Europeans to our North. And yet we do not seem to empathise enough. Malta definitely has a headache which has grown to a worrying degree because of the neighbouring troubles. But do we keep in mind that the neighbour, especially some of its people, has a terrible and, most probably, a malignant tumour? Our headache will take a few days to pass unless we speed up the recovery by popping a few pills into our system. Libya’s condition and the condition of its inhabitants is more worrying and could last long years of suffering and surgery. The country as a country we knew till a few months ago could die and out of it a warring or worrying two countries could be born. And we dare worry about us?
But although we should give more time and thought to the Libyan plight it is not right to sit back and do nothing. After all it is a terrible headache we have. And so to work and to proper work we should go. Is there anything that can be done in these circumstances and if the authorities, the nation in general and the institutions are doing anything, are they doing enough?
The Labour Party in opposition had called on Government to hold a parliamentary debate on the subject with a view to assisting the companies most at risk and most likely to have problems, with special emphasis on employment. The motion presented by the Labour Party talked of discussing the “real situation” of Maltese investment and investors in Libya. Real as opposed to fictitious? The Maltese Parliament seemed to be lost in simple semantics and long drawn out discussions regarding divorce or, to be more precise, the exact dating and wording of the divorce referendum. Now we will be going on and on about the proper wording of the divorce bill both before and after it is promulgated.
Offering assistance to companies stuck in the Libyan quagmire might seem right at first sight but can government intervene in this way and help companies which invested in a country which had a high risk factor? Further reading of the proposed Labour motion in Parliament which, it seems, will remain collecting various mothballs and whatever happens to undiscussed motions, reveals that the opposition are proposing that government assists the companies affected by the Libyan crisis without adding new tax burdens on the Maltese and Gozitan taxpayers. I doubt whether there exist too many options to assist these companies without a dip into the government’s coffers but maybe that is why government should accept to discuss the motion. It would be interesting to hear what the opposition’s ideas are to help the companies in distress without any money flowing out.
Government had pledged to give all stricken companies a longer timeframe to pay off their tax dues. This was a positive step. But if government does assist these companies materially this could give out the wrong message. In the future, if companies invest in countries with risky economies which usually give tantalising returns, they will do so with more confidence knowing full well that if that country falters the government would be there to bail them out.
A comparison was made with the way government acted when the 2008 recession to end all recessions hit or was soon to hit Malta. Then the government had rightly made calculated and opportune undertakings with some manufacturing companies which were most hit by the economic meltdown. What government offered these companies was help to give them enough oxygen to keep their employee levels and to generate more business. The turnaround of the world’s economies then found these companies even stronger so thanks to government assistance the employment levels of Malta were kept intact and this contributed to the economic turnaround of the whole of Malta. But no single market or line of markets was singled out.
No one has yet said what the investment level of Maltese companies in Libya is. And few have actually terminated any employment of staff stationed in Libya. Neither has the investment of Libyan companies in Malta been quantified. The estimated number of Maltese personnel working in Libya was at the time of the start of the hostilities given as 500. One of the few statistics that was announced by government was the number of companies that applied for assistance to Malta Enterprise. The number was 70 but no more details were announced of size of investment or of the assistance sought. Whatever the quantifiable numbers are, the ripple effects of all this is enormous. Besides the direct involvement and suffering of Maltese companies with huge investments in Libya and all the employees affected there are a vast number of effects the Libyan problem has and will have on the Maltese islands’ economy. Schools, accommodation rental, services rendered to people working in Libya, flights of expats who had a base in Malta but worked in Libya.
Just as Government is giving extended timeframes to these companies to settle their tax dues, maybe some assistance could be offered by associations like the Chamber of Commerce to make a case to places like the Freeport and the bonded stores to charge less for storage of merchandise which was destined for Libya. Right now the stock in these warehouses is not worth anything, as Libya and Libyan companies are not in a state to accept any commercial purchases. If Government owes anything to these companies maybe some form of expedited payment could be introduced to assist them in their cash flow plight.
All this and more creative thinking on the part of all the stakeholders needs to be done immediately so that the companies and the people who are suffering the indirect consequences of the problem in Libya will not carry on doing so unduly. Business of course will eventually stabilise. Countries ravaged by bitter civil wars, like Spain back in the thirties, have managed to somehow resolve their problems and suffering. Libya will be back on its feet, hopefully soon, although at the moment this seems rather unlikely. Hopefully the little assistance, whether moral or financial, offered to the companies caught in this Libyan crisis, will keep them buoyant and successful in other markets.
Government and the opposition were uncharacteristically united in how to tackle the Libyan crisis when it came to UN resolutions and any military action. They opted not to join any military strikes and hardly condemned the Gaddafi regime and when they did condemn it was always done to make sure it wasn’t too blatant. Except for one or two oblique comments, the Prime Minister, Dr Gonzi, hardly came out in favour of the rebels. The Labour party did even less. Was all this done most to ensure our investments remain intact? It also made us sound as the lovers of double speak, saying little as vaguely and in as contradictory a way as possible. There have been comments by our Minister of Foreign Affairs which could never be fully understood even by an expert in official verbiage.
By not taking sides we are trying to guarantee doing business with both sides. This could be more of a millstone for the Maltese nation and its investments than a good move. We have been acting like the perpetual indecisive people who prefer sitting on the fence and never taking sides. We dilly dally, hoping not to antagonise anyone when in actual fact we annoy both sides in the Libyan conflict as well as all the countries which are waging attacks on Libya. The fact that it has been a complete disaster does not mean we were right. Malta never condemned the attacks on Libya; it just said we are neutral and cannot be a part of a military campaign. Neutrality is an anachronism that should be binned as soon as possible. Neutral from whom? This neutrality stance was adopted when the world was divided in two superpower blocs intent on building unbelievable stockpiles of nuclear warheads and other war-like strategies and stratagems. As a concept it sounds more like a neutering of us even in the face of UN actions. Have the Maltese politicians forgotten that Bush (the older, less bellicose one) and Gorbachev ironically met in Malta and since then the cold war and all its attendant miseries have ended? And just because Germany did the same and did not offer to assist in the attacks on Libya does not mean it, or the decision, is right. The German fear of being tainted again with war and blood seems to have gone deep into their psyche and made them incapable of taking proper, decisive steps in military matters. It seemed strange and rang hollow that the biggest and the smallest nation in the EU washed their hands of any assistance in the military strikes in Libya.
This does not mean that the military action in Libya has been successful. It has been a disaster of a scale that even the old rat Gaddafi, who should be cowering and seeking refuge in some strange pariah state, has withstood it all for way too long. He will never regain his former ludicrously pompous glory and cannot hope to regain all his former bullying stands even if he miraculously still clings on to power by playing a game of chess. Ironically the USA, the former bully in any intervention, even when not sanctioned by the UN, wasnot bellicose enough and tried hard to be a jolly non-aggressive policeman.. Although a bungler and a bully, if George Bush (the younger) was in power he would have sent in his troops even faster than the UN could have called for a meeting. This might have compounded the problem but at least Gaddafi would have quaked and shook and could have fled even before the troops were sent. Instead all Gaddafi heard were some whimpers from the UN and the rest of the Western allies. France and Britain tried hard to act tough but alone, without the USA, they are a toothless couple.
Whatever our economic investment and whatever our status as special neighbour to Libya, we should have denounced the Gaddafi regime as corrupt, violent, anti-democratic and ruthless in its attacks against its own people. And we should have stated most strongly that we oppose the Gaddafi regime even if we might lose his support if he is to ever take over the whole country. It has always been a very strange country, with Gaddafi and his children holding a terrible grip on it. Strangely, the Gaddafis who seem mainly in charge ─ Muammar and Saif ─ both hold no official post and in fact the father once actually asked in his half-jocular half-ominous way what he was to resign from if he was not in charge and held no official post. So although they are de facto in charge they have no position. Having said all this, everyone – Gaddafis included−knows they were very much in charge and have unleashed long anti-democratic powers over their countrymen since Gaddafi took over way back in 1969.

Economies suffer, companies crash, and terrible consequences like unemployment and relative deprivation could seem not just earth-shattering but also the worst scenarios. All this however pales into insignificance when compared to blood, death and human suffering.
As a tail-end to this insight into the Libya situation I would like to quote a story highlighting how wrong articles can be. Please bear with me if the contents you are reading will prove to be completely wrong, unprophetic or wholly out of date. A few months ago the Economist had the following comment: “One of the obvious difficulties with lead times in the magazine industry is the way events can overtake stories. This is problem enough with a weekly publication such as The Economist, but the results can look even more bizarre in a monthly. Thus in an article in its April issue titled ‘The 15 best places to see right now’, Conde Nast traveller told readers to head to Libya. It said ‘With Syria being called the new Morocco and Beirut the new Provinectown, travelers with an eye for antiquity are moving on to Libya.’ The magazine went to press on February 15th, the same day as thousands of Libyans held a rally to protest against the arrest of a well-known human-rights campaigner. In an online version of the article the editor points out the unsuitability of the recommendation.”
How apt to keep this in mind when reading this appraisal and realising that if I am off the mark in some or all of my comments think of the time it takes for articles to be written, processed, checked and ultimately published.

This article first appeared in The Executive

There is bright light in the tunnel

There is light in the tunnel and I do hope no language purist will write in indignantly saying that I have no idea how to write (I hate having to agree with my fawning critics). I know that, usually, the well-worn cliché says light at the end of the tunnel. But, hey, with the Tignè tunnel the light is all over. Pure delight driving through it and not having to braille-drive into a pitch of darkness. So, hurray, I say.

As far as I know, all tunnels previous to this one were built and had their lighting designed by the central authorities better known as “the government”. So maybe there is a story there which I don’t need to elaborate on lest I will be seen as a progressive turncoat dying to abandon ship to join the merry band of “arrivisti” and other rainbow folk who have had a Tarsus-like change in their life and joined the muscat-eer band. No, I don’t need to bash our government or the ministers. They know how to do that and self-immolate with the zest and flair no marketing guru could ever manage to better or even emulate.

The government right now seems to be like a driver on our roads taking us, the passengers, to our desired destination. So merry driver is right now merry no more; he seems to be more of a grumpy bus driver of old. But he is still steady and a good driver with a vision and a good head for proper and significant trouble. But he cannot seem to avoid the potholes he faces: he seems to radar straight to each of those holes. So, first, in his other role of custodian of the streets and defender of the right to pothole our island, he leaves the holes gaping at him (and us) and then he drives straight into them with gusto and silly charm. We, the sillier passengers, shake and rattle and feel the holes down in our spine and remain shaking well after the ride.

But, at least, we get to the destination, so let’s be thankful for all sweet and small mercies. I said I won’t bash the government or its erstwhile exponents. But can I say nothing about our public transport? I know a lot is being said but I will put in my two-cent piece of sense or absolute nonsense.

I believe wholeheartedly in the new service and know, hope and prophesy that, in some months’ time, we will all be breathing our great sigh of relief that we have Arriva. If we do breathe next to an Arriva bus we can actually sigh and breathe in normally unlike what used to happen when those quaint, bone-shaking, pollution-coughing buses graced our land. Unlike most people of the land, I dare say God graced us with a mighty Austin and rid us of charlatans called drivers of “xarabanks”.

It’s sadly true that Arriva got it nearly all wrong. They have a lot of homework to swot on to get the situation properly in hand and get commuters not just to their destination in air-conditioned splendour but also on time. It’s nice to see happy smiling drivers instead of grumpy characters but it would also be good to see commuters happy all the time or most of the time. Cos, hey, remember we are in sunny, hot and sweltering Malta, so all gentle-folk turn into mega-grumblers even if you give them everything right, orderly and as they ordered it.

Going back to the Tignè tunnel, I think the trick would have been to get a private company based in Malta and controlled by one of our enterprising men and women to guide and instruct Arriva. Then we would have had proper-sited bus stops and names, proper routes and proper-sized buses.

I have no clue who the individuals or entities who were consulted by Arriva are and, for all I know, they could be the nicest folk around but I have a slight suspicion it was a government entity. This entity would have had a few million meetings and long sheaves of minutes printed in quadruple and sent to all heads and assistant heads and myriad other heads to keep and classify as super urgent and top secret. Proposals and counter-proposals and committees and sub-committees and secretaries to assist and supervisors to supervise and super-supervisors to control the supervisors and a never-ending stream of bureaucracy and red tape would have given us the result we have had with Arriva.

Arriva will eventually get it right. Here’s my cent’s worth of advice: change your consultants, dump your strategists, stop consulting the government and get a small Maltese outfit that knows the country and its ways to get you on your feet and turn you into a real success story. Our country deserves your success.

In the meantime, I think dear Austin and his Cabinet colleagues should eat that famously humble pie and immediately order an advertising campaign to plaster the whole country saying “We know the public transport service is having some problems. This is caused by a drastic dramatic change that has not been handled perfectly by the authorities and/or by the company chosen. We apologise for all delays, all missed appointments, wasted productive time and endless but justified frustration. We are confident that this situation will not take long to be rectified partially and in time we promise it will be corrected completely. We ask you to continue being patient and to cooperate as much as you can to avoid any more bad blood and maybe avoid real blood from being shed. We are monitoring the service and we will make sure we and the company chosen will eventually get it right for your comfort and well-being.”

If this isn’t done while all the frustration and terrible situation is still prevalent, the people, local and foreign alike, can never feel engaged in this new venture and will not accept the problems they are facing. It is the least the authorities can do to show they are concerned and engaged enough. And visitors to this fair land of ours will not go back home saying we are still a Third World country.

And, finally, please dear minister don’t ask one of your people to write the copy for the ads.

This article appeared in The Times August 5 2011

Please bring back the humans

Going to a petrol station to fill up my old but trustworthy car is not one of my favour¬ite pastimes. I have no idea what petrol costs now but it definitely costs a lot. Whether the minister hedged or not or whether Enemalta should have stored or not doesn’t really bother me except while my petrol tank is filling and I fantasise some sheik or Gaddafi-wannabe feeling great while his coffers are, drop by little drop of my petrol usage, being replenished. Oh to get that electric or gas car industry going. What’s humanity waiting for?
I am the old-fashioned type. I hate filling my tank myself and love getting others to do the job while I savour and sniff the smell that is hardly there any more. More deprivations of the modern world, I suppose.
Where’s the smell gone? Or is it my olfactory powers diminishing? I admit I have used the automatic pumps and even managed to occasionally, so although I am a complete idiot with any modern gadgetry I do accept it in cases of dire need.
I have regretted it when my euro notes keep getting rejected, making it seem as if I had just printed them in my own mint, which you definitely need to keep any car going anywhere these days. Maybe Arriva, after it stops apologising, will solve all our woes and worries.
Mentioning mint a few words previously brings to mind the other old dinosaur Dom Mintoff who would surely have raved and ranted against petrol pump automation if he were still, God forbid, leading and saving this land of ours from all strange and modern ways. If he ranted against computers taking the place of humans and so depriving us poor Maltese souls of precious employment, he would likewise have ranted against petrol pumping by machine. Anyway, besides rejecting notes, said machines seem to habitually take your notes but give you no fuel, as has occasionally happened to me and to members of my family, making you carry on your journey fuel-less, hoping you will make it back home or to the next pump. All ends well as the filling station owners are all nice and generous and honest and will reimburse all missed fill-ups.
So let’s work this out: I’m in Mellieħa with my tank pointing close to empty. I try putting in €10 worth to keep me going. Petrol does not come out. So I proceed with caution back home to Sliema (or wherever). I swelter in the car as I try to save my pocket, the environment but, especially, fuel. The day after I go back to Mellieħa to retrieve my tenner or whatever a €10 note is called today. On my way in my mind’s eye I see people sniggering – the desert sheiks are grateful to me for guzzling a few more pints of their precious liquid. And off they go with my money to buy some new diamond-covered Porsche or some silly footballer.
So a question for whatever emeritus person usually answers these tricky questions: Should I let the money go and help the poor petrol station owner make some more profit? Usually they claim they are deprived and all seem to be working at a great loss, judging by the way they keep on asking for higher percentage profits.
What I should have done was made sure there was a human to assist me and got him or the occasional her to do it for me. Is this job in fact openly open to the fairer sex? Oh no I said fairer. I don’t think that is quite fair is it? I mean isn’t it awfully mean that some writers and comedians still refer to the female sex as the fairer one? Will I now be arraigned by the anti-sexist brigade and placed in some square to be pelted by all members of the politically correcting brigade?
Anyway I prefer humans, of whichever sex, to assist me and to be ready with a smile and an apology if my euro-tenner is a dud. I am a bit like Mr Mintoff maybe and do like real humans to be there, ready and willing and sometimes, or in reality often, surly and grumpy.
Talking of human-assisted assistance, I don’t enjoy phoning establishments and finding recordings that get you to press so many numbers you end up with finger fatigue. The mind boggles at the amount of extra calls that are made on a boringly regular basis to get our message over. Like the sheiks and the petrol stations, the telephony companies are given a boost through all the calls that are lost, all the number-feeding and then the realisation that you are getting connected to the wrong machine or you are told by this super-efficient and supercilious voice to please hold the line. Yes, I will hold the line but with each second of me holding their line it is I who is paying for the pulses. My heart and pulse race away thinking of more coffers being filled and more pockets emptied – notably and worryingly mine.
Maybe Mr Mintoff was wrong in most of what he did but oh to have had him save us from this infernally automated future. Today, we all complain how expensive water and electricity bills are. Back in Mr Mintoff’s time we hardly had any water in our taps. So he saved on the earth’s resources and saved us from paying a packet. Bring the man back: we need saving again.

This article appeared in The Times July 19 2011

He came, he saw, he was conquered

He came, he saw, he was conquered

When I get to meet Italico Rota to find out all about his life, I feel immensely happy. He makes me feel special, he makes me feel as if I am the most important person around.

Signor Rota makes you live a dream, your dream. And this is exactly what hospitality is about: making you believe you are in your little part of heaven, away from your cares, away from your daily drudge.

Mr Rota is a GM extraordinaire and one of Malta’s most loving and useful ambassadors. He is not a member of any diplomatic corps but he helped Malta get known and get loved for over 30 years. After living here for so long he feels even more Maltese than most of us locals.

 He has Maltese citizenship and also retains his Italian citizenship, not that he needs it that much nowadays he says, since he ha everything he needs here. “Malta is a corner of paradise. Everything about it is good and I love it grandly." He is more Maltese than most of us because, unlike us, he does not find fault with everything Maltese and with all that Malta has to offer. He talks to everyone, locals and foreigners, about the charm, the beauty of Malta and of the loving Maltese people. I wish I could clone this man and have him teach us all how to love what we have on this little rock. And grandly he does it too.

He might have lived most of his life away from Italian shores and piazzas but his way of communicating and loving life is definitely a remnant of his Italian origins, a part of the old Italy where the gentlemen were always exuding limitless charm. He is so proud of being Maltese that he manages to imbue a good feeling in all those around him.

When I meet him at the Corinthia Palace Hotel & Spa in San Anton, where he is GM, I instantly notice that it’s not just the guests who feel this electrifying Rota energy. In or out of his presence, all his staff are a bundle of energy, all full of praise for him. All this might sound as if his only job is to exude his natural charm. But this couldn’t be further from the truth. The hotel seems to run like clockwork. Staff are friendly and make sure you are given prompt attention and service. He also moulds and grooms people to become leaders.

In the Corinthia Group he is the eldest GM, while his protégé and ex-deputy Jonathan Pace became the youngest GM in the history of the Corinthia. Jonathan Pace worked closely and most happily with Signor Rota. He eventually became his deputy and thanks to Mr Rota’s faith and trust in him, he was handpicked to run the Marina Hotel at the Corinthia Beach Resort as GM when he was only 27. A true feat for Mr Pace and another milestone in the Rota list of successes.

And Jonathan Pace, Mr Rota’s ‘pupillo,’ has now moved even higher: he has become GM at the Company’s Panorama Hotel in Prague. Another first for a man just over thirty. Mr Rota’s main words of advice to Mr Pace and everyone he has had to guide or mould is “to have a shower daily before coming to work.” I stupidly think that he is talking about personal hygiene: but the shower he speaks of is of humility, which gives you a strong bond with all the people around you and makes you a great leader.


As Mr Rota says “the highest person in any organisation is the one who never knows enough and is always learning”. How does he do it I ask him? How does he find the strength to remain so positive all the time? “It’s easy” he says, in his sonorous sing-song English that still lilts beautifully with an Italian echo. How come it is easy? I stress. “Because I love it, I do not strain to do it. I love people. I love being with them and making sure they are happy and that they feel special.”

While we are going round the hotel, he greets everyone effusively and the women are treated like a bevy of Duchesses of Cambridge straight from their royal weddings. He bows to them, kisses their hands, compliments them and booms his words of advice about where to go or what to do. And the males are greeted as eloquently and with heartfelt smiles and handshakes.

At some point I pin Signor Rota to his story. I ask him what he started life in hotels as. As a lift boy, he quips. And proceeds to take out from his pocket a very well-preserved silver dollar dated 1881. “This has been in my pocket practically since I started working. I was working in Milan when I was 14 and an Italo-Americano asked me a few questions about me and my life. He then gave me this dollar which I have preserved for good luck ever since. “It has been my own ‘porta fortuna’ for 59 years. It has never left me and it has been a great deliverer of good luck and good stories.”

Oh how annoyed and angry I feel. Why can’t silly dollars speak? I want to ask it all that it has seen to get the full story of this man. Throughout our conversation he peppers it with comments about how good his staff are, how he needs them and how he just contributes his little bit. Speak dollar, speak and tell us more of bellboy days and other secrets.

While in Milan working continuously, he studied all the languages he knew he would eventually need. He studied English, German and Spanish, while French and Italian he already knew, and now he also speaks Maltese. And he worked, as he says, round the clock, to save enough to go to university in the USA. Meanwhile, this man kept rising in his roles: from bellboy to positions in F&B, HR, accounts and even sales and marketing. His lifelong dream however was to go to university and he managed.

So from his little town of Parma, Mr Rota went to Milan at the tender age of 14 and subsequently all the way to New York. In New York he finalised his thesis, which was purchased by a leading hotel group, the Sonesta Corporation, which subsequently employed him on the strength of that same thesis. The chairman of Sonesta gave him the special task of introducing and implementing in Europe the hotel management system the corporation had developed in the USA.

Italico was very successful in this and travelled between New York and various places. Eventually he wanted to find a base, so he settled with the same group in Munich, then Milan, then Beirut. However, the settling hardly happened, as he had to travel back and forth to New York, so he came to Malta for a holiday to get away from it all. And the man who came for a few weeks of rest fell in love with the island and the rest, as they say, is history.

Thankfully for us Maltese the man’s history is tied unequivocally to Malta and Gozo. Or rather Gozo and then Malta, as his first years here were spent in Gozo. And the chairman of Sonesta was shattered, but still happy that his own ‘pupillo’ left his company to further his career. He remained in Gozo to develop, for an Italian entrepreneur, a site in Sannat, which was turned into one of our most interesting hotel stories: the Ta’ Cenc, which under Mr Rota’s management, became one of the most sought after places in the Mediterranean. It featured in Conde Nast Traveler as the 21st of the top 100 hotels in the world.

While in Malta, Mr Rota met another man who mesmerised him. This man was Mr Alfred Pisani, chairman of the Corinthia Group. And then six years ago Mr Rota joined Corinthia as GM of the Corinthia Palace Hotel & Spa in San Anton, where 49 years ago the Corinthia-Pisani story all started.

Mr Rota tells me: “Mr Pisani is a man of great vision, a born leader and an example to us all. I say this because I truly believe he is one of a kind and Malta is lucky to have had him and his vision. My chairman is a down to earth person in reality, as are most of the intelligent men on this planet.” Before I leave, a beaming Italico Rota tells me that Malta has given him everything: he met his charming, loving German wife while he was in Malta; he had his children here; he discovered real friends here and he found his real happiness here. His final words to me are “Malta is a gem, an old precious gem that never loses its worth.”

I leave the hotel on a high just as I am sure most guests staying at the Corinthia must feel.

And what does Italo Rota’s own pupillo think ?

I spoke to Jonathan Pace about Mr Rota to see what he thinks of the man and if he thinks of him as a legend. Mr Pace was once Mr Rota’s deputy and today has risen, at an incredibly young age, to become GM at the Panorama Hotel in Prague, one of the many hotels that are owned or run by the Corinthia Group.

To Jonathan, Mr Rota gave him the best lessons not just in hotel management but in life. According to Jonathan “Mr Rota is such a people’s person who treats people well. Whether you are a guest at his hotel or a member of staff—in whatever grade—he makes you feel good. He is always positive and this is felt throughout the hotel. Mr Rota is not a GM who stays at his desk crunching numbers; the numbers and reports are important but can be done when there are no people and by others. To Mr Rota the best thing to do at the hotel is to look after your guests and make sure they are treated like very important people.” 

According to his pupillo, Mr Rota’s presence is electrifying and he is there to make sure all is fine with the food, the service and the whole hotel operation. According to Jonathan Mr Rota does a great job and also knows how to enjoy life. He loves his food and travelling but most importantly for his job he loves his staff. The way Mr Rota treats his staff is part of the living legend of a man who came from nearby Italy for a vacation to rest and overstayed by over 30 years.

The rest is part of Malta’s hotel history.    


This article first appeared in the June 2011 issue of the MHRA magazine

Feeding the soul

I love Mdina must be a well worn cliché. But every time I go there the place manages to fascinate me. I meander around the old lanes and streets and never tire of exploring new sights, new surprises, new features. In the morning it is, bar the many guided tours, a real gem with the light casting interesting, ever-changing shadows. In the evening the place turns into another priceless gem. And walking around in the dark I always manage to get lost in silent reverie. I see noblemen and their dames of old in resplendent clothing worthy of any old-time theatre set. I see young men furtively kissing their beloved in terrible dread of being caught and quartered. And the little lady, coquettishly red in the face, nods her hesitant approval. Yes, Mdina is a place for dreams, dreamers and everlasting surprises.

I headed to Inguanez Alley where Bacchus restaurant lies. The little alley is one of those places which epitomise Mdina for me: small but full of character and history and always capable of oiling my dreams. Bacchus was always one of those dependable old favourite restaurants of mine. I hadn’t been for some years and felt rather as if I had abandoned a great friend or intimate partner for no reason. So I tiptoed inside and waited for a table. I am usually loud and a bit of a lout when I eat in company but Mdina does manage to make me change and keep my volume down. Maybe it is the thought of all those noblemen who walked imperviously or maybe it’s the thought that this is the silent city. It helped that on this particular visit I had with me, my soon-to-be-a-quarter-of-a-century-old son, who loves his food but loves savouring it in relative silence.

I explained to him that I had always loved Bacchus because it is always full of surprises, and unlike some other restaurants it is full of positive surprises. The place, just like Mdina, used to be a dream and the food was always a new revelation of sensations for the palate. I spoke volumes about this to my dismayed son who was worried that my garrulous self would not only disturb his joy but also build up expectations which could not be matched by the food on offer.

Unfortunately when we went it was still nippy so sitting out in the garden was not an option. The beauty of the garden on top of the bastions is amazing. I’ve seen it a few times but it still manages to overwhelm me every time. If you go on a hot day do sit outside; unlike the rest of Malta when we all burn and gasp with sullen tiredness caused by the heat and opt to sit in air-conditioned surroundings, dining out in Mdina will be cool and breezy, especially in the evening.

The place itself is full of historical anecdote and architectural charm. Bacchus, which today offers plush and comfortable seating, was once a gunpowder store back in the time of the Knights. Its bellicose past is hardly discernible, with food and drink served and enjoyed in the most serene surroundings. Bacchus, that god of wine who loved to eat and drink so much, would surely approve.

The history of the restaurant reflects the history of Mdina. Parts of it date back to Arab times, parts to the age of the Knights and all of it has been tastefully and tactfully renovated to give comfort but never indulge in ostentation or strident minimalism. The modern style just would not work in a place like Bacchus, steeped as it is in history and, for a dreamer like me, in fables and age-old stories. How can you visualise a lacy dress and a rouged courtesan in minimalist surroundings?

I made a quick visit to the bathroom before we started our meal. I have never forgotten what a friend once told me: the state of the bathroom is a good indicator of standards. Bacchus passes with flying colours. All in order and spotless. One small problem would be tackling the steep stairs after too much to drink. Bacchus might opt to just drink, eat and forget the ‘rest’.

Now let’s tackle the food or, as my son would say, the place is great, the staff is welcoming but what about the grub?

We were both hungry and we both over-indulged. The food is beautifully presented, in crockery that, to use more vocabulary of the young, rocks. Although we over-ordered, the food is brought to you with just enough of a break to allow you to enjoy and digest it. The waiters are not at all stuffy while doing their job magnificently in clockwork fashion, constantly attentive to every call. The place is relaxed without being provincial – just what dining should be about.

My son ordered a beef carpaccio with local goat’s cheese, argula and olive oil. One look at his face after his first bite made me ask for a taste, which he reluctantly gave me. Yes, I agreed and I would have done an Oliver and asked him for more if he had encouraged me even slightly – but no luck! Oh well, I had my own delight to savour. I had gone for the asparagus in filo pastry. Unfortunately I had to return the favour and part with some. The pastry was superb, the asparagus succulent. My worries about having over-emphasised how good the food and the place was, were over. My son was already truly inspired. But more was to come – and more compliments were due to the chef.


We ordered a bottle of Marsovin Antonin and a Meridiana Melqart. The Melqart was a perfect companion to the carpaccio, the pasta and the veal while the Antonin added fulsome flavours and piquancy to the asparagus and the grouper. Once more Bacchus would nod his divine approval both at the wines imbibed and the choice at his own restaurant.

For my next course I opted for paccheri with goat’s cheese. The only complaint here was that I should have taken a less heavy dish to appreciate the rest even better, but I am not at my strongest when tempted by pasta. And at least it wasn’t an exaggeratedly big helping. My son only gives praise when it is unashamedly due so even a few words from him are impressive. And he was garrulous about his rich seafood lasagne which he described as divine. By this time I was beginning to wonder if the chef was Olympian and got lost on his way back home and thankfully stopped in Mdina.

My main course was a grouper (cerna) with a very original artichoke raviolo with a lobster and dill sauce. I wondered if this dish was going to be overdone, with too many different tastes attacking my buds. But the cerna was another success, as attested by my attendant and attentive son. He had ordered veal escalopes with caramelised fig and apple chutney, which again received a very impressed and impressive nod.


What next? A feast of sweets! We asked for and were allowed to savour a sliver of each delicacy on offer. Sweets are definitely not in short supply and they were freshly made. Why oh why do other restaurants forget our sweet tooth? Why can’t they copy Bacchus and give us a fitting end to a lordly meal? When very often I am presented with sweets that resemble cardboard both in look and taste, with smidgens of shaving foam, my heart and my soul bleed. I loved them all but my firm favourites were the old baker’s brioche and grandmother’s ricotta tart, while my son voted for the warm crêpe and the panna cotta.

Indulge in a great dream, get yourself to Bacchus and let his heavenly food captivate you as it did us and, obviously, by looking at the happy and satisfied faces around us, all the other diners. So I can honestly, hand on heart, shout out: Bacchus is as good as it has always been. If the soul needs feeding then what is on offer there is surely its food.

This article first appeared in the June 2011 issue of MHRA magazine