My mixed feelings on Malta
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As I return from my eight night trip in St Julian’s, Malta I’m struck by the disparate nature of my thought on it. Which is a wanky way of saying Malta was a mixed bag. Regardless, I’ve split this up into two reviews, daytime and nighttime. Daytime GOD, I HATE MALTA. This island is sooooo hot. This is where hot sauce goes to get a sweat on. This is where fire goes to work on a tan. It’s unbearable. And the excuses the locals come up with aren’t much better. “Its fine, all you have to do is buy air conditioning, drink 80 gallons of water an hour, and dart around in the shade whenever you’re forced to go outside”. Yeah, or you could just not live on this barren, melting, desert rock. This lump of oppressive heat situated between Italy and Africa has been largely abandoned throughout it's history. The only people who were stupid enough to live here have been the Romans (whose empire promptly collapsed), the Knights of St John (whose empire promptly collapsed) and the British (whose empire... oh you get it). All that's left on this heap of moltan despair are 60,000 stubborn locals and 180,000 tourist who don't know what they've got themselves in for. With the local people too distracted by their hair catching fire to develop anything, the local culture is just stolen bits from other nations. "Our national language will be English, but we'll build our housing in a Morrocan style and our best dish will be... what's that thing up there? Italy? Great. Our national dish will pizza". Malta only exports three things, heat, complaining about the heat and a soft drink called Kinnie. AND KINNIE IS AWFUL. The annoying thing is, there’s a lot of great stuff to look at in Malta.
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