| Cartoons and Illustrations by Steve Bonello |
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 I didn't quite realise that I haven't posted anything in quite a while. A lot has been happening this year. I am drawing with some consistency, I have illustrated a book which will be published later on this year, there are tentative attempts at another publication (possibly two) and I was recently interviewed by Monique Chambers for Campus FM's program Bucket List. The webcast of the interview is here. I'm number twelve in the list.
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  These days it seems we are living in a world of fast food, faster cars, speed dating and a life increasingly lived at breakneck speed. Leisure travel hasn’t escaped the fast malaise. The average traveller is likely to try and pack as many sights and experiences as possible to the limited time allowed on holidays. While this is understandable, it is not necessarily the right way to do things. Some places deserve a slower, more intimate treatment. Gozo is one such place. While the pace on neighbouring Malta at times appears frenetically fast, Gozo has up to now mostly shunned the fast lane. I visit Gozo maybe four or five times a year and one of my favourite places is Dwejra but I invariably refuse to simply just go there and back. I much prefer the slow cooking way to getting there. Here’s the recipe. I start walking from Victoria’s bus terminus and make my way through the medina-like narrow streets of the town’s old quarter. I almost squeeze my way through some of the narrower alleyways – and I wouldn’t say I’m actually overweight. Then I head out to the tiny village of Kercem – just a ten minute walk from Victoria. Not that much to see up to this point but there are some ancient stone balconies here and there - plus a considerable amount of just quaint. Out of the village I follow the signs to Ghadira ta San Rafflu and start on the road to get there. It’s mostly a quiet stretch with the occasional rude interruption from some multi-wheeled behemoth toing or froing from nearby quarries. The road has some good views over the cliffs to Xlendi. Soon the Ghadira (literally a lake) is reached. Rather a grand name for what is little more than a natural pond populated by a few noisy ducks. There is even more noise if you happen to come here during the resident frogs’ mating season – in fact it can be a downright obscene ruckus which shatters the location’s silence. The frogs here are not indigenous – they are Bedriaga frogs thoughtlessly introduced some years back, probably by some well-intentioned idiot. Sadly they seem to have elbowed out the pond’s original, and better-mannered, indigenous painted frogs. The road divides into two at the pond – and I take the narrow trek on the left. This trek, initially smoothly surfaced, soon becomes a dust road and eventually just a narrow cycle path skirting the cliffs. But this is the start of the magic way to Dwejra and from here I enjoy every moment and just savour the views and the silence. The path eventually leads to Wardija Point and it is here that I reconnect with one of Gozo’s most atmospheric sites. It’s a simple open space with a small rock-hewn chamber and a couple of wells dug in front of it. Nothing to write home about perhaps except that this is in fact the weather-beaten remnant of an ancient Punic sanctuary about which very little is known. I day dream a bit about Punic ships sailing by below and long ago – with sailors perhaps looking up to glimpse and take courage from a lone flickering light in the sanctuary guiding them to a safe journey on some dark starless night. Out of my reverie I go down a small slope next to the chamber and take a five minute break – just gawping at the marvels of Dwejra some 500 metres away. Fungus Rock and the Azure Window are both visible from here, as well as the long stretch of cliffs between me and my final destination. I make my way back to the sanctuary and continue along the cliff edge. It’s an incredibly beautiful if barren area coloured here and there with various garigue bushes – not least the blue-grey hues of Helichrysum melitense – a plant endemic to Gozo and found growing in the wild in just this remote corner of Gozo. Occasionally a lizard I’ve unintentionally disturbed crosses my path in hurried panic and less commonly a wild rabbit does very much the same thing but apart from that there is very little else happening. Soon I come upon the circular, cliff-ringed Dwejra Bay guarded by Fungus Rock. A strange purplish phallus-like plant still grows on this rock and the silly old Knights believed it had powerful curative powers. A hapless guard was once stationed here round the clock to ensure that no one would access the rock and acquire this dubious elixir of life. Past Dwejra Bay, I am now practically at journey’s end and I take my time to have a look at Dwejra’s several natural wonders: the Inland Sea, the Azure Window, the stretches of fossil-filled rocks and the lovely view back towards the cliffs from where I’ve just trailed. But I won’t bore you with details of these as you will no doubt have read about them elsewhere. Me, I prefer the magic of just getting there via the slow route.  This article was first published in the October 2016 issue of Il-Bizzilla - the Air Malta inflight magazine
The town of Hamrun is admittedly not much to look at. Although a large conurbation by Maltese standards it is of relatively recent origin. Consequently there is little of historical interest and its main street is one of the busiest thoroughfares in Malta, chockful with traffic at most hours of the day. The main parish church, inaugurated in 1875 but only completed seventy years later in 1955, is a smorgasbord of styles resulting in a strange marriage of neo-Gothic, Romanesque and Baroque elements surprisingly fused together by a wonderful cycle of ceiling paintings by Emvin Cremona – one of Malta’s foremost 20th century artists. Although the town grew rapidly in the late 19th up to the middle of the 20th century, it is nowadays not much sought after as a residential area and so its population is a decidedly aging one. This somewhat pedestrian picture changes dramatically when the annual festa comes around…  Hamrun lacks open spaces where extensive fireworks barrages can be let off and this is perhaps one reason that band marches take the front seat in the town’s festivities. There is a whole week of this going on but the real climax is on the morning of the feast proper when the celebrated ‘marc tal-briju’ (very loose translation – the revelry march) takes place – a marathon band march which sees the two main bands participating in possibly the islands’ largest traditional street party. Hamrun celebrates the feast of Saint Gaetan in early August (this year on 7th August) and on the feast day proper all of Hamrun and Hamrunizi who have long left town and settled in other places on the island appear to congregate in the town’s High Street (naturally closed to vehicular traffic for the day) for the much awaited band march which kicks off around 11 am and continues for some four hours – normally in temperatures which hover around the 30c mark. The town’s two rival bands participate and at times it appears more of a show of strength than anything else. The clubs’ supporters - young and old alike - turn out in droves, most with faces painted in red or blue according to affiliation, some wearing fancy costumes prepared for the big event. Most will carry large flags and a lot of dancing, drinking and general merriment will invariably take place. The march starts off from near the church with the bands following each other along the same route – but at all times keeping a prudent distance from each other. A first awaited ‘highlight’ is when the ‘red’ St.Gaetan Band stops to play in front of the rival St. Joseph club’s premises – this is where the reds make fun of the blues with chanted taunts – made mostly in good humour and ‘received’ in very much the same way. Though police are invariably present to keep tabs on proceedings, the jeering remains very much good-natured - there is a gentlemen’s agreement between the two clubs which ensures things don’t get out of hand. After the initial release of energy the bands follow each other through the back streets of the parish but soon enough return for a final run through High Street. This is where things come to a climax with the whole street turning into a sea of blue and red flags. The St. Joseph’s band stops in front of the rival St.Gaetan’s club where the former’s supporters return the dubious compliments of a couple of hours earlier and then both bands stay playing for a bit more in front of their respective clubs. The clubs are situated just a hundred metres apart along High Street so by this time the street is chockful with both bands’ followers – who naturally indulge in a final round of dancing, chanting and drinking. The march comes to an end with a fireworks salute from both clubs which is a signal for the bands to return indoors for a well-deserved respite from the sun. The Hamrunizi mostly make their way to their homes to rest before the more solemn evening procession (bar the younger, more energetic ones who stay on for after-marc parties…), satisfied once more that their band march remains the grandest of the lot… an annual ritual of colour, madness, fun and sweat quite unlike any other on the islands.     This article was first published in the August 2016 issue of Il-Bizzilla - the Air Malta inflight magazine
When the French NGO Cartooning for Peace made contact way back in October with a proposal to submit a work for inclusion in an exhibition I admit I was lukewarm. But being a nice person who never utters an outright no and invariably answers all my mail (bar the obviously cranky) I submitted a few likely samples. When the initially vague proposal turned into an invitation to participate in an exhibition featuring cartoonists from all of the EU’s 28 countries at the European Parliament in Strasbourg plus an invite to be there too courtesy of the European Commission – then I started to panic. I have done my bit of business travel or what we used to call ‘duty travel’ back in my days at Air Malta. I consider business travel a mixed bag of tricks. I used to like the natural excitement associated with visiting new places but was increasingly hating the hassle of long hauls. And then there’s the business suits, the personal business cards and all the business related rituals which I had increasingly come to loathe. In the past two years as a freelancer ‘business meetings’ (yes...I hate the expression too) have become a very different affair – normally meeting a new or potential client in jeans and trainers at a nearby café and having a no-nonsense conversation which leads – or does not lead – to something. I love simplicity. So I was dreading the idea of waddling round Strasbourg in a business suit for two whole days – wearing a stupid tie when probably the sensible thing to have around your neck in Mittel Europa in December is a thick scarf – or possibly three of them. But then one Sunday night I got a call from Le Monde’s Plantu urging me to accept the invite and one doesn’t say non to France’s most celebrated cartoonist n’est ce-pas? The barbaric events of 13th November in Paris and the Brussels lockdown soon after almost killed off the whole thing before it ever happened. Later we were to learn that it was only on the express insistence of Commission President Martin Schultz and the mayor of Strasbourg that the event went ahead – the event was in fact only confirmed four days prior travel with a lovely sweetener thrown in – there is no particular dress code for the European Parliament. Back to the wardrobe you go suit and tie.  A first glimpse at Strasbourg Cathedral - Monday 14 December 2015. So off to France I went on my first ever ‘duty travel’ as a cartoonist... It felt weird but it turned out to be a wonderful experience in many ways. First - the organization was top notch despite being so very last minute. As I’m coming in to Strasbourg by the TGV my taxi man calls and tells me exactly where to look out for him. I’m whisked to the Hilton and am soon off to have a look at the town – the only chance I will have as the following two days are chockful with events. I get a chance to visit the cathedral and have a look at the various Christmas markets – I particularly like the white mulled wine. On the morrow I go down to breakfast trying discreetly to recognize any of my fellow cartoonists – zilch. Luckily I carry my cranky old netbook and I get mail informing me of a pickup from the hotel to our home for the next two nights – the MS. Lafayette, a Rhine cruise ship reserved for our exclusive use. At eleven I go down and introduce myself to the most likely group waiting in the lobby – I recognise Plantu and am introduced to his excellent team of coordinators. Soon Steve Bell – the Guardian’s chief satirist – and a few other cartoonists join us. Now there’s one very recognisable face. Once we’re on board ship we are all welcomed by Plantu and given some security instructions by the rep from the Police National – we are comforted to know there is no ‘specific’ threat to us but some of us realize that Plantu has ‘not drawn’ the Prophet in his quite singular way. The naughty Plantu tackled the explosive subject in a unique way. Plantu’s image of the Prophet’s face is made up of repeated scrawlings of the sentence ‘I shall not draw the Prophet’. Genius. We are soon taken to the European Parliament where ‘our’ exhibition is inaugurated by Martin Schultz himself. I spot Maltese Euro MEP Marlene Mizzi in the crowd and, having got word beforehand that she made a point of attending events in which other fellow Maltese are taking part, I make a point of going up to her and exchange pleasantries (and yes she is a pleasant person). In my line of work I do my utmost to avoid contact with politicians at all times – there’s always the risk of seeing them as nice people when your job requires you do the exact opposite. But then basic human civility wins over the rules.  A giant of a man in many ways - The Guardian's inimitable Steve Bell  All Maltese in Strasbourg - Maltese MEP Marlene Mizzi at the opening of the exhibition Cartooning for Human Rights - Strasbourg 15 December 2015 The exhibition opening is followed by a debate in one of the halls of the European Parliament chaired by Ulrike Lunacek of the European Greens, and then we are whisked off to the lovely Cinema Odyssée where a documentary film ‘Cartoonists – Foot Soldiers of Democracy’ is screened. This is a highly interesting film which depicts real life dilemmas, difficulties, and – yes - actual physical dangers, cartoonists face in so many areas of the world. The documentary – selected at the Cannes Film Festival and directed by Stephanie Valloatto - unfortunately flopped at French cinemas, which is a real pity. I did suggest to Plantu that it should be subtitled in English and put out on Youtube where it is likely to get a much bigger – and perhaps more appreciative - audience. The long day comes to an end with a generous meal in town and then we are taken back to the cruise ship for a very well deserved rest. Thus ends day one….  With Austrian cartoonist and illustrator Gerhard Haderer - certainly one of the most likeable people I met in Strasbourg. Day two starts with breakfast on the ship. Most of us cartoonists are keen for a unique souvenir of this event and we exchange signatures on the exhibition catalogues… I will surely treasure my copy, signed as it is by some of Europe’s finest cartoonists and illustrators. At 11am we are taken again to the European Parliament where we are guests at the ceremony to award the Sakharov Prize to the Saudi blogger Raif Badawi – in his sadly inevitable absence received by his wife Ensaf Haidar, who took refuge in Canada after her life was threatened in Saudi Arabia. It is a short ceremony but an immensely moving one and I don’t mind admitting here that tears were flowing from my eyes at the injustice and intolerance so rampant in so many parts of the world. The award was also a huge reaffirmation of the European values of freedom I cherish so much – the Europe I am proud to call home.  Ensaf Haidar, wife of jailed Saudi blogger Raif Badawi, at the European Parliament. Bet you had never seen what a Saudi woman actually looks like either...  European Parliament Strasbourg 16 December 2015 A quick lunch at the Parliament restaurant – food factory is perhaps a better word here! – follows. Considering this is mass produced food catering for several hundred people who visit and work here it’s quite decent food actually – another European achievement no less… After that we are taken to the city centre proper where we are given a tour of the Tommy Ungerer Museum. This is one great illustrator and cartoonist and as a Strasbourg born man the city holds him in high regard. There is another debate here too – televised for a local tv station apparently. Yet another – but much more interesting – debate follows at the Auditorium de l'Ecole des avocats du Grand Est, the subject here being the Arab Spring and whether it has failed or whether there is hope yet. I am taken aback when a recently banned cartoon from a travelling exhibition around the Mediterranean littoral is shown. It is innocuous enough and shows a boy holding a ladder on which another boy stands peering into the clouds. The boy at the bottom asks “Well?” That this cartoon is banned from some countries because of its innocently playful questioning of God’s existence is a surprise to me – and not a pleasant one either. That Algeria is one of the ‘objecting’ countries comes as little surprise but another country with a strong secular tradition is also mentioned – and that does raise eyebrows. Debating time over, we walk to City Hall for a reception in honour of Ensaf Haidar hosted by the mayor of Strasbourg. Along the way we walk through one of Strasbourg’s famed Christmas markets and I can’t help noticing how some passers-by recognise the very likeable Plantu – one Father Christmas is also keen to have his photo taken with the famous man from Le Monde when things would normally work the other way round. Here I must also mention that our walkabouts around town were always discreetly accompanied by armed police – for some of us a comfort…for others a cause for some concern. Me… I was slightly amused. By the time we got to City Hall the tiredness (and hunger pangs) of a long day were starting to tell. We posed for a group photo with Ensaf Haidar but I declined to have a selfie taken with her – I reckoned that would have been in bad taste somehow. I have a great admiration for this woman who tirelessly fights for her husband’s cause – one has to bear in mind that when her husband was arrested her family’s reaction was to force her to divorce Raif Badawi – something she steadfastly refused to do, choosing exile instead. Our last stop for the day was another generous meal at the Maison Kammerzell – right next to Strasbourg’s majestic cathedral and one of the oldest restaurants in town. It was past 1 am when we finally made it back to the boat and I was worrying how I would wake up to take my flight home at 6am. Three consecutive alarms on my mobile ensured I did and at 5am my taxi pulled up by the ship’s side. I bid my groggy farewells to a few others taking the early TGV out of town and started the long eight hour journey home. A memorable experience in so many ways. Meeting and living for two days with some of Europe’s finest cartoonists and illustrators possibly being the top one – but also getting a first glimpse of the European Parliament and its workings changed my previously sceptic views on this institution.  United Cartoonists of Europe - at the Musee Tomi Ungerer - Strasbourg 16 December 2015 My heartfelt thanks to the French NGO Cartooning For Peace who made this experience possible. Merci beaucoup!  A last glimpse at Strasbourg's magnificent cathedral.... 1am on 17 December 2015 Fomm ir-Rih - The name means the source (or the mouth) of the wind and it’s quite likely the remotest bathing spot in Malta; mercilessly sun baked in summer but arguably a lovelier place to get lost in during the cooler months.   Clay slopes... Fomm ir-Rih is a cliff girdled remote outpost on Malta’s west coast and not the easiest place to find either. A road does get you close enough but though the location name can be found on most maps of the islands, curiously enough the name never appears on any road signs. Conspiracy theorists would probably tell you that this is a cunning plan to keep this place as secret and pristine as possible – free of any commercial inroads and unsightly structures. If that was indeed the case it has worked wonderfully so far. The way to Fomm ir-Rih is via the small hamlet of Bahrija – the latter signposted well enough all the way from Rabat’s western outskirts. Once Bahrija’s single main street is traversed there’s a right turning just past the last houses and then a somewhat bumpy road goes through the scenic garigue and eventually dips down towards the bay via another right fork. Thoughtfully there’s a miniscule parking area at the end of the road. The makeshift carpark is still some sixty metres above the bay though and from here a rock-cut trail that hugs the cliff starts dipping again – but don’t worry, although this stretch of path has no handrail it’s wide and safe enough for all except perhaps the very worst of the inebriated. Along this trail one can notice the huge cliff wall backing the bay which exhibits a geological feature known as a syncline - a fold in the rocks in which the rock layers dip inward from both sides towards a central line. Nearer to the beach the trail peters off over small rocks by the shore and finally reaches the tiny shingle beach at the bottom. From here the view is simply awesome, with the straight majestic line of cliffs jutting out from the bay’s southern side now in full unobstructed view. It’s a magic spot with the sea lapping and whooshing the smaller pebbles into perpetual motion. Further exploration of the area is possible along the beach’s northern shore. From here a trail of sorts carries on for some distance in a landscape that is Malta at its best insofar as raw natural beauty is concerned. So remote is this stretch of boulder scree and the cliffs above so inaccessible, that the Knights never bothered with a watchtower to guard over this area since an enemy landing here was seen as highly unlikely. It was only the more wary British a few hundred years later who built a tiny gun post on the towering cliffs above when an invasion of the islands looked like a real possibility at the height of World War II. The scenic boulder fields here are characterized by a few mighty pillars sculpted by nature – in their turn backed by smooth clay slopes; here and there fastened by the perennial esparto grass which helps to lessen the slopes’ natural erosion. The fact that people don’t walk this stretch often is also witnessed by the appearance here and there of a few strands of rusted barbed wire which still remain from those dark wartime days. If the initial pretty shingle beach was stunning this area is even more so. The trail dies off some 700 metres from the shingle beach at a place where two rock shelves in close proximity jut into the sea and basically this is the cue to turn back. But it’s far from a boring return since the ever changing views make this short two-kilometre ramble a kaleidoscope of colour and contrasts. And although it is a short walk, the nature of the terrain – rough but never too difficult – will probably require up to two hours to complete, naturally allowing some time for some justified staring and gawping! Very much as is to be expected there is no public transport that goes as far as Fomm ir-Rih, but an hourly bus does run from Rabat to Bahrija (No.109) from where it is a scenic two kilometres from the start of the trail. Bahrija is also a good place to chill out after the walking is done – the humble hamlet is considered the rabbit capital of Malta with a handful of cheap and cheerful restaurants specializing in this quintessentially Maltese dish. Essential for this walk are a good pair of trekking shoes, a bottle of water and – needless to say - a camera. This shore trail is however not recommended when the westerly wind blows at a force of six or higher – the name of the place does give a fair warning about that after all…  ...and boulders This article was first published in the November 2015 issue of Il-Bizzilla - the Air Malta inflight magazine
The Maltese Islands have been continuously inhabited for around 7,000 years. Man has walked and explored practically every inch of the archipelago and civilization after civilization has built temples and abodes, dug tombs, constructed roads and otherwise altered the landscape according to its needs. A few heritage trails across the islands highlight artefacts left by generations past but perhaps none span a time frame as impressive as the Xemxija Heritage Trail.   All of a thousand years old... The trail is best accessed from the bottom of Xemxija hill near a bus stop called Roti. There’s a signpost marked Roman Road and just climb the short street Triq ir-Ridott to find the start of the trail. The trail sets off along an ancient cobbled winding road. This reputedly Roman road is probably the oldest route leading to the north of the island and was likely the earliest access to the equally ancient Marian shrine at Mellieha – traditionally linked with Saint Luke, who together with the Apostle Paul was shipwrecked here in 60 AD. A handful of interesting features mark this short stretch of road. Most intriguing is a wall of apiaries in a clearing at the side of the track. Malta was well known in ancient times for the quality of its honey and the apiaries here – thought to be of Punic or Roman origin – seem to testify to that claim. Nearby is a massive and much weathered standing stone (menhir) associated with Malta’s temple culture, and standing proudly at the bend in the road is a massive 1000 year old carob tree – considered to be the oldest in the islands - with an impressive trunk over seven metres in circumference and roots which go deep into the soil and break through the rocks beneath it. Past the carob is an open cave with clear signs of burial niches inside. Used since prehistoric times, the cave’s façade collapsed over time and the cave was then likely used as a shelter by pilgrims along this road. The road now stops its winding way and levels out on to a flat expanse of land. There is more of interest here. Some way along the now straight road and to the right is a well preserved Punic tomb – curiously the only one on this plateau. Nearby are a couple of spacious caves with inner divisory walls made of rubble. These are troglodytic caves used both for human and animal habitation. As elsewhere in the Mediterranean, troglodytism was not uncommon in the Maltese islands and the practice was only eradicated completely in the colonial era when the British forced the evacuation of the last known troglodytic community at Ghar il-Kbir in the limits of Dingli. In the vicinity are also a set of prehistoric tombs dating from around 3600 BC. These were excavated in 1956 and yielded a rich collection of prehistoric material – including pottery now in the National Archaeology Museum in Valletta. Cart ruts – those mysterious rock-hewn sets of tracks so common in many places in Malta and thought to date to the Bronze Age – also make an appearance here.  Reuse...recycle... Make your way back to the straight road and follow it until the further ridge of the plateau. On the right there is a metal barrier – go past it and keep to the track till its end where there is what looks like a small rural building but is in fact a camouflaged World War II gun post. By its side is a set of steps going to a lower level. Once down these,one comes across what looks like another ruined rural building with a graceful enough façade but an interior that is mostly rock cut. This is a prime example of a building that has gone through multiple uses over time. There are rock cut Punic tombs on the interior walls but surprisingly the cave complex was converted in Roman times to serve as a bathhouse with provision of both hot and cold water. Later it was used for troglodytic living but sometime in the 17th century a wall and an elegant doorway were used to close off the complex. Talk about reuse and recycling! On the trek back and more or less opposite the first Punic tomb and troglodyte cave is the remnant of a megalithic temple. Interpretation is difficult from the little that remains but the large rocks form an apse similar to other temple sites. All major features of the trail have informative signs which help with interpretation. But really this heritage trail amounts to more than the sum of its parts. It is set mostly on high ground in an idyllic garigue landscape which from autumn to early summer teems with a variety of plant life including a clutch of attractive orchid species in spring. The views from this high ridge over much of northern Malta are also another fair reward for the visitor. Further wandering is also an option - there are easy to follow trails that from the nearby woodland lead to the picturesque village of Manikata about a mile away.  The ever present cart ruts This article was first published in the October 2015 issue of Il-Bizzilla - the Air Malta inflight magazine
 La Superba – the proud one as Genoa was once called, is not among Italy’s most visited places and remains mostly off the tourist radar. This is a good thing really. For starters you can get good accommodation at half the price you’ll pay in the more popular art cities and it also means you don’t normally have to book much in advance either. The city is not immediately likeable perhaps – its Piano designed waterfront is marred by the weighty presence of the Sopraelevata – a 1960’s motorway on stilts that cuts rudely through the town’s port area – brooding over this newest attraction to the city. Rugged round the edges it may be, but delve into the narrow streets immediately off the front and you’ll discover another Genoa – one of impossibly narrow streets, huge palazzi tottering over the smallest of piazzas, and a wealth of bonhomie otherwise almost absent in the larger tourist magnets. It’s the closest thing to an Arab medina this side of the Mediterranean and quite rightly it’s a UNESCO World Heritage Site too. Genoa also makes for a great springboard to see some of Liguria’s highlights: the incredibly pretty seaside town of Camogli, the celebrated villages and walking trails of the Cinque Terre and the unlikely monastery-with-beach hideaway of San Fruttuoso can all be visited on day trips out of town. But here’s a little confession. I love cemeteries and Genoa (before going there at least) meant only one thing to me – Staglieno.  Now most people will avoid cemeteries unless that close family funeral requires them to accompany the deceased to their final resting place. This is understandable of course but I tend to think differently. Cemeteries are a salutary reminder of our fragility and inevitable mortality – a healthy reality check. Better still the best ones can easily be described as exquisite sculpture gardens; an insight into a side of human culture that dates back from time immemorial. Staglieno is not just another cemetery – at over one square kilometre in size it is one of the largest in Europe, and often touted as the world’s most beautiful. It is one of a series of huge Italian monumental cemeteries that came about following Napoleon’s Edict of Saint-Cloud from 1804, which prohibited burials in churches and towns. Following the 1835 cholera epidemic that hit the city, plans for the cemetery were finalised and it finally opened in 1851. Designed by the noted Genoese architect Carlo Barabino, Staglieno was laid out with intentional grandiosity in the Neo-Classical style popular at the time. Soon after it opened it became the de rigueur place to be seen dead in and an attraction in its own right. Mark Twain praised the cemetery in his Innocents Abroad, and Freidrich Nietzsche was a frequent visitor.  The day and the hour... So on a warm September morning I set out to visit Staglieno. The bus from near the Piazza Principe train station winds its way up the city’s numerous hills and in twenty minutes I’m there. I step out of the living metropolis and - metaphorically at least – briefly out of this world. Apparently I am the only tourist among the few visitors around and an elderly guide who spots my camera offers his services which I politely decline. I have done my research well and have a good idea what I want to see. Or so I think. But I am still overwhelmed. The amount of superb funerary sculptures along the endless colonnaded arcades is huge. There are friezes depicting grieving families by deathbeds, hooded figures and angels aplenty; one angel frozen in the act of writing the deceased’s death date. All depicted realistically, way too realistically. The themes vary from the ones oozing pathos to the unintentionally grotesque bordering on Hollywood horror. I get my bearings and head for two particular graves – the ones that initially made me aware of this place in fact... Long ago as an angry young man I was gobsmacked when I first heard the British post punk band Joy Division and was equally impressed by the band’s cover artworks. Two of these featured monuments from Staglieno. The band’s second album Closer features the Appiani family tomb – a classic grieving composition if ever there was one. Some distance away is the disconsolate sprawled angel of the Ribaudo family tomb – used as an alternative cover for the band’s best known single Love Will Tear Us Apart.  Appiani Family Tomb  Ribaudo Family Tomb  Valente Celle Tomb Satisfied with my mini Joy Division pilgrimage tour I wander further and find most of the notable sculptures I am looking for. There’s the lovely Angel of Resurrection by Giulio Monteverde, perhaps the cemetery’s most sensual piece – copied in a multitude of cemeteries all over the world; there are even a few (bad) copies in our own Addolorata. Monteverde is also responsible for arguably Staglieno’s weirdest piece – the Valente Celle tomb. This sculpture represents a veritable danse macabre; a beautiful young woman personifying life about to surrender to a shrouded spectre who has her firmly in his bony clutches. This is the stuff of nightmares. A few well known figures are buried in Staglieno. Oscar Wilde’s wife Constance Lloyd rests here as does the prominent figure of the Italian Risorgimento Giuseppe Mazzini. One of Genoa’s best loved sons, the singer-songwriter Fabrizio de André is buried here with his guitar seemingly watching over him. Ten thousand fans attended his funeral in 1999. But curiously one of the best loved monuments in the cemetery belongs to a relative nobody. Caterina Campodonico was a simple nut seller and must obviously have been caught in the personalized grave craze of the time. While still alive she commissioned and sat for her life-size portrait in the traditional garb of the street seller – complete with a garland made of the stuff of her trade: nuts, loaves, doughnuts. Despite my best efforts I simply am unable to locate this touching monument but it’s probably a good enough excuse to return to the place one day – armed with a better camera. The warm morning clouds over and turns into a muggily humid noon. Soon enough a light drizzle starts to fall. My energy is sapped and slowly the decay of the place starts to get to me. The grime and dust covered statuary which no one bothers to clean, the rusting iron grilles everywhere finally make me conscious that I am in the land of the dead. I take the bus back to central Genoa pondering on life, death and a lot of beautiful things in between.  Angel of Resurrection  Article originally published as 'Dead Souls' in Times of Malta Escape on 6 September 2015.
 I admit – I am phobic about extreme weather. Every time there’s a hint of it on the horizon I sit up and take notice. Gales, severe thunderstorms, torrential rain, a heatwave from Hades or the rare cyclone get me searching weather sites and trying to guess which one is likely to be the more accurate and updated. The variety in the weather sites fascinates me and the forecasts themselves tend to say a lot about the people who write them. Take the Met office on the MIA site. Surely the weather reports there are written by decent people who take pains to comfort the population into thinking that extreme weather hardly exists. Their warnings invariably concern strong winds, possibly because that might jeopardise aircraft. I started to distrust the MIA weather people when their site failed to issue warnings of a rare medicane that hit the islands late last year. It was one of those rare events when it should have been shouting in big bold letters: Stay at home unless absolutely necessary!... Trees are coming down like matchsticks!.. The end of the world could very well be nigh!... Bah – nothing of the sort. Sorry guys but I could have gone out for a stroll round the village and have three metres off the top of the American Ambassador’s residence largest pine tree falling on my head. Actually their weather radar gives me much more information on possible calamities than they are ready to divulge themselves. Then there is the Civil Protection Department – well at least that is what it’s called. The CPD hardly ever issues warnings of coming storms but helpfully it does tell you to stay home immediately the deluge ends, just about the time that the floods at Msida are starting to recede. I really don’t know what it is with these people. In my mind they are the authority to be issuing such warnings in advance but their performance in this is sadly lacking. My gut feeling remains that they prefer the gung-ho business of rescuing people rather than warn them not to put themselves in a position where they might need rescuing in the first place. Lately the CPD was asked whether they have plans for a possible tsunami and they replied in the affirmative. You guys were joking right? Then there are two popular local weather pages on Facebook. One boasts of being the original Facebook weather page for the Maltese Islands while the other makes no such claims but is smugly more popular. Both provide a decent service but both love hyperbole and sadly (and so typically Maltese) they love nothing more than taking digs at each other, with snide references to what ‘another weather page’ might or might not be predicting. When bad weather is coming they invariably go ballistic and when such predicted apocalypse fails to hit you can almost feel their disappointment. Clearly these pages have some aversion to good weather but then again it must be the doomsday scenarios that bring in the likes and shares. But the local weather Facebook pages are the good guys in comparison with the pure evil (yes I did say pure evil there) of the moronic Italian site Meteoweb. I suspect that this site became popular locally when it predicted a hurricane over Malta a few years back. People were talking about it in hushed tones but in the event nothing much happened. A meteorological apocalypse over Malta is predicted on a regular basis, though they did predict one exceptionally strong storm with uncanny accuracy a few years back, while the MET office was benignly predicting a welcome September shower. But most of the other times they have reported that Malta was in ginocchio, they were way off the mark. Frankly the last time I remember Malta in ginocchio was when a large vehicle hit the pedestrian bridge in Marsa and got Malta well and truly gridlocked for hours on end. Obviously the CPD, in full readiness for the next tsunami, never saw that coming. Meteoweb did it again a couple of weeks back when an impressive water spout over Grand Harbour was reported as a tornado leaving behind it ‘numerosi feriti’. Needless to say this caused some panic among Italians having relatives holidaying here and despite many Maltese logging on their FB page to reassure concerned Italians, the site kept insisting it had ‘proof’ of this. Naturally the Maltese reaction then descended rapidly into vaffanculo territory… Meteoweb seems to be a site which absolutely delights in announcing the end of the world via its weather updates on a daily basis. Honest – not a day passes without an Allerta Meteo; they will invariably find a small corner of Italy where meteorological fire and brimstone are on the cards. Their vocabulary is apocalyptic and their use of phrases like fenomeni intensi, incubo, allarme, maltempo estremo is all over the place. If a week of sunny weather is on the way they will look closer into their dark crystal ball and announce that the week after there will be more incubi and fenomeni. Worse than that, when one of their many dire predictions does come about with fatal consequences (which invariably it will), their delight in blaming authorities for not heeding their warnings is revolting. I’ve seen reports where the site’s administrators mocked this or that mayor for ignoring their warnings and shedding ‘crocodile tears’ after some weather related tragedy. When a spell of (obviously abnormal) prolonged fair weather threatens the site’s very raison d’etre, the miserable misanthropists who run this site turn elsewhere – reporting anything from plane crashes, Ebola outbreaks, forest fires in California, or a deadly monsoon in Bangladesh – the latter usually heralded by the number of deaths with exclamation marks to go with it. The bad taste is palpable. This site that promotes itself as meteo e scienza is nothing more than weather-as-porn in fact. I suspect it’s all done to get site clicks for increased advert revenue but it sure is a nasty way of earning a living. So what to do for a fair warning of bad weather with so many sites flying around? I’ve found that a combination of the no-nonsense ilmeteo.it , MIA’s weather radar (assuming one can read that – it’s fairly easy) and a dose of the normally sensible (bar the liberal use of exclamation marks) Gozo Weather page are a good bet on when the next round of the apocalypse is likely to strike. An edited version of the above article first appeared in Sunday Circle on 30th August 2015. Of the cartoonists that have worked for, or contributed to, Strickland House newspapers over the years, three names have stood out. Alfred Gerada, by far one of the most prolific in his time, especially during the war, and more recently Maurice Tanti Burlo, who passed away last December, and Steven Bonello, who gets a real kick out of his incisive work…  Possibly it’s the best job in the world – or was until cartoonists started being gunned down in places too close to home and imprisoned and tortured elsewhere in this great world of ours. Mercifully it doesn’t happen here and attempts to libel cartoonists with defamation have invariably ended up with more egg on the face of the ‘injured’ party than anything else. Long may that be the case. I have been doing cartoons for The Sunday Times since 1991. I dearly love the fact that this newspaper has never suggested, let alone dictated, what I care to draw or not to. I’d like to think I’m an opinion maker, never mind that I’m probably at the bottom of that particular heap. I have been free to fire in all directions and let off steam at institutions and quangos which are clearly there to complicate peoples’ lives and make them more miserable. There have been ups and downs. The downs are moments when I question myself on a cartoon’s relevance or honesty, times when I ask myself if I’m being grossly unfair or whether I’m informed enough about a particular subject, and worse still those times when the grey cells refuse to throw up ideas at all. And then there are the ups. The best must be a little old lady at an environmental protest carrying an enlarged copy of a cartoon on the issue at hand which appeared the day before. Bless your heart Betty Barry! There are those precious moments when a winning idea forms in my mind when I least expect it to. I liken cartooning to plucking an invisible fruit from an equally invisible tree in a dark or foggy environment – you know it’s out there somewhere but the picking is just a matter of chance. The pits is censorship. I know, this is Malta and sensitivities can be quite delicate. My editors have been more than fair with me and the cases where I have been asked to change a cartoon must be less than half a dozen in more than twenty years. I normally see the editor’s point but true to my nature I fight my corner if I think I’m right. There was just one occasion where I begged on my knees for a cartoon to be accepted. I believe it is still relevant in the way Mepa has consistently made a complete mockery of its raison d’etre. The editorial decision at the time was that the ISIS imagery was too fresh and horrific at the time – and to be fair it was the first time this band of madman started videoing their barbaric beheadings. But maybe now, with the passage of time, it can be seen in a better light…  The above article was published in the Times of Malta 80th Anniversary supplement on 9th August 2015
 Lonzu Soon I come across a farmer and my camera prompts his curiosity. He warily asks if I’m there to record how the area looks before the bulldozers move in. As county folk are apt to do we soon fall into conversation and Lonzu does not hide his worries. He tells me he’s been cultivating fields on his government-leased land for a long time and he is also a proud exporter of the famous Maltese potatoes that are so sought after at this time of year in the Netherlands. Although Lonzu farms part-time he tells me that some of his neighbours in the area are full time growers and up to now no one is telling them much about their future. Though I feel his pain I can sadly only offer my sympathies. I continue along the road and decide to have a closer look at Fort Saint Leonard – a low-slung late nineteenth century British fort. Abandoned since the late seventies and leased out as a cattle farm soon after, there is understandably not much to see but a path veering right from the fort is more promising. It is a lovely tree-lined way which slopes gently by the fort’s northern escarpment towards the sea. It’s the picture of serenity bar a half dozen gun shots which at one point rudely interrupt the silence. Clearly there are one or two hunters who have some issues with their calendar; although I am aware this is a well-known area for poaching abuses I’m still surprised to hear shots a full three weeks after this year’s controversial season was closed. But there’s an antidote to this bit of unpleasantry: as I go through some derelict fields I come upon a good clutch of pyramidal orchids – a bit of a rarity for the area and so late in the spring too. I now reach a dirt track that runs parallel to the sea. The coast here is a rugged one with bare rocks and the occasional inlet. It’s mostly deserted too; there are just a couple of people fishing off the rocks and an elderly gentleman in sunhat picking capers. There’s some more history here too. The Triq il-Wiesgħa tower – one of Grand Master De Redin’s series of coastal watch towers – has recently been restored by Fondazzjoni Wirt Artna after falling into disrepair following damage after a World War II plane crashed close by and the inevitable years of neglect followed. There are traces of a coastal entrenchment – a project started during the reign of Grand Master Pinto but abandoned soon after his death, at a time when the Order and consequently its funding were in decline. Wartime artefacts are also common along this stretch of coast and there are a number of WWII gunposts which broadly served a similar purpose to the Knights’ towers. Before the scorching sun begins to take its toll I start making my way back via one of a number of paths which run uphill from the coast. The one I choose is overgrown but mercifully it is fennel rather than thistles and the plants’ sweet smell is welcome. Żonqor may lack the immediate draw of the more dramatic cliff landscapes elsewhere but it’s an enjoyable and still largely untouched open space on an island that may soon be causing serious problems for claustrophobics; it is a relatively serene oasis and an outpost of rural charm of the overdeveloped south. Dare I hope it will remain that way?  Near Fort Saint Leonard The above article first appeared in Sunday Circle magazine on 31st May 2015. |
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