| With a whopping 33% of the island already built up one would think that the cranes, earth movers and assorted construction behemoths would be yearning for a well-deserved rest – preferably a very long one. But it isn’t really looking like that, is it?   Saint Nicholas Chapel Żonqor is the latest stretch of open land to hit the headlines for all the wrong reasons so I traipse off early one Saturday morning to have a closer look, now fully aware it could be one of my last opportunities to do so. Even though it’s the middle of May and the land is starting to dry up I am not disappointed. I set out from a lane off Triq il-Blajjet – itself an offshoot off the old Zabbar to Marsascala road and probably the best way to access the area. It’s a pretty winding lane and soon the chapel of Saint Nicholas comes into view – up till now a lone landmark in splendid isolation among fields, half of which appear to be actively cultivated. The chapel dates back to the 16th century and like most wayside chapels it’s a straightforward box-like structure with a shallow dome and a simple, elegant façade. |
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?
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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