Malta - Valletta. A wild ride.

Early start for Malta. At the airport in Rome we had a cornetto, as croissants are called in Italy, one side stuffed with nutella and the other pistachio cream. My dream life. Luga airport was small. It was a bit like the days of old, where once my late husband and I got off the plane in Crete and an open truck with seats along the sides in the back, took us to our destination.

The taxi we were ushered into was old, battered, with open window air con, a very fast moustachioed driver and his teenage daughter talking animatedly on her phone in the front. He passes other cars with a whim, swinging in and out of the traffic at high speed and I close my eyes. He swings around the corner near our hotel and suddenly stops at the top of a very steep staircase and points down. We get the hint, he wasn't going to take us directly there, he had other fish to fry, so to speak. We dragged our bags down at least a hundred steps. Our room wouldn't be ready until later so we head off for lunch.

There are staircases everywhere in Valetta and beautiful warm stone buildings with colourful balcony rooms, cats and potted plants en route. We find a beautiful little cafe halfway up one of the staircases. We look up and see beautiful coloured glass chandeliers, in gemstone shades of amethyst, ruby, rose quartz, as street lamps, I am in love. Little tables hug the side of the staircases and we feast on rabbit, a Maltese specialty. Rabbit tarts and a spicy rabbit salad. Served by a hippie-esque, glorious Brazilian girl who's in search of a better lifestyle. We find during our stay that not many people working in the restaurants here are Maltese, there's a selection from all parts of Europe, mainly Eastern Europe, who have come in search of sun and a different life and of course, the Brazilians.

Our little apartment is ready and overlooks the harbour. The kitchen's red shutters open up to a beautiful view. We're close to the British Hotel and as the partner is English, he goes to book us a place on the terrace. We dress up and drink our wine as we watch a slow burning sunset copper the sky and a big round of moon rises. The food is flavoursome, Mediterranean. Later we wander across and sit on the harbour wall, Limoncello bottle accompanying us and we are welcomed to Malta with fireworks from across the water.

The next morning we breakfast at the main hotel and finally meet a real Maltese man who owns the hotel. We have pastizzi, layers of flaky pastry with a paste of peas and good coffee. Then we're off on a bus ride to the Silent City, Mdina, a UNESCO medieval walled city dating back to the 8th century BC and ruled by Byzantines, Muslims and finally Christians. It's called the Silent City because no cars are allowed inside the walls.

We become all touristy and go via horse and carriage. I think it was the Maltese man with a commendable moustache that sits above his lips like a hairy outstretched winged bird up to his ears that makes us feel that we've made the right decision. He is all smiles, displaying his lack of two front teeth and has lots of stories and a hearty smokers laugh. He smokes his cigar throughout the commentary as we clip clop slowly through the tiny streets. We find a cafe with a panoramic view and have a Maltese cassata for a sugar hit and then walk the tiny city of 300 people.

Down a side street is an advertisement for a show on the Knights of Malta, as part of our tourist moment we book in. The knights of Malta's mission was to defend the Holy land and provide care for the injured and sick on their way back from their pilgrimage to the Holy land. A video is followed by a weird wax museum scenario of the knights' lives.

We decide on getting a taxi back as the bus was a local one and stopped continuously. We arrive back in Valletta to lunch in the square, having decided on an Italian restaurant, run by, guess who? - Italians, not a Maltese in site. The city is arcaded with beautifully coloured banners in celebration of their patron saint, St Dominic. I love the traditions of European nations, we borrow a few in Australia but there's nothing like the beauty of ceremonies involving patron saints, it takes religion back to it's roots.

We dine underground that night in a traditional Maltese restaurant, starting with a hearty wine to accompany Bigilla, a dip made of broad beans flavoured with parsley, garlic, mint, marjoram and chilli and the crunchy bread of the region. We share a rich rabbit pasta, tomato and red wine based and seafood ravioli, delicate with a hint of smoky paprika.

Fortified we walk to the Opera house, Pjazza teatru rjal, which had has an unfortunate history. Built in 1866, it was destroyed internally by fire in 1873; bombed in 1942 during the war and then redesigned in 2013 by an Italian, as an open air cinema and theatre. We settle in to watch a movie from the Film Festival, beneath it's remaining columns, under a rising full moon, warmed by the summer air. Halfway through we are slightly traumatised by the film and decide to head back to our Limoncello location on the wall across from our apartment, cooled by a faint breeze off the water.