In Malta’s capital, cruise ships berth right under its remarkable defensive walls and bastions.  Being so centrally positioned in the Mediterranean, and therefore highly strategic through centuries of wars and conflicts, Valletta has seen many civilisations come and go.  It gained independence from Britain in 1964.

From the waterfront, we had to find a way up onto the top of the south wall.  Fortunately nowadays there’s a modern and very striking elevator, which whisks you up to the Upper Barrakka terrace and gardens, in no time.  There wasn’t even a queue – I guess most cruise passengers didn’t know about it.

At the top, we looked out towards the Three Cities the south, Fort Elmo to the east, today’s cruise ships to the west, and immediately below us, along the Saluting Battery, was a row of cannons.  Their cannonballs were neatly stacked in a pyramid, looking ready to be lobbed onto the pool deck of the Costa ship berthed in front of ours.  Four soldiers were also neatly lined up and ready for inspection. We felt sorry for them in their heavy uniforms.  Later they reappeared in shirt sleeves to polish the cannons, ready for the noonday firing.

Buried deep inside the walls, and back at ground level, is a labyrinth of rooms and tunnels, most recently used during World War 2.  The Lascaris War Rooms were the control centre for Operation Husky, the almost uncontested retaking of Sicily, after Operation Mincemeat convinced the Germans that the Allies planned to take Sardinia, in a classic bait-and-switch.  We were shown the various rooms with their map tables and readiness boards – developed from the betting boards used at horse racing tracks, and familiar to anyone who went to a cricket match at the MCG in the pre-digital era.  It was fascinating to see a small portion of what’s inside the walls, and to understand how the Allies developed the universal ready response system.

Back in daylight, we emerged in time to hear the noonday cannonfire reverberate around the city.  We walked west along the south wall as far as St James Bastion, then Ian returned to the ship while I continued. 

In many places on this trip, I’ve felt like I’m scouting out venues for sprint maps.  If the walls of Valletta were mappable, this would be a top candidate.  I quickly learned that there is not just one wall; there are several, and they are almost as thick as they are high.  They are also irregular, so following them in a straight line is not feasible.  Getting from one section to another required spying your destination – that shady park, or that elaborate fountain, then looking all around to see if there was a visible access point, like a high bridge or a set of stairs.  Then figuring out the way, dodging around huge, ornate buildings.  In such fashion I navigated to the Triton Fountain, crossing the Valletta Ditch as I went.  Ditch seemed far too mundane a description, as I gazed a long way down to the bottom of the striated sandstone.

I pressed on along the western wall, heading north to St Michael’s Bastion and Hastings Gardens.  Here I had a lovely view of the harbour and city to the north of Valletta, hundreds of watercraft bobbing in the sun.  Like a lot of southern Europe, the public gardens are really suffering from the drought, with only the hardiest plants surviving, the rest looking ragged or withered completely.  I dipped my hand into a fountain, and the water was warm enough for a hot bath.

I turned my attention to the city centre, where the long narrow streets offered glimpses of the sea, and shade. I was on the highest ridge, and the streets dropped away steeply to the east.  I wriggled my way gradually downwards, following my nose and looking out for the coloured balconies and doors that Valletta is famous for.  Eventually I emerged onto a huge open square, full of kids playing in fountains. Resisting the urge to join them, I paused outside the cathedral.  The streets here were bustling with cafes and restaurants.  It was well past lunchtime, and my energy had deserted me, although I knew there was more to see.  But finding myself back at the lift, the lure of lunch was too strong, and I called it a day.

We had another lovely sailaway, with gorgeous views of the nearby Three Islands, before we threaded the needle of the narrow harbour entrance.  Valletta is as far south as we go – it’s all north and east from here.