A visit to the Seven Sisters

I needed a break! Although it might sound awfully biased, I deserved a break after a solid 2 month long stretch of work, focused on a mini project as part of my Ph.D., which resulted in a complete study and a 36 page journal paper which I submitted next week. Indeed, my co-supervisor suggested that I take a week off from work; I did not follow the tempting advice fully but took a 2.5 day break: a weekend trip to the south coast at Eastbourne and the Seven Sisters.

It might seem a very bad idea to go by the sea in late November and indeed it was a very risky business but the Friday turned out to be a sunny day and come Friday afternoon, we headed on a Southern train to Eastbourne to a sea-facing B+B which I booked a few days before. Although it was a room with a sea view, by 7.30pm it was pitch dark and saw none of the English Channel but were nonetheless welcomed into a largish room with a double and a single bed, complete with flat screen and DVD player and with a largish bathroom, including a bath. Compared with our own "home" at Ealing, this seemed too luxurious! After a quick trip to the first pub round the corner, a pint or 2 whilst amused by a karaoke show, we slept after watching Casino Royale and got up unusually early on the Saturday morning.

By 8.15am, we were at the breakfast room, where an unending fiesta of saturated fats deceitfully disguised under the very appealing form of sausages, bacon, (sunny-side-up) egg, hash browns, bacon and baked beans (and coffee and toast and cake) awaited us. Oh, the joys of cooked English breakfast! The exaggerated intake of calories surely proved to be a much-needed supply of fuel for a long day ahead...

We walked up to the town centre along the pebbly coast and took a bus to a tiny place called East Dean and then down to the Seven Sisters Country Park. At the end of the River Chuckmere to be precise. There commenced our famous Satuday walk, up and down all of the 7 gleaming white chalk hills - the Seven Sisters - down to Burling Gap and the "beach", up to the Belle Tout Lighthouse and then alongside the cliffs towering above the Beachy Head lighthouse: a total of some 14 km (as the crow flies) in 4.5 hours and with a maximum gradient of some 22% towards the end. Thank you, Google Earth, for the statistics.

By 3pm, we were totally famished, not to mention the feet started to complain and our arrival at the Beachy Head Pub was more than welcome. There a massive lunch awaited: a whale of a fish-and-chips and a pint of cider in a cosy and warm ambient. Perfect. A not-so-short walk to the main road took us to the first bus stop and we were back in the town centre by 6.30pm. One long and hot bath undid all the aches and pains in the feet and it was then time for Richard Gere and Julia Roberts (yes, Pretty woman) to conclude the night. Together with nachos, cookies and what not.

Next: easy like Sunday morning. Another full English breakfast worthy of royalty and then a laid back trip around the town, starting off by a stroll along the coast up to the pier and then a visit to 1 or 2 parks and back to the centre for yet another pub lunch, which proved to take longer than usual. After lunch, we headed to the outskirts of town to a marina development until sunset (that is 4pm) and then back to the guest house for our belongings and the station.

3 hours later, we were back in Ealing, mentally refreshed, physically drained but feeling very lucky that the weather was totally brilliant (in fact even warm at times) and visiting one of the widest expanses of cliff, green and sea in Britain (together with intermittent massive consumption of food) makes me say that the Seven Sisters are a set of family members I am really glad to have made an acquaintance with!

Gaddafi's gone

The topic of this post is probably the same as those in all journalistic writings all over the world: Muammar Gaddafi, former leader of Libya, has been caught and killed. The Libyan revolution is over, probably the last stage of the Arab spring, at least for the time being.

Just over 8 months after the protesting began in Libya, it seems that the fighting is over and Libyans can start rebuilding their country. This will be a massive undertaking and definitely outside the scope of this post. What I want to write about is a sideline to the main story.

It is totally amazing that within hours or perhaps minutes of the former leader's capture, videos of the undertaking started appearing on YouTube. Footage from phones somehow found their way online, depicting the last few minutes or hours of a person's life and the degrading way of how the man met his fate. By now, the death has been confirmed and more of these videos are surfacing by the minute. The more I see, the more I am disgusted.

I am not saying Gaddafi was a fine example of decent human behaviour and probably would have deserved being executed after his capture. What I fail to understand is that despite all the wrong a person could have done in his/her life, there remains a basic, minimum threshold of humanity which still needs to be respected. A person close to death does not deserve such maltreatment and humiliation and, what is worse, a dead person should not be thrown on a street, trampled upon or stripped naked. The Libyans were right to get rid of a man who treated people like animals but it seems that they have not learnt the lesson and are doing it all over again.

I only trust that the Arab spring was not, in fact, an autumn. In any case, so long, Colonel.

A+E: check!

During all the time I have been in the U.K., one thing which I have never used were the NHS services. Well, except for going to a dentist when my wisdom tooth was killing me, but then again that was not A+E as such. Now I am able to tick "Use NHS A+E" off the list...

It was an ordinary Wednesday afternoon coffee break at the SCR. I unusually had an espresso and a quick sandwich when, all of a sudden, I had this intense pain bang on in the middle of my abdomen. I could barely walk back to the office and I immediately blamed the espresso: perhaps it was burnt or I should stick to my usual Americano version of coffee?

The pain got worse and my wife and co-supervisor promptly called the emergency and "ordered" an ambulance. I feared it would be the appendix revisiting me after almost 2 decades of silence. The ambulance did not turn up half an hour after calling so we decided to get a cab down to Chelsea and Westminster Hospital. Less than 10 minutes later, we were there.

By now, the pain was ironically subsiding, though I was still not uncomfortable. After a quick registration or whatever you would call the initial process, I was called by a nurse some 30 minutes later who did a basic examination and thought the pain was too high up to be appendix, which was a brief relief, but had to await being seen by a proper doctor.

The doctor only called me almost 2 hours later, during which time the A+E waiting room seemed to be more like a social club rather than a place of emergency: people eating, drinking, watching TV, flirting, browsing YouTube on their laptop (yes, that's right) and the odd cry of pain from 1 or 2.

Anyway, I was my turn after a long wait and the doctor said it was probably some bug or stomach acid. Back home, I slept rather well, though the next morning I still did not feel too well and stayed at home. By lunch time, I thought I was 100% recovered and was almost going to the office but by 5.30 the pain had returned and by evening it was almost unbearable. There we go again.

I slept uncomfortably and got up well on the Saturday. I ate like a toddler all day but by today I think all is fine. I guess I will never know what exactly was wrong with me but what I do know is that the A+E in the U.K. is not very different from the A+E at home!

The beginning of the end?

Monday, 5th October, 2009: I was registered, for the second time, as a postgraduate student of Imperial College London. Wednesday, 5th October, 2011: I am now starting my third year (and, in theory, my final year) of my Ph.D. It has been a sinusoidal journey of ups and downs, with many positive academic highs and opposing dry periods, but I have survived so far. A Ph.D. is way different from all I had done in the past: nothing is really predictable, almost everything depends on third parties and pretty much everything depends on self-motivation. If I start writing about the actual Ph.D., this might turn out to be a mini-thesis, so I will stop here. But there is more to this matter...

A few weeks ago, a bomb dropped in my wife's inbox. It was a Ph.D. offer! Prior to that fateful day, I was utterly convinced that I would never recommend to anyone to enrol on a Ph.D. (I was passing through one of the unmotivated times!) but suddenly I had to change my position. Or rather, I decided to take the role of Pilate: I did not want to commit myself to suggesting a 'Yes' or a 'No'. My wife's wisdom, after several days of soul-searching, led to the 'Yes' answer, which meant refusing a job position and extending our planned stay in London by another 3 years or so. A change of plans (quite literally) overnight.

Now that the final year has officially started, it means that some of my office colleagues who were there before me when I started are now finishing off their own final year and this will entail a number of goodbyes, soon. They are, in a way, a source of inspiration to me since I am getting a sudden surge of momentum to work hard and finish my own work too. Possibly without any further extensions. Although, as it turns out now, I will be sticking around for a while, even after I am done! I am not complaining since I do love this city and am actually now looking forward to staying here for longer. Possibly seeing a Royal Coronation? No, long live the Queen!

Indian summer!

The Indian summer is over! After almost 2 weeks of fantastic weather, we are back to normal London weather: fresh and cloudy. But it was the hottest week in the last century and on 1 or 2 days it was here hotter than the Bahamas. What a shame that I had to work, even work hard. But one particular afternoon, it was too warm and nice to stay in the office and my colleagues and I headed off to Hyde Park enjoying the sunshine and the cooling water of the Diana memorial fountain. And did not fail to get disgusted by this year's Serpentine Pavilion, of which I still do not understand the whole point. But I will not waste time writing on that.

The whole "Indian summer" kicked off when my mother and sister visited us for a week. It never crossed our minds that the sun and heat would persist for a couple of weeks, so we thought it was mere luck! We made the most of the good weather by visiting Richmond (and managed to "meet" a couple of deer, too) and then another trip to Regent's Park and a long day out to Greenwich and the obligatory visit to one of London's architectural landmarks during the annual London Open House; this year we visited the Broadgate Tower in Liverpool Street. It was a fun week, though I must say that our poor studio flat was filled to its capacity, but we survived! It is always nice to have visitors and to be able to entertain.

On the following weekend, we headed off to Wembley Stadium for a tour of the sport Mecca with a Maltese friend. Nothing compares with a full stadium and in action but it was nonetheless a great experience. A decent pub lunch concluded the outing.

On what was probably the warmest day of them all, my wife and I headed off to central London for one massive riverside walk, this time on the north bank, kicking off at the Monument and up its 311 steps for an amazing 360 degree vista of the City and beyond and then continuing up to St. Paul's, across to Tate Modern, a sneak into the Rose Theatre (a first for us), a tasty focaccia for lunch at Borough Market, a site visit at the towering Shard, then back to St. Paul's (which we hoped to enter and go up its dome but we found out that it was about to close 40 minutes later and thus had to postpone) and then a visit to the Barbican. Even writing all these made me tired!

The first day of the week was nice and sunny, too, but that is all; from today, we are getting temperatures as low as 10 degrees at night and sunshine is at a premium. Possibly a good sign, since I can focus on my work, especially now that I have started my 3rd and (in theory) final year of my Ph.D. More on that, later!

Archi-neering superstars

What a week! What a month, really! Four consecutive weeks of non-stop activity. First, the conference at Switzerland, then the brief trip to Italy, followed by the trip to the homeland, then the visit of my mum and sister and finally this week: the IABSE-IASS conference in London. A conference with a difference...

This time round, I was on the other side of the table: I was not participating in the actual conference but helping out the organisers in the running of the conference. It was somewhat more physically engaging than anything else, although the most painful parts were waking up at times in the order of 6.45am to be at the venue by 8.30am, which entails a lot of effort from my part...though the endeavours were rewarded in a number of ways...

On the opening day, I managed to attend 2 keynote lectures by 2 key figures in the engineering and architectural fields: Bill Baker of SOM, structural engineer of the world's tallest building and Lord Norman Foster, undoubtedly one of the world's leading architects. Not only did I attend the lectures, but then also met the 2 of them after. Bill Baker was somewhat easier to handle; soon after the end of the talk, I went up to him and asked for a photo and had a very brief chat too. Lord Foster was somewhat more complicated. At the end of his talk, I headed off to the main entrance of the QE-II centre and awaited him beside his awaiting Mercedes. Some 20 minutes later, the designer exited, and I ran up to him, let him know of my admiration, shook the hands that designed buildings the like of the Swiss Re, the City Hall, the new Wembley, the HSBC headquarters, the Commerzbank and many more, and then asked for a photo, too! What a day that was!

On the Thursday, I was meant to be off duty, but then had a last minute call and was requested to accompany the accompanying persons on their tour to Windsor. Although I had been to Windsor twice, I accepted and early in the morning I, together with my wife, headed off with a group of elderly ladies from all over the world and took them to the Queen's castle outside London. It was a lovely day, sunny and clear and it was great to visit the castle and the royal quarters and chapel again. Following lunch by the river (very tasty bangers and mash), we briefly visited Savill Garden nearby and then back to London. It was a serendipitous day out!

Friday was the last day of the conference, thankfully; I developed signs of a cold, was tired of all the early rising up and needed rest and recovery. One last great event was left: a visit to the Olympic Park site in East London. At 8.30, the coach departed towards the east and were shown around the main landmarks soon after, albeit always within the coach. Since the last time I had been there, I can say that remarkable progress has been made, but I am still not convinced that they will finish all in time. They claim they are on track and within budget. I hope they are in the right.

It is now all over, I am in bed with a dripping nose and dead tired, but it was a good week. The same cannot be said for my work, though, since not much has been done in the past couple of days. But the thought of starting my 3rd year in a few days' time give me a lot of courage and adrenalin to get going...but not today; after all, tomorrow is another day!

Another Maltese wedding!

I had barely recovered from my Switzerland/Italy trip when it was time to make another trip, this time to Malta. The motivation? The wedding of one of my sisters-in-law, the elder one to be precise. This will be the first family wedding since our own (unfortunately I missed my cousin's earlier wedding due to the Porto conference) and thus was doubly excited to attend Miriam's and Chris's wedding.

On the Thursday, I got up as usual at around 8.30am and headed off to Uni and did some decent work. That evening, after dinner and packing a small suitcase, we took the night bus to Marble Arch at 1am and then the 757 coach to Luton and got there by 3.15am. One strong coffee and Krispy Kreme doughnut later, we boarded our plane at 6am and left for Malta, still not having slept. We arrived at the homeland at 10.30am local time and a very long day awaited us; first a blood donation, then wedding preparations, food consumption and what not and only finally slept at about 11.30pm, almost 40 hours after having last been in a bed. Not nice.

The next day, I got up quite early and assisted with a few of the last minute wedding errands and in the late afternoon headed off to the in-laws' house for the start of the wedding antics: photos, video then a car ride to the church and the ceremony began. It brought memories of our own wedding and was lovely. By 9pm, we all headed off to the reception venue and an evening of food, drink, talk and dance awaited and lasted till the early hours of Sunday. After all the guests had gone, we cleared all up and got home at 3.30am, yet another long day, although of "only" 20 hours.

On Sunday, I got up at midday and whilst having brunch, my aunt called and invited us to join them on a boat trip, which I could not refuse. Thus, 2 hours later, we were on a boat to San Blas Bay in Gozo, an amazing place I had never been to before, followed by an obligatory visit to the harbour and enjoying wonderful views of the capital and environs. Malta is simply beautiful, particularly from the sea. No wonder so many conquerors instantly loved Malta; in times when the only international access was from the sea, I would have had no second thoughts as to whether I would like to colonise such a land!

The visit soon came to an end on Tuesday morning, but an extra 2 Micallefs boarded that flight: my mum and my sister were accompanying us to London until Sunday! But that is another story!

9/11....11

This year was the 10th anniversary since the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Centre in New York. Any anniversary of this sort is quite moving and I suppose the decade-long memorial was more special than usual. I will not go into the whole 9/11 affair but will only think about the whole thing from another (if shallower) perspective. On the day, I am remembering how life was one decade ago. This is not one generation ago or one century ago but only a mere 10 years. Thinking about it, I was amazed at how different the world was. Not only due to the real threat of terrorism worldwide, but on a day-to-day basis.

Ten years ago, there were no iPhones or iPods or iPads. Not even Facebook. There were only primitive mobile phones; to be honest, I did not even have my own mobile phone and we had just 1 for all the household's needs. It is amazing at how these electronic devices have changed the world. Alongside the internet which is no longer limited to the ancient dial-up or then advanced DSL technology of 2001 but is now available virtually all over the place in the form of wireless waves transporting bits and bytes all over the globe via computers, laptops and mobiles.

A decade ago, photography was limited to film technology whereas today film is obsolete and everything is digital. And everybody has become a photographer. The same can similarly be extrapolated to the existence of 3D TV, HD TV, BlueRay and all the advances of the multimedia world. I think in 2001 I was still doing my backups on 1.4 MB floppy disks; today companies give you complimentary 2 GB (some 1400 floppy disks' worth) USB sticks during Careers' Fair.

Ten years ago, the idea of building anything more than 0.5km was a dream; today the 800m+ Burj Khalifa is on its way to be superseded.

Ten years ago, there was no Harry Potter; now the series is concluded. I think there were 7 in all; I never bothered reading any of them.

Ten years ago, there were no low-cost air travel phenomena. Today, these budget airlines have changed the whole idea of travel, from something which is quite an expensive commodity to a quasi daily totally affordable affair.

Ten years ago, the Euro was in its infancy as the single currency of the E.U.; today, the Eurozone is facing a serious crisis, almost on the verge of collapse, with many countries bailing out millions, in the aftermath of a persistent world recession.

In the aftermath of 9/11, the world's public enemy #1 was Osama Bin Laden; today the man is dead. Or so they say, anyway. And on a quasi similar note, the president of the U.S.A. was Republican George W. Bush and now the White House hosts Democrat Barack Obama. In Malta, nothing changed in terms of government - the conservatives are still in power, since 1987.

A decade ago, Saddam Hussein was still in power (he is now dead), Fidel Castro was still reigning Cuba (he is now retired), Muammar Ghaddafi was still controlling Libya (he is now on the run). Queen Elizabeth II is however still the U.K.'s ruling monarch and fast approaching her diamond jubilee.

On a more personal level, ten years ago, I was just about to start my undergraduate and now I am starting my final year of my Ph.D., my ultimate stop in my formal education journey. Back then, I was not even aware that there existed the option of me doing a masters degree, let alone the possibility of enrolling on a doctorate.

Ten years ago, I was quite happily living as a bachelor on a rock of 0.4 million and now I am happily married and living in a metropolis of 7.5 million and open to so many new ideas, cultures and meeting people from all over the planet.

I am concluding here. Definitely not an exhaustive list, but this is what I could think of in a few minutes. I am sure that if I had to write all that has changed between 2001 and 2011, then I would probably be writing an encyclopedia. Oh yes, that is another one: encyclopedias do not exist anymore; today there is Wikipedia.

An Italo-Swiss trip

As I had written a few months ago, one of the (few) joys attached to doing a Ph.D. is the chance to participate in international conferences. I reckon I am quite lucky to be given the opportunity to attend to yet another of such conferences and present some of my works, too. This particular conference, from an acadamic point of view, promised to be more interesting than previous ones since rather than being very broad in its contents and deal with composite materials in general, it was entirely devoted to protective structures and thus, presumably, would be more within my field of interest. Also, the venue sounded quite interesting: Switzerland, a country I had never been to. Logistically, it proved to be more stressful: it coincided with yet another conference (in South Korea) and thus had to choose between the 2 (or rather, my supervisor chose for me) and it also was to be held during the week just after my wife's birthday and during the week when her M.Sc. thesis was due. Although I am virtually helpless in the latter, for she has to do her own work, I thought I might at least offer some moral support, but alas, on the 28th of August I left London to Lugano and embark on Protect 2011.

The flight was not direct and started off at London City Airport. I had never been to the latter and the journey to the far east of London on the DLR proved to be interesting. Once on board the Swiss air plane, my suspicions as to how this flight will be started to materialise. I recalled the first non-direct flight I did in the past (to Stuttgart), where the plane was a tiny, propellored one. This time, the London-Zurich flight was a "normal" plane, but with 2 rows of 3 and 2 people, rather than the usual 3 and 3. I had a good window seat in the 2 person row and the flight was smooth. Once at Zurich, I was amazed at the huge number of people there and the somewhat confused departure lounge. I only hoped that my suitcase would not get misplaced and put my mind at rest when I saw it being loaded on the plane once on the runway. My peace of mind disappeared when I realised that the plane was one of those damn noisy propellor ones and this was even smaller: 1 and 2 person rows! Again, I had a window single seat and, thankfully, the journey was less than 45 minutes long. And thus I landed in Lugano and got into an airport the size of a large house.

I was amazed to find out that my impression of Switzerland was totally wrong. I had this image of snow and ice and cold Alpine conditions, but I found a 28 degree sunny Lugano waiting for me. It was also very comforting to note that everything and everyone used Italian in this little appendix of Helvetica which is very much Mediterranean in its attitude, albeit slightly more organised and clean than the average Italian city. Undoubtedly the German-Swiss influence. A 15 minute journey took me to the hotel literally at the water's edge and with a magnificent view of Lake Lugano and the 2 quasi symmetrical mountains towering over it: Bre and San Salvatore.

I was rather hungry at that point and decided to go and fetch some quick dinner. The first obvious choice was unfortunately Burger King, only to find that a normal meal there cost almost 14 Swiss Francs (when I had bought Francs at 1 CHF for £0.85). Unbelievable! I had been warned that Switzerland was rather expensive, but even such a "basic" foodstuff was almost double what it is in an average European city! I recalled that infamous slogan from the 2003 E.U. campaign back in Malta, when that sorry man had promoted the idea of turning Malta into a Mediterranean Switzerland. Did that mean doubling the cost of living, or more? If so, then what a relief that that man's ideas never materialised...

The following day was a kick off for the work part of the trip: a technical tour. The venue was actually in Italy and thus a coach took the smallish congregation of participants to Galbiate in Italy. No checks whatsoever were done at the border, in typical Italian style. The venue proved to be quite picturesque and the lunch, well, impeccable, in yet again true Italian style. The prosecco in particular was very tasty. After a longish first day, we travelled back to Switzerland and had a good night's sleep, but only after an ice-breaking cocktail evening, where I savoured some more great local food. And wine, of course.

The next day was busy, spent mostly at the conference venue. En route from the hotel, I saw virtually all of Lugano and continued to amaze myself at how expensive everything is. I also noticed that there were a lot of pharmacies, probably the highest number of pharmacies per capita in the world and concluded that either the Swiss get sick very often or pharmaceuticals are the only cheap thing in this place. That evening, I headed to Lugano station and after a long tour trying to find how the ticket purchasing system worked, I got train tickets for Milan. More on that later. I realised how much organised the Brits are, with 1000 signs every 5m, announcements every 5 minutes and everything so accessible and fool-proof. I guess the Italianite influence is far too strong in this part of Switzerland. I prepared myself for my presentation due on the next day, though such an activity did not require much adrenaline anymore.

Indeed, the presentation was very smooth and had only 2 questions from the chairman at the end. After the day's sessions, I decided to do some proper Luganese sightseeing. I walked west along the lake's edge, encountered one of Mario Botta's typical brick buildings and then boarded the funicular which led me to the top of Mount San Salvatore. As far as I remember, I had never been up such a high mountain (912m, to be precise) and, indeed, never up such a high anything (the Eiffel Tower is a mere 300m compared to the threefold height of this rocky beast). Once at the summit, after my ears popped a few times and the temperature was slightly fresher and more pleasant, I was left with a vast 360-degree panorama of pure Alpine beauty laid out like a capet below me. Absolute heaven. So was the chilled beer I had after touring the mountain-top chapel and some of the rugged paths snaking around the top.

Thursday was then the final day of the conference and the highlight of the day was undoubtedly the conference dinner that evening. Once again, we travelled to Italy, this time to Villa Erba close to Como and enjoyed an amazing 4 course meal in a superb setting. Back to Lugano, I bid farewell to the new acquintances I had made and retired immediately to recharge myself for the trip that awaited the next day.

Surprise, surprise, I was going to Italy, again. In less than a week, I would have gone to Italy 3 times, that is more than the 2 times I have been in the previous 27 years! However, I had never been to Milan and, being this close to the Lombardia region, I decided to pay a visit to the northern capital of Italy. I was very sorry to find out that, even having checked as early as July, there were no tickets available to view Leonardo's "The Last Supper" in the famous Milanese convent, but soon filled my itenerary with numerous substitutes which filled the whole day: the utterly Fascist Stazione Milano Centrale, the sleek Pirelli Tower of Nervi, the magnificent Duomo, the posh Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele II, the famed Teatro della Scala, my Inter's beloved Stadio Giuseppe Meazza, the hidden gem that is Pinacoteca Brera and the awesome Castello Sforzesco.

I imagined the Centrale station to be a large-scale version of the old Valletta City Gate, only a bit more adorned and monumental. With the quasi operatic music in the background, I was almost expecting some Mussolini wannabe to start making an impromptu speech in the ticket hall. I got myself a day ticket for the metro and then paid tribute to the engineering marvel that is Nervi's Pirelli Tower. The weather was not attractive: grey skies and terribly hot and humid conditions. I took the metro and landed at the foot of the Duomo. What an impressive facade: well-conserved Gothic fantasy. The interior was equally impressive, although the quasi-industrial white lighting was somewhat disappointing. I headed to the Scala theatre via the Galleria building and did not fail to do some window shopping. The Scala was closed and I wondered what splendour was hiding behind that modest facade.

I had a quick lunch and then headed off to the west in the San Siro area of Milan, precisely to visit Inter's (well, and AC Milan's) Stadio Giuseppe Meazza. I decided to walk up the road to the stadium and this was a serendipitious choice: I saw a huge array of artwork by graffiti artists and many of them at work, creating wonderful improvised works of art in this Camden-like part of Milan. Once at the Meazza, I was amazed by the structure's dimensions. So much different seeing the real thing than just on TV! I got my ticket and made my way to the museum and then the stadium tour, including the teams' changing rooms! Quite a memorable experience...

After San Siro, it was time for some more cultural activities and headed to the Brera Gallery. I knew the "stars" of the place - Hayez's "The Kiss", Caravaggio's "Meal at Emmaus" and Raphael's "Marriage of the Virgin", among others - but I was also delighted to find 2 works by Mattia Preti which he actually undertook whilst in Malta! A well-spent two hours later, I almost literally ran to the ancient Milan stronghold of Castello Sforzesco, hoping it would still be open. It was, but the museums therein were not, and thus did not manage to have a look at Michelangelo's last piece of work, the Rondanini Pieta'. Alas, visiting the mighty citadel was worthwhile nevertheless. I forgot to mention that by the time I was leaving the Meazza, the sky had cleared to a more decent blue and thus I went back to Piazza del Duomo and took a few "better" pictures before it was time to return to the Centrale and northbound to Lugano. What a great day!

My final day in the Swiss land was greeted by a grey sky, albeit warm and somewhat uncomfortably humid. I did manage a quick stroll along the pedestrianised quarters of Via Nassa, of course not intending to buy anything from that devilish shopping quarter and only consumed my remaining Franc coins on water and a snack. I finished off my current read (Archer's "As the crow flies"), which kept me almost off my seat more than the turbulent flight from Lugano to Zurich. The association with Heathrow meant an inevitable delay and the journey back to London finally came to an end in the evening. Thankfully, home is now only a few minutes on the Heathrow Express and thus concluded my Protect 2011 experience.

My impression of the Swiss? I would say the landscape is impeccable and the culture somewhat weird, being a complex interbreed of French, German and Italian (though I mostly savoured only the latter). My view of Milan was not as promising as I thought the Italian capital of the north would be; a few smelly and almost run-down areas did not fail to catch my attention, but the sights were definitely worth travelling to, although I must re-iterate that I wished I had been to see Leonardo's cenacolo fresco. A good excuse to visit Milian another time, perhaps!

Family matters

Almost 50% of my family from my dad's side is based in the U.K. and thus for most of my life I have been somewhat detached from my uncles and aunts and cousins here. Soon after my arrival here, I quickly became acquainted with all of the Micallefs here...and their off-springs.

Very recently, 2 of my (U.K.) cousins had a baby each, a boy and a girl (another in Malta had a boy). And the wife of another cousin has a boy on the way (which relieved the pressure on me to have a son in order to keep the Micallef lineage going!) and also recently found that yet another cousin is pregnant! A lot of hormones running around these days! Anyway, it was time to christen the new boy in the family and thus we headed off to Horsham yesterday for the christening ceremony of Rowan Patrick Maude.

After a marathon of hearing nothing but the wife's thesis project, it was finally a good excuse to leave the house and enjoy the rare bits of summer 2011 in the U.K. We got an early train from Victoria and headed to Sussex and to my cousin's (extremely large, at least by London standards) house and garden. Handfuls of kids running around greeted us! We headed off to the small church hosting the baptism ceremony and soon after back home for the reception.

It was a lovely sunny and warm afternoon and we lingered in the garden, eating, drinking and chatting away till the late afternoon. It was good to catch up with some many relatives and extended family members. It is funny that virtually until 2007, I can shamefully say that I barely known my cousins (let alone their spouses) but, in the last few years, I guess I met my U.K. cousins more than I met those in Malta and am now up to scratch with them too!

After one long day, at 6pm, it was time to start our commute back to London and having said goodbye and downed one final beer, we started the journey back home and ready for another week of work. Well, Marianna's final week as a student as she concludes working on her M.Sc. thesis and also my final working week for August, before I head off to Switzerland next Sunday!

Music in the park

The BBC Proms are an annual event I look forward to. This year was no exception and one particular prom grabbed my attention: film music. So on that late afternoon, Marianna paused from her thesis-ing and joined me at Imperial and soon after headed to the Royal Albert Hall, eager to experience some serious musical indulgence...

What awaited us was a 1000m long queue, snaking around the whole of Kensington Gore! This particular prom attracted more people than anticipated and the 1 hour turn up in advance proved to be insufficient. We stood there, moving slowly at 1m/min until we were almost at the box office. Perhaps 3o or 50 people before us. Then one of the polite RAH staff came out and told us that the hall is filled to its capacity and sadly we had to leave for home. A great dinner and some good red wine took away my blues.

Thus, yesterday we decided to go to yet another appealing musical event: the LSO playing live most of the soundtrack of The King's speech, a movie which we both enjoyed and whose OST is simply amazing. So we headed to the mini Manhattan of London - Canary Wharf - and assembled ourselves on the small grassy bit midst the shiny towers and devoured a packet of M&S jalapeno tortillas, enjoyed a slight breeze and while the musicians took their places.

The music itself was out of this world; nothing beats live performances and my favourite, the 2nd movement of Beethoven's 7th symphony, simply blew me away. I soon found out that this event was only one of almost a 2 month long festival of cultural events at Canary Wharf, ranging from movies, music, drama and art. In the heart of the financial and money-making district of London, a feast of cultural bonanza, all for free. The first thing I did once we got back home was subscribe to the mailing list of the organisation responsible for these events and make the most of it next year!

It is almost surreal how much effort and investment (time and money) Londoners put into setting up such activities. And, of course, I am not complaining!

The uprising

What an eventful week it was in London town! I have been in London for almost 3 and a half years now and I admit that, for the first time, I was on the verge of stating that I feel unsafe in the city...

It all started 9 days ago with a "peaceful" protest in Tottenham after the cops shot a guy there, presumably by accident. In no time, the protests spread like a flu virus to all parts of the city, initially to areas notorious for such activities, say Hackney and Camden and Brixton, and then to virtually all of London: from buzzing Oxford Circus, to busy Clapham and even peaceful Ealing, literally minutes away from our home. A spell of copy-cat behaviour led to similar riots taking place up in Manchester, Birmingham, Nottingham, where these gangs unleashed a severe spell of violence and theft from high street shops, breaking into any stores and stealing anything from bins to flat screen TVs to phones and wine.

For almost a week, all we could hear were police sirens, helicopters, fire engines and ambulances. The presence of police escalated in stations and the streets and London was transformed overnight from a busy metropolis to what seemed a scary scene in some Armageddon movie.

The night the looters headed to Ealing, we were peacefully asleep and only realised what was going on a few hundred metres away the next day via BBC and first-hand inspection of the broken shops on the Broadway and Uxbridge Road.

What amazed me most was the fact that people were filming these opportunistic idiots stealing and breaking and the police were standing right in front of them but had no right to fire on them, because of human right issues. So these have rights not to be fired on with water cannons? And the other 7 million Londoners do not have a right to feel safe in their city? At times, these Brits amaze me...

I guess these unfortunate accidents confirmed my "theory": it is not enough to have thousands of CCTV cameras all over the place (something like 1 for every 14 persons) and have footage of criminals and then no means of matching a face to a person. What is needed is real police presence on the streets, dressed in civilian clothes, ready for action and nothing else. CCTV may be deterrents but clearly they are not working.

All seems to be back to normal now, but what if this happened in a year's time during the height of the 2012 Olympics? Should they then also wait for the blessing of Cameron or the whole of Parliament or whoever to deploy some sort of retaliative measures? I hope there is no comeback by these gangs...

An elegy

It was love at first sight.

I was roaming the bustling streets of Tripoli, back in the summer of 2007, away from my then girlfriend, family and usual circle of friends. Long before the days of the Libyan rebels, Tripoli was a hub of activity, particularly after sunset when the terrible heat diminishes and the inertia-laden locals start their working day. Or night. This particular night was a night to remember.

Sadly, I do not recall the exact location, but it was one of those dodgy-looking arcades with terribly cheap items and fake watches, jewellery and perfumes for sale when I caught sight of a sleek shape in the display window, a form I had long sought in Malta but failed to find. In that moment of uncertainty, I hastily went in and, less than 10 minutes later, I walked out the proud owner of that earthly thing I had spotted in the shop window which eagerly was awaiting someone to possess it. And that is how, my dear, you became mine.

From that fateful day onward, you never failed me. You accompanied me during my short stay in Libya and then you were the only one who came with me to London. You walked with me the streets of London, both willingly and when I dictated you to do so. You traveled virtually all over the U.K. with me, marveling at the architectural landmarks of the cities and the beauty of the landscape. You were there during my many quasi-daily trips to Imperial, all my exams, all my ventures to the London pubs and parties. You even flew with me to Germany during my trip to Bremen, enjoyed many a walk there with my mate, who also found you quite appealing and yet you never betrayed me.

When I started my first U.K. job, you came with me on my first day and subsequent working days, you were always there, through all the ups and downs, pub lunches and walks in the snow and rain.

Weeks, months and more than a year passed and you started showing signs of tiredness, of constant and almost abusive usage. And then came the day when the temptation was too hard to resist and I was confronted by another gorgeous pair in another display window, this time in Oxford Street, that Mecca of consumerism in Central London. And on that fateful shopping spree, thus I was introduced to my new companion, this time slightly blonder than you, old friend: my current Clark's nubuck shoes.

Thus, I bid you one final farewell, my dear Levi's beige moccassin shoes.

The Westenders

It will soon be the fourth year anniversary of my first venture to London in September 2007. Albeit I have been away from the city proper for a year (6 months in Surrey between September 2008 and March 2009 and 6 months in Malta between March and September 2009), I have always lived the entire time in west London, precisely in the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea. Like all things, this stay is coming to an end..

My initial arrival in London was prompted by my M.Sc. at Imperial, and thus I wished to live relatively close to the campus. By pure accident, I came across the website of a student hall a kilometre or so away from Imperial and this turned out to be such a great year. In this place, I met so many people from so many countries, cultures, ideas and ways of life. In many ways, it was a real shock, a cultural shock, albeit a very positive one. I met many people with whom I kept good contact to date and developed good, lasting relationships with many.

Masters done and completed, I found a job outside Kingston in Surrey and I had to relocate to a closer location. Thus, was my first farewell to Lee Abbey International Students' Club in Lexham Gardens. From Room 312, I moved to a flat in Ewell outside Epsom, where I lived for 6 months. A short spell back in Malta and I returned to the capital to start my Ph.D., again at Imperial.

Initially, I stayed in another student hall, also close to Imperial, literally behind Earl's Court Station. The convenience of being close to Uni was only one of the advantages of my seeking accommodation in this area. No wonder Kensington is one of London's and, indeed, Britain's most posh and expensive areas: it is clean, safe, beautiful and, although not exactly in the hustle and bustle of the city, it is still very accessible and close to all amenities.

Soon after the wedding, my wife and I both moved once more to Lee Abbey for another 15 months. It was either the fact that I was now not alone but married or the fact that I was much more familiar with London and the hall's setup, but the second stay at the hall was probably much memorable than my first. But by the start of summer, it was time to move on...

We sought a place of our own and, after a short but intensive searching process, we found a place in Ealing, further west from Earl's Court. The logistics of moving all our belongings proved to be a nightmare, but this is perhaps just my exaggeration of the task. The weekend of 9-10 July was tiring but had its fair share of fun too.

On Saturday, we went to Shakespeare's Globe for the first time and watched the play Hamlet in true Elizabethean style. It was a marvelous performance and the setting, language and costumes served as a pseudo time machine. Leaving the Globe and then seeing the City skyline, the Neo-Gothic Tower Bridge, the towering glass Shard and the sleek Millennium Bridge leading to the Neo-Classic St. Paul's once more confirmed the beauty of London's amalgamation of different eras in the city's ever-evolving lifetime.

All the "stress" associated with moving was rewarded by a sumptuous farewell dinner at a wonderful Lebanese restaurant in Notting Hill, thanks to the lovely warden and his wife and also a farewell party by the members of the Lee Abbey staff and a final beer in the local pub with our best friends from the hall, which ended a few minutes ago.

It is said that all good things come to an end, and this is true in the case of our stay in Lee Abbey. After relocating, we have not yet lived in our new place but we are flying to Malta in a few hours! Although I am very eager to going back and enjoy some sun, I also look forward to flying back to London and our new home in Ealing!

Porto!

One of the good things about doing a Ph.D. is the chance of attending international conferences. Of course, there is a substantial academic interest associated with such events: presenting your own work to a large audience, meeting other people in the field, exchanging ideas and contacts and, on a more leisurely tone, visiting a new country. I had the chance to attend one such conference last week and the host country was Portugal.

Although I had attended conferences before and presented in one too, this was my first chance during my Ph.D. to present not 1 or 2 but THREE pieces of work! Quite a baptism of fire, although it worked out quite seamlessly. Of course, a lot of preparatory work was needed beforehand to complete all the presentations and go through them with my colleagues and supervisors but, once all that was out of the way and my suitcase was packed, I made my way to Gatwick and onto a plane to Portugal's capital of the north: Porto.

It was unusually warm in London when I left but slightly warmer once I landed there. The flight was smooth and on-time and having purchased my Andante card (the equivalent of 'our' Oyster), I boarded the Metro and headed to the centre and my hotel. The first impression was very positive: very modern, clean and wide, fully air conditioned carriages which, in tram style, ventured to the centre in less than half an hour. Most of the stations were above ground and very modern, at least compared to some of London's. Once at my destination, Bolhao, I found the closest exit and out I was on Rua Sta. Caterina. I was greeted by a Baroque chapel with an exterior of white and blue tiles, which immediately grasped my attention (only to find later than virtually all churches are clad in this way!) but I had to head to the hotel since: a) I had to dispose of my luggage and b) I was starving!

And so I checked-in a lovely hotel and off I was to the main square a short walk away. The Baroque architecture was impressive even at dusk but had little time to venture around that day since I needed to get ready for the next few days of conference. These passed fairly quickly, with some interesting talks and very tasty lunches in between. In the evenings, I had to find time to explore the place.

Luckily, it was not dark until well after 9pm and thus I had most late afternoons for roaming. With a good map in hand, I headed off to the main parts of the city and was amazed by the face that Porto had many "Maltese" qualities about it. Firstly, it is a staunch Catholic society, with many Jesuses and Marys and crosses where you look. Plenty of heavily exaggerated Baroque churches with dramatic facades and impressive gold-covered interiors. The topography of the city gives it a unique quality.

The area around the Se Catedral is the starting point of a downhill trail of narrow winding streets leading down to the Rio Duoro. The narrow streets proved to be a welcome shelter from the sun's heat and the Portuguese colourful lifestyle slowly emerged in the streets. Levels overlooking spaces below, all centred around chapels and churches, children playing in the streets or bathing in fountains, old women looking out from top floor windows, groups of people chatting outside their doors, washings hanging out from windows, loud voices and omnipresent street decorations and flags are totally reminiscent of Maltese villages and old towns. The stone, the architecture, the people, the sounds and smells, all had that distinct Mediterranean feel about them, which I found fascinating, given that Porto is really more of an Atlantic place!

The Portuguese reminded me so much of my own fellow country people in many ways: unlike the Brits, no one walked up/down the escalators in stations but waited for the machinery to do the work. Queues tend to take more of a sideway alignment rather than straight. Bus drivers tend to love using their horns and stop to talk to colleagues driving in the other lane. And the strange action of one washing the pavement outside the house, which I thought was only a Maltese habit, was a familiar sight in the streets of Porto!

On one particular night, we had a banquet in one of the "Caves" on the south (or Gaia) side of the river, where all the famed warehouses making Porto's namesake product- port wine - is made. The huge barrels in the old timber roofed structures were impressive, as was the tasty food there. And, of course, port.

My 3 presentations were scheduled for the last day of the conference, after the banquet, which was challenging only because I had to be FULLY awake at 9am. All went well and on that day, I continued with my exploring. This time I headed down to the river bank, welcomed by the massive Luis I bridge, an engineering beauty, and a colourful stage of activities along the river. Old barrel vaulted spaces house restaurants, all with live music and singing, hawkers sell souvenirs and locals linger about while tourists take pictures of the river and bridge. It felt good to be in such a familiar atmosphere! I had dinner in one of the places there and after sunset lazily headed back to the hotel for a good sleep.

On the last day, I went off to a more modern area of Porto, including the Faculty of Architecture - a Modernist building which would truly inspire students therein, and the Casa da Musica. A bus ride away was one of the main beaches and its Boavista circuit and tower, where I spent most of the late morning and early afternoon. I headed back to the centre and picked my luggage and then up to the airport and back to London, slightly later than scheduled due to the inevitable delays at Gatwick.

It was a great experience in Porto, on so many levels, and I am sure that I will return to the Portuguese land and savour some more of it!

Malta? 'Yes', please!

After the Paris trip, I did not bother shoving up my suitcase in the limited storage space we have; I was going to fly to Malta in 2 days' time! This was no ordinary trip, on many levels. Firstly, it was to be from Heathrow and thus no need for painful mid-sleep commutes to Luton, but an easy Tube ride after getting up and having breakfast at a decent hour. Secondly, it was partly funded by the Maltese Government, a sweet 35 euro return deal. You might be asking why? The answer is simple and brings me to the next point: thirdly, I was going down to the homeland to vote in a referendum!

Since my country can afford to subsidise 1,000,000 euro worth of flights (erm, not!), whenever there is an election/referendum, the government offers cheap flights on the national airline for people abroad, like me, to get home and vote. I had done this in the 2008 election (it was Lm15, back then) and this time round I decided to go down again. Not that I was too concerned with the vote itself, but it was a good excuse to go home! The referendum concerned the much-debated divorce bill presented to Parliament a few weeks before...

I am writing this after the referendum results are out but let me assume that the outcome is not known yet. So, to date, it is only in Malta and the Philippines (and in the Vatican, of course) where divorce is not possible. I will not even start discussing this issue (I have had enough of the debates!) but what happened, in a nutshell, is that a backbencher from the (conservative) government's side presented a bill to introduce a mild divorce law in Malta. As one would imagine, this brought about a massive state of turmoil in society and although not politicised and bi-polarised as the 2003 EU referendum campaign turned out to be, this was still as amusing as ever.

Back to the trip itself...I left London at 11am, comfortably from Heathrow but not without the usual "enhanced security checks", 99.9% brought about by my beard and the Libyan visa on my passport. Talk about anti-racism and equality...anyway. The take-off was bumpy and scary (it was terribly windy) but then all was smooth and punctual; my latest book purchase The Lady Elizabeth kept me company with its Tudor-set adventures.

Once landed, I was welcomed by the heat and damp of dear old Malta. After greeting my parents and the in-laws, I headed home for a nice lunch and then a very relaxed afternoon and evening. The latter marked the end of the campaign and I thank God for that since a half day's worth of hearing debates and whatnot was more than enough!

On Friday, I headed off the my favourite place in Malta: the capital city. I made a visit to the ex City Gate site to "inspect" progress and then lingered about the busy streets and shops. By the end of morning, I had to go back home and shower! I made a short stop at my "old" Uni and met up with 2 of my lecturers for a quick chat about progress here in London and then in the evening headed back to Valletta with a friend. I made a wonderful discovery of a very chilled new location literally at the water's edge, where we enjoyed pints of Cisk, gentle breezes and ample chit-chat. And then headed home.

On Saturday, I then made a visit to another favourite place of mine: Birgu. The sun was far more unkind today and I ended up with a slight tan too. I spent the rest of the afternoon quite relaxed since my toe decided to develop a blister and it was rather painful. In the early evening, I headed off to do my civil duty (and the ultimate purpose of this trip, really!) and cast my vote. No, I will not disclose here where I marked the "X"! The evening was then concluded by the Barca-Man Utd game, which the latter lost to my great pleasure!

I kicked off Sunday earlier than most Sundays only to start following the outcome of the voting. I was not confident that the Yes vote would win or, if so, only by a small margin, thus making predictions from samples hard. But a mere hour after counting started, there were strong indications that the Yes vote had, indeed, won and by a majority of some 53%! The announcement by the Prime Minister a few minutes later meant that there was a considerable level of confidence in the statistical sampling and by lunchtime it was quite obvious that in Malta the status quo of the ruling Catholic dogma had been somewhat broken or, at best, cracked.

My flight was at 5pm and so by 3pm we headed off to the airport, with 3 bottles of Kinnie and 2 bottles of Maltese wine in the luggage and after all the goodbyes were done, I flew back to London and to my awaiting wife. It was a shame that I had not realised earlier that it was a Bank Holiday Monday, but, looking back, it was a good thing to come back and resume my work...loads to do!

And that was how my 2011 divorce referendum adventure unfolded.

Les rues des Paris - V

On Tuesday morning we packed up all our belongings and checked out from the hotel without wasting any time to maximise our last day in Paris. As the saying goes, we saved the best for last: a day trip to Versailles and a lift ride up to the summit of the Eiffel Tower.

It was a particularly warm day and the heat was kicking in by the time we got the RER train to Versailles. Once there, we had our first (and thankfully last) real experience of queueing. It took us almost an hour to buy tickets and get through the gates of the Sun King's palace, standing in the sun of course. The most ironic thing was that, with a line of several 100m, there were only 3 cashiers in the ticket office! How efficient of the French! Once past the gates, a whole new world awaited inside. I have never seen so much glamour and extravagance in my life. Louis XIV's palace is undoubtedly the finest piece of royal architecture I have seen to date and I wonder if there is anything more pompously Baroque anywhere else.

The Hall of Mirrors, the King's and Queen's chambers, the lavish use of gold as if it was whitewashing and the priceless paintings and works of art were all surpassed once we set our eyes on the gardens. Although the landscaping itself is "just" trees and shrubs, the scale is immense and, although at a masterplan level all appears to be symmetric, each section is uniquely and individually designed. The strong like of axiality finds its epitome in this vast open space. Truly, magnificent. The sound of Baroque music throughout made the experience more fitting, but it was a huge disappointment to find all fountains being turned off. It would be thrice as magical if there was water flowing and even more enchanting if synchronised with the music.

Following a quick bite in a shaded cafe in the midst of the gardens, we made our way up to the palace again by 4pm and got the train back to Champ de Mars, praying that the queue for the Eiffel Tower would be much shorter than that at Versailles. The prayers were heard since by 5pm we were in the North Pier's elevator on the way up Eiffel's Tower.

Before that day, the highest point I had ever been up to was the Tower 42 in London, a "mere" 183m which is just over half the 300m of the Eiffel Tower. Once on the top (after yet another queue on the 2nd level where we had to change lifts), all the wait and anxiety was totally worthwhile: the view was impeccable. It was a very clear day and we could see all of Paris spread out before us, almost like an architectural scale model.

We lingered around for a good 45 minutes until it was time to head back to the Gare du Nord and get the Eurostar train back to London. And thus, with 1032 photos in my camera, several blisters on my feet (which luckily collaborated greatly), tired calves and an evident suntan from the wait at Versailles, we arrived at King's Cross and eventually Earl's Court, home sweet home.

My verdict of Paris is very plain and simple: it is one of those cities which you have to visit in your life. The monuments it endorses are unique to Europe and indeed the world but the magical aura which surrounds them is somewhat depreciated by the compromised cleanliness of the streets and infrastructure. The French could spare a few thousand euros to pave their open spaces and get rid of all that dust and also use a fraction of their nuclear power to light up their capital's fountains and buildings. Perhaps it is still a time of recession in France, which gives me a good enough reason to revisit Paris in the future!

Now back in London, it is time to resume minding the gap, to keep switching from summer in the morning to autumn in the afternoon and, sadly, to get back to work.

Les rues des Paris - IV

This particular Monday was one of the few to which I woke up quite gladly: another day of Parisian exploration awaited. On today's menu: the Latin Quarter, St. Germain de Pres, La Defense and then up the Eiffel Tower at night.

Walking through the Latin Quarter stirred feelings reminiscent to those I get when visiting the tranquil ancient capital of Malta, only that this Parisian quarter proved to be more vibrant and colourful. Particularly memorable was the visit to the Shakespeare and Company bookshop, a haven for a book-lover like myself. The narrow and winding streets, lacking the overdone axiality of the rest of Paris, were too pretty and the numerous cafes and little squares added charm to this quarter associated with free thinkers and students. Talking of students, we then made our way to the Sorbonne and then to the Pantheon. The latter's size overwhelmed me much more than any of the buildings I saw in Paris so far (save for Eiffel's temporary structure, of course).

The next couple of stops were the churches of St. Germain and St. Sulpice, the latter primarily visited due to its role in The Da Vinci Code more than anything else. St. Germain was charming and was surprised to see a statue of the founder of my primary and secondary school, St. De La Salle, a Frenchman of course. The rest of the morning was devoted to exploring the tiny streets of this area of Paris until it was time for lunch: the usual super-tasty French baguette, fresh from a boulangerie in the St. Germain area and filled with delicatessen items.

Stomachs full, we headed off to the end of the Historical Axis of Paris to the modern La Defense. Although not quite as spectacular as Canary Wharf, this area was a feast of modern architecture: tall buildings, glass and less-than-expected stainless steel. The interesting elements (missing in the London Docklands) were the many sculptures, including a metal spider which my wife found mostly annoying!

From the minimalist Grande Arche, we made a quick stop at Champs Elysees and visited the Golden Triangle and all its flagship designer stores, where all price tags featured no less than 3 digits. All the day's walking made us hungry again and it was time to think of dinner. This was a return to the Marais and devouring a Jewish pitta loaded with lamb and vegetables. And falafel, of course. From the quasi ghetto area of the Marais we made our way to the Trocadero again and awaited dusk and the lighting up of the Eiffel Tower.

After we had taken our several dozen photos of the tapering tower, we decided that it was sufficiently dark to head to the summit and enjoy a bird's eye view of Paris. The queue was not that bad, but, short before we made it to the ticket office, we were told that the top is closed since it was saturated! I was about to cry! Tomorrow was the last day and there was no chance of going to the top at night! So plans were changed and we decided to go up during daytime (a choice which, in the long run, proved to be the better option).

On the way back to the hotel, we stopped at the Louvre to take a few pictures of the illuminated pyramid, but sadly found that the glass structure is turned off at night. Similarly were turned off the towering structures at La Defense and, to a certain extent, also the hilltop Montmartre church. It was quite a serendipitous moment that we did not go up Eiffel at night after all since we would have failed to identify any of the landmarks!

Thus, we headed of to our hotel for the final sleep over and ready for our last day in Paris.

Les rues des Paris - III

The third day, the Sunday, was unlike the previous 2 days: the weather was grey and gloomy; I did not mention that, so far, it was bright and sunny and tending to hot. After the usual pain du chocolat, croissant and coffee for breakfast, we made our way to another contemporary architectural landmark: the Institut de Monde Arabe. This spectacular fusion of Islamic and contemporary design, another creation of the French Nouvel, proved to be another highlight of the Parisian tour. The temporary exhibition pods in its grounds, by the other giant architect Zaha Hadid, were an additional bonus.

By the time we explored the interior of the Institute, the sky was too grey for our taste and there was also a slight drizzle. Hence, we needed an internal alternative which could take up most of the day. The solution was quite straightforward: the Louvre.

I suppose it is a must for any visitor to Paris to visit the Louvre, but for a bunch of us who are into art and architecture, the Louvre, with its huge 35,000 item collection of artefacts, is a massive source of bliss. From the moment we stepped inside the Great Pyramid and descended into the void underneath the plaza, I was amazed by the sheer scale of the place and how well it has been done: the inevitable French axiality and symmetry of design, the various levels and openness of the space. Tickets and map in hand, the strategy was to tackle one floor at a time, starting off with -1 and the original fort's remains and moving up to the galleries in the upper floors.

Particularly impressive were the 2 roofed courts with various sculptures, none particularly famous but all equally wonderful. Sculpture is one of the arts which surpasses me; the genius of a sculptor who can chip off the unnecessary bits of marble to reveal the figures buried deep in the block. The main highlights for me were Michelangelo's slaves - the rebellious and the dying ones. And the never-ending list of other celebrities: Venus de Milo, the Winged Victory, the Cupid and Psyche and the Egyptian scribe.

Moving upstairs, to the paintings, it was absolutely amazing to walk down the Grand Gallery and indulge into the works of the best Renaissance and Baroque painters from Italy, including a couple of works by Leonardo and Caravaggio. An homage to Paris' most famed resident, Mrs. Gioconda, was an absolute must, though the crowds which flooded the hall took away some of the magic surrounding the persistent smile. Works by the great Delacroix and David were equally impressive, particularly my favourite of "Liberty guiding the people": absolute classic.

The tour throughout levels -1, 0 and 1 lasted until 3.30pm, by which time hunger was seriously striking and the feet were also starting to ache; that place is huge! One last item needed to be seen, one related to Malta. It was a moment of great joy and, at the same time, deep sorrow to see the sword and dagger of La Valette, which was a Prince's gift to the Grand Master after the Maltese victory over the infidels in 1565. I wonder when these will be brought back to their rightful home, the city which bears his name...

Out of the Louvre, we headed off to the first place selling food within sight, sadly a McDonalds. It was one of the few times in my life when a Big Mac tasted, erm, good. After that, we headed off to the hotel for a shower and change of clothes and then back down to the Ile de la Cite to hear Mass at none other but the Notre Dame Cathedral. It was in French, of course, and only followed the "standard" bits, but it was still quite a surprisingly pleasant time. Even better was the fact that it happened to be some celebration for bakers and, on the way out, we were greeted by French bakers who handed out samples of their tasty produce!

From the Ile, we walked up to the Marais and Pretzl area, an interesting fusion of Jewish, gay and, to a lesser extent, French cultures. Though the Jewish food places were tempting, it was a French restaurant which won. So far, I have been quite critical of cleanliness and other practical issues in Paris, but when it comes to food, the French cuisine is definitely way better than the British! I had a tasty duck pate as a started (with fresh baguette slices, of course) followed by a massive medium-rare entrecote, French style and finished off with amazing French fromage. Writing about it is making my mouth water.

The evening was concluded by a lazy walk down the Seine up to the Eiffel Tower, where we enjoyed views of the illuminated iron lacework and the hourly 5 minute display of glittering lights: the only decent exhibit of Paris living up to its name of Ville Lumiere.

Les rues des Paris - II

What I forgot to mention is that, at the end of the last day, after walking for something like 13km, my feet were complaining and unfortunately the usual blisters made their appearance, far too earlier than anticipated. Thus, on the second day, I headed off to the nearest pharmacy (in a quasi limping state!) and the Frenchman suggested buying some silicone foot pads, which probably turned out to be the best €32 spent in Paris - I could walk for another 4 days with no complaining and/or pain whatsoever!

After a quick breakfast, we started off the day in the Montmartre area, by blissfully walking up to the Sacre Coeur church, a route which I anticipated would be filled with artists but, alas, featured none. After a brief stop inside the church, we took the brave decision to walk up to the dome's summit, 200+ steps up. Probably the effort was not sufficient to burn off a bite from the earlier croissant, but it was worth it; the view was unbelievable (the plan was to see a panoramic view by day from Sacre Coeur and the night time equivalent from the Eiffel Tower, on another day). Down from the summit, we headed off to the 'red light' district surrounding the Moulin Rouge and the colourful outlets thereabout. Not as entertaining as Soho, but perhaps only because it was still morning...

From the north, we took a metro down to the centre of Paris, starting off with Arc de Triomphe and the Avenue des Champs Elysees. Yet another magnificent example of axiality, with this particular one stretching all the way from La Defense down Champs, Place de la Concorde and finally ending in the Louvre. Contrary to the first day, when we used the metro infrequently, now that the Parisian underground was being more handy, I realised that the trains were all quite old, with old-school hand-operated latches to open the doors, the stations have virtually no escalators anywhere and connections are somewhat more complex than London's. What amazed me most was the omnipresent smell of urine, both in the streets and stations and at times even on the trains. It was a relief not to consistently hear "Mind the gap" (or the French equivalent thereof) but the French have no love for health and safety at all: doors are openable when the train is still moving, the platforms do not have some bright colour to mark their edges and no usual security announcements were made. Quite different from the safety-obsessed Brits!

Back on the street: having walked down Champs Elysees, it was time to feed. We headed off to a bakery mentioned in my Lonely Planet book (Polaine) and got ourselves a modest looking but surprisingly heavy (and equally tasty) loaf which we loaded with chorizo and cheese. A taste of heaven. After lunch, we resumed our trail: Place de la Concorde, the Magdalene church, Place Vendome and the Opera, home of the famous Phantom.

From one Baroque masterpiece to another, we headed off to the jewel in the crown of Hi-Tech architecture: the Pompidou Centre. The revolutionary building by Rogers and Piano had long fascinated me and to see it for the first time was one of those moments when I feel so small, so tiny, so overwhelmed. Instances which I experienced when I saw the Lloyd's Building in London, the Corbusier villa in Stuttgart, the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, the temples of Malta.

I did not understand why the fountain in the adjacent Place Igor Stravinsky, with its colourful sculptures which are so harmonious with the coloured pipework of the Pompidou, was devoid of water and not functioning as a fountain at all. This was the second fountain which was turned off. After lingering in the Pompidou plaza in the company of a fresh milk shake, we walked southwards past the Hotel de Ville across the Seine and onto the Ile de la Cite, where another magical moment awaited...

The Cathedral of Notre Dame is one of the first buildings I learned about, so many years ago. Stepping past its threshold was like experiencing a time machine: there was the evening Mass going on and at the point of entry we were greeted by a surge on the church organ, which, combined with the smell of incense, the setting sun's light filtered through the rose window and the chants in an unknown language (it was French but equally incomprehensible as Latin, as far as I am concerned) made me feel like I was shifted back to medieval times. Simply, amazing.

However, as we headed to the rear of the cathedral to admire the daring flying buttresses supporting the apse, best viewed from the so-called Jardin Notre Dame, what we found was another expanse of dusty ground (albeit surrounded by trees). I still could not understand why most (if not all) of the best sights of Paris have to be experienced in a dirty, dusty setting. I am tempted to work out a cost estimate of paving works for these areas!

A short walk led us to the other island, the Ile St. Louis, whose embankments provided a resting place. It was nice to see a river whose colour is unlike that of the Thames: resembling that of water rather than raw sewage. From the little Parisian island, we headed to the hotel for an hour's rest and a well-needed change of clothes (from all the dust!) and then got the metro back to the Pompidou Centre; this was going to be open to the public just for this evening!

The queue was surprisingly short and soon we found ourselves on the external red-bottomed escalators as we made our way up the facade onto the top floor, from where we got a view of night-time Paris. Not exactly the Ville Lumiere I thought I would be seeing, but we got a glimpse of the shimmering Eiffel Tower. It was nonetheless a great experience to walk inside the Pompidou Centre and its structure and service free 100% usable floor space, thanks to the visionary and radical design of 2 of the 20th (and 21st!) century architectural giants.

From the square we walked again to Notre Dame, simply to admire the enchanting exterior at night time and then the last metro journey back to the hotel. It was an early night and, one bottle of red wine later, we were happily snoozing away and that was the end of our second day.

Les rues des Paris - I

It is the day after 17/05 and, as promised, here is my Paris post!

Being native to an island, the term "holiday" by default implies catching a plane and flying off to another land. Now that I am based in London, the scenario has not changed much, since, although the UK is by far much larger than Malta, it is an island nonetheless. This definition of "holiday" does not apply to my most recent trip: my first visit to France. A visit to its capital Paris, to be precise. Getting the usual northbound Piccadilly line from Earl's Court up to King's Cross and simply changing from the Tube to a Eurostar train made the journey to Paris far less painful than usual trips: no need for uncomfortable coach journeys to Stansted or Luton, the endless waiting at the departure lounge and another coach or train trip from the terminal to the city centre. The engineering marvel that is the Euro Tunnel exceeded comfort expectations. And so the journey began last Friday morning with the 7.22am train, which in almost commuter style, brought us to the Parisian Gare de Nord before mid-day.

I was amazed at the station to see that the arrival/departure boards were not digital (London-style) ones but the old-school flap models, which reminded me of my first trip ever (back in 1989) and of the opening scenes from "The terminal". Classic flick, but right then I hoped not to get stuck in the station, Hanks style. We got a carnet of 10 tickets and got the Metropolitain to the hotel. My first impression of the Parisian equivalent of 'our' Tube was that, despite being quite "younger", it looked shabbier and dirtier. Not exactly an environment which pleases someone with a slight trace of OCD like myself. Thank God for the handy alcohol gel I carried! We dropped our luggage at the unassuming yet cosy hotel in a convenient location between Montmartre and Beleville and off we went to explore Paris!

The first stop was the Canal St. Martin. En-route (excuse me for the heavy usage of French jargon, but after 5 days of not hearing/speaking English, I cannot help it!) I was amazed to see so many boulangeries and boucheries, which soon started to trigger hunger. It was also striking to see fresh water flowing out of culverts along many of the streets, presumably to clean away dirt. The French are clean, after all, I thought, but I suppose this was a case of judging a book by its cover. More later. We walked right up to the Parc des Buttes Chamont. Not the cliché tourist spot, but it was great to walk around in a green space and, thinking about it, it was the only bit of proper green which I saw, except for Versailles. We walked right up to another Parc, Belleville, which was worth visiting simply because it provided the first real Parisian view: an overall skyline boasting the twin Notre Dame towers, the Pantheon and Les Invalides domes, the unmissable coloured Pompidou and the equally unmissable Eiffel Tower. So much to see in the next 5 days!

It was a pleasant downhill walk down Rue de Belleville, for many reasons. It was getting hot and I had had enough of hills, for now. More importantly, it was like stepping outside of Europe for a while and savouring so many different cultures, all in one road. By the end of it, it was time to get a 70cm baguette from one of so many boulangeries there and French saucisson and brie to go with it. My idea of a perfect lunch.

The next stop was to pay tribute to the foremost Parisian landmark: the Eiffel Tower. Having had an interest in structures before I could probably write properly, this was one of the first engineering marvels I got to know about and I was finally about to see it, for real! Ascending from the bowels of the station, we found ourselves into a massive symmetric esplande embracing the start of a kilometre long axis from the Trocadero across the Seine to the tower itself and beyond through the Champ de Mars up to the Ecole Militaire and the end of it with another symmetrical pair near the UNESCO building. The French planners loved their axes and symmetry! I was tormented to see how many 'mute' and 'deaf' French gather in this (and other touristic areas), asking for donations. Luckily, I soon classified them as scams.

The descent down to the tower proper made me wonder what Eiffel would be thinking if he returned to see that his temporary 1889 structure is still standing and drawing so many 100s or 1000s daily. The sheer scale and yet grace of the structure is perhaps the epitome of a marriage between aesthetics and practicality, design and engineering. If only I could achieve a fraction of this in the years to come...

It was quite disappointing, though, to see that the massive fountain along the axis was not working and not even filled with water. And it was rather more disappointing to find that the Parc du Champ de Mars, which on my map featured as a massive stretch of green at the foot of the Eiffel Tower was largely patches of turf and green but with loose fill and dusty paths. An even larger expanse of dusty ground awaited at the end of the trail in front of the Ecole Militaire. This, however, took none of the glory of the Baroque masterpiece that the facade of the Military School is. French pomposity at its best. Until our trip to Versailles, that is...

A brief homage to the UNESCO building was followed by another short stop at the Musee de Quai Branly, that massive red masterpiece by Jean Nouvel, whom I had encountered a few months back in Hyde Park, when he launched his (red!) Serpentine Pavilion 2010. A short walk along the river then led to another massive Parisian landmark: Les Invalides. The distinct axiality was again evident here, with one long sightline starting with an avenue on the south, running through the complex and finishing off across the river with the Grand and Petite Palais-es. The shining golden dome of the Eglise, resting place of the little great French self-crowned Emperor who changed the world in the late 18th century, was, as expected, simply splendid.

Being so close to the Louvre, it was too tempting not to pay homage to the great glass pyramid of I.M. Pei. The route I chose was along the Seine, past the Musee D'Orsay and across the Pont Royal to the Jardin des Tuileries. The latter proved to be yet another surprise: the main approach to the grand Louvre was nothing but a wide expanse of dusty ground. How could the French not realise that it is not that expensive to pave the area?! Being intrinsically an optimist, I decided to focus more on the surrounding buildings and the happy marriage of Baroque and contemporary symmetry took away all my blues.

By this time, we had walked well over 5 hours non-stop and, in as much as I prefer to see a city on foot, we had been up since 5am and quite hungry at this point. So we took a metro up to Belleville and put down our anchors in one of the Thai places there - great food! It was then unanimously decided to head back to the hotel and get recharged for another long day tomorrow...

An eventful week!

It was quite a colourful week indeed!

Probably the biggest event was the killing of the world's most wanted man, the leader of the group Al Qaeda. Osama Bin Laden, regarded by many as the mastermind behind 9/11, was shot dead after a raid in an unassuming house in Pakistan. It is beyond the space of this post to discuss whether it was justified or right or whatever, but it brought to an end a decade-long quest by the Americans and, quite conveniently, at the start of President Obama's preparations for the 2012 elections. Am I the only one thinking of Macchiavelli?

Back home, besides all the nauseating tit-tatting in the pro/anti divorce camps, the main occurrence was the pulling down of that horrendous hole which from 1964 till 02/05/2011 served as the main entrance to our capital city. A historic moment indeed. It was a shame that I was not at home to take a snap or two to preserve the image of that monstrosity for posterity, but in this day and age, one can find 100s of images online. I am putting one here too, for the sake of completeness. I am now anxious to see the final product: the realisation of the dream of a visionary architect who will not replace the gate but will leave an open (albeit narrow) doorway inviting people to enter magical Valletta rather than keep them out.

Another demise, this time not pleasant, took place this week too. Maltese author Frans Sammut passed away, sadly. I never met the man personally (I only managed to talk to him accidentally once on the phone when I called the Sammut residence intending to contact his son) but I am sure that his legacy will live long. Rest in peace, Frans.

Oh yes, on the 1st of May I recalled when I hit a truck a stone's throw away from home and nearly died on the spot. Not a nice memory, at all.

Here in London, the weather persisted with plenty of sun and mid to high 20s, although it did rain one night. What a funny micro climate! Other than that, I was quite busy modelling 400x400x3.8mm (mild and armour) steel plates subjected to close-in blasts...bla, bla, bla...but that is my work these days. With an upcoming progress meeting next week, I have to make sure that I have new stuff to present to the funding body, rather than show them the same material again; otherwise they would have seen it so many times that they would be able to present it themselves to me.

This weekend I started my most enjoyable task of researching, studying and planning the upcoming Paris trip. Yes, Paris! By now, I almost know the map by heart and have a good grasp of the main attractions and the not-so-well-known ones which however are a must for 2 architects to visit. More on that after the 17/05!

And finally, now that AC Milan how won, they can claim this year's scudetto, which means that my dear Inter have to settle for 2nd place after winning 5 consecutive titles. Forza Inter, nonetheless!

1 kiloNewton

I have never been much of a skinny person. The only time I remember I was "thin" was when I was 4 or 5 years old, when I suffered from tonsillitis and, at times, my throat was so badly swollen that I could not eat much. Happily my tonsils were removed and from that fateful day onwards, I have gladly devoured all that was in my way...

There were a few times when I had quite a decent weight for my height, probably due to healthy eating and regular exercise. Once in the UK, I left behind my good 75kg weight to some 85kg or 90kg over 2 years, thanks to the wonderful British cuisine. Many a time I tried to say, "That's it!" and started jogging again. Post-M.Sc. times were encouraging, for I did not need to stay at home all evening, sitting down at my desk and revising and working but I could go jogging daily. So far, so good.

All changed after the wedding. I tried to illude myself that my sudden gain in weight was the often-mentioned post-marriage male surge in weight and persisted with my bad eating habits. I had made an attempt to start exercising until winter kicked in and all came to a halt. During my Christmas trip home, I found out that I weight 90kg, which was alarming. Since I do not have a scales here in London, I had to wait till Easter to weigh myself again. Thus, last week I found out that I am now 100kg. Oh my God! 1000N. 1kN. 0.1t.

Back in London, I am now strictly avoiding all English breakfasts, all puddings, all soft drinks and beer, all massive portions and all greasy SCR lunches. I am now (as of a few days ago) eating regularly small and healthy portions and jogging everyday. I started off with 2km and I hope to increase the distance and/or speed gradually.

My great hope is that my next health-related post will be my announcement of being at least back to a 2 digit weight. And being able to fit into most of my currently unusable clothing. So help me, God.