22nd September 2007: one way AirMalta flight to London Heathrow, ready to embark on a 1 year M.Sc. course in structural engineering. 22nd September 2017: London Overground train to Shoreditch High Street, ready to conclude a week of head scratching whilst working on a brand new tower in the City.
Who would have said?
So many events occurred since then. Olympics. Jubilee. Brexit. Terrorism. Various home moves. Various job moves. A few extra kilos. A little less hair.
It is indeed a city which never bores you. A city booming with people and work, despite all the Brexit-ish odds. A city where everyone can be whatever s/he wishes to be (which alas has had its fair share of calamities, too; some people opted to form part of the senseless Daesh).
However, as I am now caught in this commuting routine (ironically I only started commuting 2 years ago), I dare say that London or rather Londoners, in all their apparent individualistic glory, can really be put in several boxes - very unprofessionally from an anthropological point of view - based on what they...wear. Specifically, the kind of bag they wear. Or how their bag-wearing habits evolved over the last decade. Surreal, but (probably) true. So here it is.
a. The Pliage
Virtually all female Londoners nowadays don this certain Longchamp bag by the name of Le Pliage (I was not familiar at all with this, but am now after some simple market research). The sheer commonness of this bag and its apparent 'cheap' appearance initially made me think that this was the sort of item you would redeem with your Nectar points or so, only to discover (to my horror) that this goes for a full £75!
b. The MK/LV/D&G etc.
Whilst not a new phenomenon, then there are the other kind of women who sport the 3 (or perhaps even 4) figure designer bags with initials of their designers who simply wear these items simply to state: yes, I can afford £784.99 for a handbag to put my soiled trainers in and change to Prada stilettos once I get to the office. Mind you, so do I, but I would rather go on a nice holiday, thank you very much.
c. The Herschel or Fjallraven Kanken
The new trend for guys is, apparently, the schoolboy look: rucksack on the back, with both straps on, please note. It verges on the hilarious watching the City types in suits complete with black polished shoes and pre-teen boys (and girls) sporting virtually identical bag typologies. Except that, while schoolboys stick to conventional Adidas or Nike or even more modest Slazenger models, the choice for grown-ups is limited to Herschel or Fjallraven Kanken (which I always manage to read as Kraken, especially during my morning commute when I am less than half awake).
d. Bonus item: The headphones
Not strictly a bag, but there is an item which was not around 10 years ago. Back in late 2007, when the iPhone and iPod etc. were still infants, people would, say, simply sit on the train staring or reading...until everyone started walking around wearing headphones. Everyone suddenly developed this strong urge to constantly listen to something (except words with fellow people through meaningful conversation). To add insult to injury, some of the latest headphone models are so ridiculously and unnecessarily large that probably their users need to have a bag just to store them away. I mean, seriously, do you really need to listen to some crap podcast with £300 Bose noise-cancelling technology worthy of Abbey Road? I daresay, do you really need to listen to anything at all? What freaks me out the most are the (Apple?) wireless headphones which make their users look...never mind.
Cynical and/or negative, I hear you say? Perhaps just want to take the piss out of the 200 odd other passengers on the train, but probably yes a tad pessimistic. But bear with me, it is almost winter after all!
Tuesday, 21 November 2017
Sunday, 27 November 2016
Adventures in South Africa
I have just completed the longest commute, if you will, of my life: I left my hotel in Cape Town yesterday at 2.30pm (London time) and opened the flat door just under 2 hours ago at 6.30pm (again London time). In between: a 9 hour flight from Cape Town to Dubai, a 4.5 hour stopover and a 7 hour flight to London Heathrow. I practically did the same (naturally in reverse) only 6 days ago, In between: a 6 day adventure in the Western Cape area of South Africa - my first trip in the southern hemisphere (which was a welcome break from the London cold) and the first long flight(s) I have ever taken. And a few other 'firsts'.
One of the perks associated with work in academia is the rather consistent opportunities to attend researcher conferences. In my mind, these are nothing more than glorified tourist propaganda exercises organised by the learned for their fellow peers worldwide, invariably always held in tourist magnets and close to the height of summer, which in the case of South Africa is November. And this was the venue for the 2016 fib conference, at which Dr. Micallef II was to present a research paper. After much deliberation, I finally decided to go along, only on a different (indirect) flight which however was £400 less than my wife's at £600, quite a bargain I must say, given that AirMalta flights at £300 or more are not uncommon, but that is another story.
And so the day came: all the summer clothes unearthed from hibernation and with a few trips planned and scheduled, we ventured to Cape Town, the place about which I had read since I was a very young child: the fateful tip of the world where explorers or merchants dreaded to go around due to its infamous weather. But not this time of the year, or so we hoped.
It was my first time on an Airbus A380 and I was blown away (so to speak). I am always fascinated at how a big object such as a plane can fly, but this was another level of bestiality. The Emirates experience, complete with WiFi whilst 10km up in the air and some 2500 movies to choose from and proper meals with proper cutlery, proved to be beyond my expectations for 'economy' class (what do the business class get then, I wonder?). Stopping at Dubai (again my first time in the UAE), confirmed my suspicions that this place was all about money; not quite streets paved in gold but not too far, for the airport is a continuous feast of marble and stainless steel, 120 person lifts, triple height internal waterfalls and sheer massiveness. Time passed quickly and I was on my final leg to Africa.
It was hot and sunny, right from the start. Promising. I was met by the chauffeur and after exchanging some rand, made my way to the hotel at the V&A (that is Alfred and not his father Albert) Waterfront. My first impression was positive: excellent road surfaces and signs, neat buildings (bar the few shanty towns along the highway), lively and very clean streets. It was almost hard to believe this was Africa. I noted a few highrises - obviously dwarfed by the 1085m tall Table Mountain - but these seemed old as if the city 'stopped' developing in the 1970s, but I could also note a few towercranes dotting the skyline. And obviously the relatively new 2010 World Cup stadium close to the hotel and the Waterfront itself. The city seemed buzzing with life.
I met my wife, who had arrived beforehand safe and sound, and ventured off to the V&A. It felt very much the UK, a Portsmouth or Brighton if you like, only warmer and with a very un-flat backdrop. A lunch of seafood ushered me into the Capetonian cuisine and the evening closed off with a conference reception.
On Monday morning, we made a trip to the city centre, in particular the District Six Museum and the guided tour by an ex-resident. In my ignorance of non-obvious world history, I was not aware of the full atrocity of the apartheid, such as the forced removal of people in this area of Cape Town. The most shocking aspect of this was not clearing the area for the sake of some national project or rebuilding programme, which are often met with resistance (similar to what happened in some slum areas in Malta in the past, for instance) but this was simply left undeveloped; the aim was solely getting rid of the people because of their skin colour. Another startling fact was that non-whites were only granted the right to vote in 1994, which is terribly recent. On a lighter note, the other highlight of the day was a short cruise around the harbour, where we spotted a couple of sunbathing seals!
Tuesday was another 'cultural' day, starting off with a visit to the 2010 football stadium, which design I found very appealing. The sunny morning soon became cloudy if not chilly and this was not a good sign, given we had to take a ferry to hop over to Robben Island, 10 km away (on the way, we were lucky to spot a few surfacing whales and dolphins). The tiny island hosts a maximum security prison with minuscule cells one of which hosted Nelson Mandela for 18 years, the highlight of the island really, alongside a small colony of African penguins. The day was concluded by an excellent meal: the conference banquet. In this case, a culinary feast of African dishes, including springbok and ostrich meat, naturally both 'firsts', and all washed down with excellent South Africa wine.
Wednesday was practically all devoted to the conference (my wife's presentation was great, as always) and the late afternoon spent exploring some of the Art Deco gems in the city centre. Unfortunately, in the evening some intestinal issues started to crop up, which alas lasted, more or less, for the rest of the stay...the discomfort was definitely offset by a full 1 hour body massage for us both!
Then on Thursday, with a little help from Imodium, we managed to venture out of Cape Town to the winelands of Franschhoek, or French Corner. It was like a journey back in time, where the world was still untouched by man except for the basic exploitation of natural produce, in this case the grape. The vineyards and their spectacular settings took away some of the discomfort but unfortunately could not be as adventurous in the tasting as I wished to!
By Friday, I was feeling a bit better, but poor Marianna had her turn now. Nonetheless, we set off for a peninsula tour all the way down the Atlantic coast to the Cape of Good Hope and Cape Point, via Camp and Hout Bays and the Seal Island (no need to explain its name!) and then Boulders Beach along False Bay where the highlight was certainly the big colony of African penguins. It was at first unusual to associate penguins with Africa, but who wouldn't want to stay basking away in the African sun rather than the Antarctic icy wind? A stop at the beautiful Kirstenbosch Gardens concluded the day tour.
Saturday was my last day but before leaving I could not not visit the Cape's most famous permanent resident: Table Mountain. The cable car ride, albeit 2.5 minutes short, was scary to say the least but once at the top, it was worth every second of fear. The sun was scorching hot and by early afternoon I had to stay in the shade on the hop-on-hop-off bus for my arms looked like a Maltese flag! And it was time to leave Cape Town and Africa.
The biggest resource of all that I could see in South Africa, certainly in Cape Town, was not the vast expanses of land but the people. Every single person we met, locals I mean, were extremely gentle and cordial and at the same time funny and friendly. This country, almost literally at the end of the world, proved that Africa has so much to offer and my final thought, or rhetoric question, is: why do Africans bother coming to Europe? I think we should be going there instead, for it is very much an unknown paradise and the Mother City is its gateway.
Speaking of mothers: now it is time to sleep for tomorrow is back to work and this is going to be the mother of all Mondays!
One of the perks associated with work in academia is the rather consistent opportunities to attend researcher conferences. In my mind, these are nothing more than glorified tourist propaganda exercises organised by the learned for their fellow peers worldwide, invariably always held in tourist magnets and close to the height of summer, which in the case of South Africa is November. And this was the venue for the 2016 fib conference, at which Dr. Micallef II was to present a research paper. After much deliberation, I finally decided to go along, only on a different (indirect) flight which however was £400 less than my wife's at £600, quite a bargain I must say, given that AirMalta flights at £300 or more are not uncommon, but that is another story.
And so the day came: all the summer clothes unearthed from hibernation and with a few trips planned and scheduled, we ventured to Cape Town, the place about which I had read since I was a very young child: the fateful tip of the world where explorers or merchants dreaded to go around due to its infamous weather. But not this time of the year, or so we hoped.
It was my first time on an Airbus A380 and I was blown away (so to speak). I am always fascinated at how a big object such as a plane can fly, but this was another level of bestiality. The Emirates experience, complete with WiFi whilst 10km up in the air and some 2500 movies to choose from and proper meals with proper cutlery, proved to be beyond my expectations for 'economy' class (what do the business class get then, I wonder?). Stopping at Dubai (again my first time in the UAE), confirmed my suspicions that this place was all about money; not quite streets paved in gold but not too far, for the airport is a continuous feast of marble and stainless steel, 120 person lifts, triple height internal waterfalls and sheer massiveness. Time passed quickly and I was on my final leg to Africa.
It was hot and sunny, right from the start. Promising. I was met by the chauffeur and after exchanging some rand, made my way to the hotel at the V&A (that is Alfred and not his father Albert) Waterfront. My first impression was positive: excellent road surfaces and signs, neat buildings (bar the few shanty towns along the highway), lively and very clean streets. It was almost hard to believe this was Africa. I noted a few highrises - obviously dwarfed by the 1085m tall Table Mountain - but these seemed old as if the city 'stopped' developing in the 1970s, but I could also note a few towercranes dotting the skyline. And obviously the relatively new 2010 World Cup stadium close to the hotel and the Waterfront itself. The city seemed buzzing with life.
I met my wife, who had arrived beforehand safe and sound, and ventured off to the V&A. It felt very much the UK, a Portsmouth or Brighton if you like, only warmer and with a very un-flat backdrop. A lunch of seafood ushered me into the Capetonian cuisine and the evening closed off with a conference reception.
On Monday morning, we made a trip to the city centre, in particular the District Six Museum and the guided tour by an ex-resident. In my ignorance of non-obvious world history, I was not aware of the full atrocity of the apartheid, such as the forced removal of people in this area of Cape Town. The most shocking aspect of this was not clearing the area for the sake of some national project or rebuilding programme, which are often met with resistance (similar to what happened in some slum areas in Malta in the past, for instance) but this was simply left undeveloped; the aim was solely getting rid of the people because of their skin colour. Another startling fact was that non-whites were only granted the right to vote in 1994, which is terribly recent. On a lighter note, the other highlight of the day was a short cruise around the harbour, where we spotted a couple of sunbathing seals!
Tuesday was another 'cultural' day, starting off with a visit to the 2010 football stadium, which design I found very appealing. The sunny morning soon became cloudy if not chilly and this was not a good sign, given we had to take a ferry to hop over to Robben Island, 10 km away (on the way, we were lucky to spot a few surfacing whales and dolphins). The tiny island hosts a maximum security prison with minuscule cells one of which hosted Nelson Mandela for 18 years, the highlight of the island really, alongside a small colony of African penguins. The day was concluded by an excellent meal: the conference banquet. In this case, a culinary feast of African dishes, including springbok and ostrich meat, naturally both 'firsts', and all washed down with excellent South Africa wine.
Wednesday was practically all devoted to the conference (my wife's presentation was great, as always) and the late afternoon spent exploring some of the Art Deco gems in the city centre. Unfortunately, in the evening some intestinal issues started to crop up, which alas lasted, more or less, for the rest of the stay...the discomfort was definitely offset by a full 1 hour body massage for us both!
Then on Thursday, with a little help from Imodium, we managed to venture out of Cape Town to the winelands of Franschhoek, or French Corner. It was like a journey back in time, where the world was still untouched by man except for the basic exploitation of natural produce, in this case the grape. The vineyards and their spectacular settings took away some of the discomfort but unfortunately could not be as adventurous in the tasting as I wished to!
By Friday, I was feeling a bit better, but poor Marianna had her turn now. Nonetheless, we set off for a peninsula tour all the way down the Atlantic coast to the Cape of Good Hope and Cape Point, via Camp and Hout Bays and the Seal Island (no need to explain its name!) and then Boulders Beach along False Bay where the highlight was certainly the big colony of African penguins. It was at first unusual to associate penguins with Africa, but who wouldn't want to stay basking away in the African sun rather than the Antarctic icy wind? A stop at the beautiful Kirstenbosch Gardens concluded the day tour.
Saturday was my last day but before leaving I could not not visit the Cape's most famous permanent resident: Table Mountain. The cable car ride, albeit 2.5 minutes short, was scary to say the least but once at the top, it was worth every second of fear. The sun was scorching hot and by early afternoon I had to stay in the shade on the hop-on-hop-off bus for my arms looked like a Maltese flag! And it was time to leave Cape Town and Africa.
The biggest resource of all that I could see in South Africa, certainly in Cape Town, was not the vast expanses of land but the people. Every single person we met, locals I mean, were extremely gentle and cordial and at the same time funny and friendly. This country, almost literally at the end of the world, proved that Africa has so much to offer and my final thought, or rhetoric question, is: why do Africans bother coming to Europe? I think we should be going there instead, for it is very much an unknown paradise and the Mother City is its gateway.
Speaking of mothers: now it is time to sleep for tomorrow is back to work and this is going to be the mother of all Mondays!
Wednesday, 16 November 2016
Trumped!
It is becoming a sort of trend for me to write about worthy events one week after they actually happen. In this case, there is a sort of valid reason: I am at home - sick - and hence had a good opportunity to catch up on what has been going on lately.
Last Wednesday, the 'GMT' part of the world woke up to the news that the President-elect of the U.S.A. is Mr. Donald Trump, in direct contrast to what the polls (and all the world, really) predicted and expected. Since then, there has been uproar in the media everywhere: protests in the States, posts on Facebook predicting the end of the world, doom and gloom all over the place. And Trump is not even in the Oval Office yet.
I still cannot really understand why all this fuss. Elections in the democratic world are held all the time, certainly every 5 years in most countries (or 4 in the case of the U.S.A.) and, like every other competition, there is a winner and a loser. Some, generally close to or just above 50% of the people, "win", and the rest "lose". Why are people protesting now that Trump and not Clinton won? Is it not the whole idea of the democratic process that election results are to be respected? Or is it now the case that when a result does not match the popular expectation, the result is null or will not be accepted? After all, voting is done by the people and for the people. The people get what they choose and what they want. Otherwise, it is the whole way of exercising democracy that needs to be revised, and not only these isolated cases of when people 'do not like' a result.
The same was with the Brexit vote a few months ago - the predictions were that the "Stay" will win, and so did I hope and vote for, too, but the results proved that Mr. Cameron's bluff to hold a referendum had been called by the British and now Brexit is on the cards. From my point of view, the Brexit result truly saddened me, more than anything else. I have been a voter in Malta and the U.K. for a number of years and sometimes I "won" and sometimes "lost". But never was I really sad whenever I lost, except now in the Brexit vote. But this is not about Brexit here...so back to Trump I shall go.
Trump won because the people voted for him. There is widespread talk that those who voted for Trump were the uneducated and the like, which is ironic since such an idea is generating a sort of elitist division between the educated (the infamous "Establishment" being talked about?) and the not. Democracy was born in Ancient Greece, where the right to vote was somewhat exclusive to the learned - in that case, the philosophers - and this was believed to guarantee that the 'best' choice would be made on who would then lead the demos, the people. Society has come a long way since then and voting rights have been extended to everyone, irrespective of wealth, education and gender (and rightly so). This could have worked when political propaganda was limited to sensible debates, the spoken word, genuine manifestos, ideological principles of Left, Right and all in between and so on and so forth. However, it seems that this is no longer working in our age, where debates are mere shows, great speeches have been reduced to Tweets, what a person or party stands for is heavily diluted and often skewed by personal opinions in the social media and the concept of ideology is completely gone. I think that the whole notion of democracy or at least how it is exercised needs serious revision. How? I obviously do not know. Or actually, the desiderata in the mind of the 21st century citizen would be a government per person. Individualism is the religion of the day. I, me and myself. Or a number of parallel governments to which one can belong and not to the other. How is this allegiance maintained and not switch daily from one government to another? I don't know, either. Perhaps I am talking gibberish, given I am sick.
What struck me the most in this whole Trump issue was that during the campaign and prior to the election results, virtually everyone was anti Trump: leaders, Prime Ministers and the like. Now, these very same people and sending messages of congratulations and wishes of collaboration with the new President. I never witnessed such hypocrisy before and this was very disappointing although in a way I was not surprised at all, for I had commented about this on Facebook back on 28th September. I am more looking forward to see meetings between world leaders and Trump than to see Trump himself.
One final word on Trump: I believe he is, in essence, a showman and all of the 'nasty' speeches prior to the election were simply propagandist in nature and served only to attract an audience and 'captivate' people, which he did. Trump the candidate and Trump the President will surely, and hopefully, be two different people and my take is that we will not be witnessing any new Great Walls being built nor mass deportations. I am sure, though, that these coming 4 years will have their fair share of gaffes, quips and diplomatic manoeuvres characterised by comicality.
Last Wednesday, the 'GMT' part of the world woke up to the news that the President-elect of the U.S.A. is Mr. Donald Trump, in direct contrast to what the polls (and all the world, really) predicted and expected. Since then, there has been uproar in the media everywhere: protests in the States, posts on Facebook predicting the end of the world, doom and gloom all over the place. And Trump is not even in the Oval Office yet.
I still cannot really understand why all this fuss. Elections in the democratic world are held all the time, certainly every 5 years in most countries (or 4 in the case of the U.S.A.) and, like every other competition, there is a winner and a loser. Some, generally close to or just above 50% of the people, "win", and the rest "lose". Why are people protesting now that Trump and not Clinton won? Is it not the whole idea of the democratic process that election results are to be respected? Or is it now the case that when a result does not match the popular expectation, the result is null or will not be accepted? After all, voting is done by the people and for the people. The people get what they choose and what they want. Otherwise, it is the whole way of exercising democracy that needs to be revised, and not only these isolated cases of when people 'do not like' a result.
The same was with the Brexit vote a few months ago - the predictions were that the "Stay" will win, and so did I hope and vote for, too, but the results proved that Mr. Cameron's bluff to hold a referendum had been called by the British and now Brexit is on the cards. From my point of view, the Brexit result truly saddened me, more than anything else. I have been a voter in Malta and the U.K. for a number of years and sometimes I "won" and sometimes "lost". But never was I really sad whenever I lost, except now in the Brexit vote. But this is not about Brexit here...so back to Trump I shall go.
Trump won because the people voted for him. There is widespread talk that those who voted for Trump were the uneducated and the like, which is ironic since such an idea is generating a sort of elitist division between the educated (the infamous "Establishment" being talked about?) and the not. Democracy was born in Ancient Greece, where the right to vote was somewhat exclusive to the learned - in that case, the philosophers - and this was believed to guarantee that the 'best' choice would be made on who would then lead the demos, the people. Society has come a long way since then and voting rights have been extended to everyone, irrespective of wealth, education and gender (and rightly so). This could have worked when political propaganda was limited to sensible debates, the spoken word, genuine manifestos, ideological principles of Left, Right and all in between and so on and so forth. However, it seems that this is no longer working in our age, where debates are mere shows, great speeches have been reduced to Tweets, what a person or party stands for is heavily diluted and often skewed by personal opinions in the social media and the concept of ideology is completely gone. I think that the whole notion of democracy or at least how it is exercised needs serious revision. How? I obviously do not know. Or actually, the desiderata in the mind of the 21st century citizen would be a government per person. Individualism is the religion of the day. I, me and myself. Or a number of parallel governments to which one can belong and not to the other. How is this allegiance maintained and not switch daily from one government to another? I don't know, either. Perhaps I am talking gibberish, given I am sick.
What struck me the most in this whole Trump issue was that during the campaign and prior to the election results, virtually everyone was anti Trump: leaders, Prime Ministers and the like. Now, these very same people and sending messages of congratulations and wishes of collaboration with the new President. I never witnessed such hypocrisy before and this was very disappointing although in a way I was not surprised at all, for I had commented about this on Facebook back on 28th September. I am more looking forward to see meetings between world leaders and Trump than to see Trump himself.
One final word on Trump: I believe he is, in essence, a showman and all of the 'nasty' speeches prior to the election were simply propagandist in nature and served only to attract an audience and 'captivate' people, which he did. Trump the candidate and Trump the President will surely, and hopefully, be two different people and my take is that we will not be witnessing any new Great Walls being built nor mass deportations. I am sure, though, that these coming 4 years will have their fair share of gaffes, quips and diplomatic manoeuvres characterised by comicality.
Sunday, 30 October 2016
Double trouble
It has now been a week since returning from my latest trip to Malta. In truth, it was the 4th trip in the space of 6 days: London-Gothenburg-London-Malta-London. The Malta flight in question had been long booked - since January to be precise - but, as it often happens to satisfy Murphy's Law, things always crop up to create complexity. This case in particular was one which could not be altered (quite literally) at all costs: I was to travel to Malta for the wedding of Manuel and Amanda back-to-back with an unplanned business trip to Sweden.
It has been quite a while since we had a wedding (2014 was the last one, in Italy). Manuel was the last but one of 'the gang' from the class of '83 who met back in 1999 at 6th form and after 5 years of architectural school and full time jobs, Master degrees abroad and all in between stuck together. To me, he is a sort of brother I never had and been through thick and thin. A few years back, when he and then girlfriend Amanda were in vacation in Italy, I recall mentioning, half jokingly, that he ought to make a trip to Verona and get down on his knees outside Juliet's balcony; little did I know that it was part of his secret plan to do so (only that I got the city wrong - Venice - and that it was almost impossible to do on one knee - for it was on a gondola). The rest became history, or rather was only made history last week.
The news of the wedding was too exciting and again half jokingly I told Manuel that my wedding gift deposit was to be the (structural) design of their marital home. This also materialised and it is a project we are now both proud of, albeit I only last saw it in raw concrete. As the year of the big day approached, the excitement started to build up when Manuel told me that the wedding was to be on 22nd October 2016 or the day of my 33rd birthday! The news was made even more exciting when Manuel asked me to be a groomsman. I have been a pageboy in the (distant) past and obviously a groom in the not-so-distant past. But a groomsman was something else! I could not wait for the day!
A week before the wedding, unforeseen circumstances at work made it essential for me to travel to Sweden for a 2 day workshop related to 'my' project there. The day of travel back coincided with my planned outbound trip to Malta and there was no way I could make it without altering my flight. My wife left on the Thursday night and I literally landed 30 minutes later, only to come home and sleep, change suitcase and return back to Heathrow, with a severe sleep deficit and accumulating fatigue from travel and long work hours.
After landing on Friday afternoon and collecting my suit, my family and I celebrated as best as we could, given the little time available, my 33rd: a third of a century. It was my first birthday in Malta since 2006! I recall celebrating my quarter of a century in London when I bought myself an iPod; so much has changed since then! At the same time, little changed, for London is still the place I (or we) call home!
Back to my Malta story. Saturday arrived and at 9 I met Manuel and the rest of the groomsmen for some final preparations, mainly involving fixing some lighting fixtures at the reception venue in 27 degree scorching sun, which made it hard to believe this was late October. And then the time for dressing up! The afternoon kicked off with a few photos at the Darmanin residence, a glass or 2 of Scotch and then a classic ride to the church in vintage Mustangs - very unconventional but equally cool!
Once at the church, I must admit I felt too emotional reminded of our own wedding and mixed with the fact that Manuel was, finally, getting hitched. It was a beautiful ceremony. Mr. and Mrs. Darmanin were born.
A short drive away and the fun began: catching up with 'the gang' and a few old friends whom Manuel and I had in common, coupled with Negronis on a quasi summer's night. And then the dancing. And the photo booth. And more dancing. And lifting the bride and groom on the shoulders. Then again. Then the cake. Then more lifting. And then the tiredness really starts to kick in. But first all the flower stands need to be packed away. I did not long for a good night's sleep like that night in a while. The age, perhaps?
My wife and I had been dreading the flight on the next day for we mistakenly thought it was the first London flight. Luckily, it was only at 5.30pm which meant we could get up and enjoy the Sunday almost in its entirety. Goodbyes done, we made our way back to London and here we are now, one week later, getting ready for another week of work (incidentally including another equally challenging trip to Gothenburg at 7.30am but that is another story).
We will soon meet the newly weds here in London in a few weeks' time but, until then, I sincerely wish Manuel and Amanda an amazing married life. The special day we shared with them last week was a promising start to what, I am sure, will be a life-long journey of care and love and knowing that all along the friendship which started years before our own marriages will endure.
Congratulations Lel and Amanda!
It has been quite a while since we had a wedding (2014 was the last one, in Italy). Manuel was the last but one of 'the gang' from the class of '83 who met back in 1999 at 6th form and after 5 years of architectural school and full time jobs, Master degrees abroad and all in between stuck together. To me, he is a sort of brother I never had and been through thick and thin. A few years back, when he and then girlfriend Amanda were in vacation in Italy, I recall mentioning, half jokingly, that he ought to make a trip to Verona and get down on his knees outside Juliet's balcony; little did I know that it was part of his secret plan to do so (only that I got the city wrong - Venice - and that it was almost impossible to do on one knee - for it was on a gondola). The rest became history, or rather was only made history last week.
The news of the wedding was too exciting and again half jokingly I told Manuel that my wedding gift deposit was to be the (structural) design of their marital home. This also materialised and it is a project we are now both proud of, albeit I only last saw it in raw concrete. As the year of the big day approached, the excitement started to build up when Manuel told me that the wedding was to be on 22nd October 2016 or the day of my 33rd birthday! The news was made even more exciting when Manuel asked me to be a groomsman. I have been a pageboy in the (distant) past and obviously a groom in the not-so-distant past. But a groomsman was something else! I could not wait for the day!
A week before the wedding, unforeseen circumstances at work made it essential for me to travel to Sweden for a 2 day workshop related to 'my' project there. The day of travel back coincided with my planned outbound trip to Malta and there was no way I could make it without altering my flight. My wife left on the Thursday night and I literally landed 30 minutes later, only to come home and sleep, change suitcase and return back to Heathrow, with a severe sleep deficit and accumulating fatigue from travel and long work hours.
After landing on Friday afternoon and collecting my suit, my family and I celebrated as best as we could, given the little time available, my 33rd: a third of a century. It was my first birthday in Malta since 2006! I recall celebrating my quarter of a century in London when I bought myself an iPod; so much has changed since then! At the same time, little changed, for London is still the place I (or we) call home!
Back to my Malta story. Saturday arrived and at 9 I met Manuel and the rest of the groomsmen for some final preparations, mainly involving fixing some lighting fixtures at the reception venue in 27 degree scorching sun, which made it hard to believe this was late October. And then the time for dressing up! The afternoon kicked off with a few photos at the Darmanin residence, a glass or 2 of Scotch and then a classic ride to the church in vintage Mustangs - very unconventional but equally cool!
Once at the church, I must admit I felt too emotional reminded of our own wedding and mixed with the fact that Manuel was, finally, getting hitched. It was a beautiful ceremony. Mr. and Mrs. Darmanin were born.
A short drive away and the fun began: catching up with 'the gang' and a few old friends whom Manuel and I had in common, coupled with Negronis on a quasi summer's night. And then the dancing. And the photo booth. And more dancing. And lifting the bride and groom on the shoulders. Then again. Then the cake. Then more lifting. And then the tiredness really starts to kick in. But first all the flower stands need to be packed away. I did not long for a good night's sleep like that night in a while. The age, perhaps?
My wife and I had been dreading the flight on the next day for we mistakenly thought it was the first London flight. Luckily, it was only at 5.30pm which meant we could get up and enjoy the Sunday almost in its entirety. Goodbyes done, we made our way back to London and here we are now, one week later, getting ready for another week of work (incidentally including another equally challenging trip to Gothenburg at 7.30am but that is another story).
We will soon meet the newly weds here in London in a few weeks' time but, until then, I sincerely wish Manuel and Amanda an amazing married life. The special day we shared with them last week was a promising start to what, I am sure, will be a life-long journey of care and love and knowing that all along the friendship which started years before our own marriages will endure.
Congratulations Lel and Amanda!
Tuesday, 5 July 2016
"Wearing only this"
So added then 22 year old Kate Winslet immediately after her request to Leonardo di Caprio to draw her wearing a giant blue diamond necklace in the 1997 epic "Titanic". Being only 14 at the time and an all-time (RMS) Titanic aficionado (recall this), I had found this to be extremely radical, not to say sensual. However, post Sunday last, the "only" has indeed become redundant; let me explain.
It was an ordinary Tuesday aboard the 8.12am Overground to work, with 1000 commuters and the weekly "TimeOut" to keep me company. As soon as I read an article featuring what was to be London's first naked restaurant, "Bunyadi" or Hindi for 'natural', I knew that my first task at the office was to sign up on the 'waiting list'. Little did I know that that list had already accumulated some 36,000 people before me. I knew the odds of actually going were slim and, upon sharing the idea with my Mrs., it seemed to her (and myself too, really) that this was nothing more but an immense bluff call.
Until I received an email last Friday at 4.30pm that it was possible for me to book a place in the following 4 hours before the same email is sent to the 'next in line'. Within 5 minutes, I was booked after emailing my Mrs. and telling her, "Please accept the invitation below; consider this to be your birthday gift, which you have to enjoy in your birthday suit".
And Sunday evening arrived.
We knew the code of conduct: you arrive at the venue in an otherwise unmarked location (an all-black, boarded-out ex-pub but with a fancily dressed bouncer at the door off a nondescript part of Elephant and Castle), you leave your clothes and all belongings (devices and the like) in a locker and put on a gown and wait in a bar area until you are called to the dining area where you are then free to take off your gown, if you wish. And then enjoy a dinner of all-raw natural food. Served by equally (un)dressed waiters/waitresses.
The waiting bit was brief but seemed too long and when our party was called, we were escorted through a labyrinth of dark, candle-lit spaces of bamboo booths with soft jazz in the background. The temperature was just warm enough to make you want to take off the gown. Which we did once we settled in our booth (of 6 but just for the 2 of us).
The staff were very cordial and all natural (not only in dress but also in their interaction) and in no way made us feel uncomfortable, especially on our waitress's first appearance in the booth. Magical atmosphere combined with tasty food and wonderful wine is my kind of perfect ending to the weekend. The seaweed and sashimi-style salmon starter was as fresh as the ocean while the steak tartare main dish was exquisite (including the edible cutlery) and the crumble-coconut mouse-berry combo for dessert (washed down with fermented milk and raw cocoa) was the perfect finale.
The 1 hour 45 minute slot passed too quickly but we could not take off the grin off our face, even though being greeted by 'sunshine' at 8.45pm was a bit of a shock after almost 2 hours in the dark.
It is a shame that "Bunyadi" will be open for 3 months only for it would have found a very regular customer. The taboo-ist inhibitions imposed by society on society over the past 21 centuries has really taken away a great sense of freedom which unfortunately is nowadays limited only to the few so-called naturists. In this post-Brexit age, I think I am about to leave London and settle on some Caribbean island where I can have breakfast, lunch, dinner and all in between bunyadi style...
It was an ordinary Tuesday aboard the 8.12am Overground to work, with 1000 commuters and the weekly "TimeOut" to keep me company. As soon as I read an article featuring what was to be London's first naked restaurant, "Bunyadi" or Hindi for 'natural', I knew that my first task at the office was to sign up on the 'waiting list'. Little did I know that that list had already accumulated some 36,000 people before me. I knew the odds of actually going were slim and, upon sharing the idea with my Mrs., it seemed to her (and myself too, really) that this was nothing more but an immense bluff call.
Until I received an email last Friday at 4.30pm that it was possible for me to book a place in the following 4 hours before the same email is sent to the 'next in line'. Within 5 minutes, I was booked after emailing my Mrs. and telling her, "Please accept the invitation below; consider this to be your birthday gift, which you have to enjoy in your birthday suit".
And Sunday evening arrived.
We knew the code of conduct: you arrive at the venue in an otherwise unmarked location (an all-black, boarded-out ex-pub but with a fancily dressed bouncer at the door off a nondescript part of Elephant and Castle), you leave your clothes and all belongings (devices and the like) in a locker and put on a gown and wait in a bar area until you are called to the dining area where you are then free to take off your gown, if you wish. And then enjoy a dinner of all-raw natural food. Served by equally (un)dressed waiters/waitresses.
The waiting bit was brief but seemed too long and when our party was called, we were escorted through a labyrinth of dark, candle-lit spaces of bamboo booths with soft jazz in the background. The temperature was just warm enough to make you want to take off the gown. Which we did once we settled in our booth (of 6 but just for the 2 of us).
The staff were very cordial and all natural (not only in dress but also in their interaction) and in no way made us feel uncomfortable, especially on our waitress's first appearance in the booth. Magical atmosphere combined with tasty food and wonderful wine is my kind of perfect ending to the weekend. The seaweed and sashimi-style salmon starter was as fresh as the ocean while the steak tartare main dish was exquisite (including the edible cutlery) and the crumble-coconut mouse-berry combo for dessert (washed down with fermented milk and raw cocoa) was the perfect finale.
The 1 hour 45 minute slot passed too quickly but we could not take off the grin off our face, even though being greeted by 'sunshine' at 8.45pm was a bit of a shock after almost 2 hours in the dark.
It is a shame that "Bunyadi" will be open for 3 months only for it would have found a very regular customer. The taboo-ist inhibitions imposed by society on society over the past 21 centuries has really taken away a great sense of freedom which unfortunately is nowadays limited only to the few so-called naturists. In this post-Brexit age, I think I am about to leave London and settle on some Caribbean island where I can have breakfast, lunch, dinner and all in between bunyadi style...
Wednesday, 10 December 2014
The endless river
If reincarnation was true, then I must say that in a past life, my favourite decade would have been the 1970s. The reason? It was the era of the electric guitar. Of analogue recordings. Of rock. Of progressive rock. Of Pink Floyd.
I never had the privilege of listening to a Floyd album for the first time (I was too young in the 1980s to remember any albums then and too naive in 1994 to recall "The division bell", though I do have feint memories of "Pulse" coming out and listening to it in surround sound at a friend's house...). In an attempt, futile as it might be, to recreate this feeling, as soon as I heard that the Floyd are releasing a new album, the 1st in 20 years - and their last - I was determined to get it and listen to it from beginning to end in its entirety as soon as I get it, resisting the various posts on social media of previews and samples and what not. And so I did. This is a rather overdue review of mine of "The endless river".
No album after the likes of, say, "Dark side" or "Wish you were here" can really be deemed revolutionary. However, the album is really a throwback to the authentic Floyd sound, an endless (so to speak) instrumental song, at times with too much effort in making it sound seamless, with only a single vocal track. Many parts are reminiscent of earlier material. "It's what we do" can be considered to be a re-make of "Shine on, you crazy diamond", or maybe its Part X, notably its time and occasional 4-note motifs. The closing 2 chords in "The lost art of communication" strongly remind me of the amazing equivalent in "Breathe". The references to "The division bell" are obvious in "Talkin' Hawkin'" with the scientist's interventions and with the bells at the start of "Louder than words". I also think "Allons-y" is somewhat a reminder of "Run like hell"; I should stop here with comparisons since this might be getting overboard.
Intertwined between the first part of "Allons-y" and its reprise part is a magical sequence on the Royal Albert Hall's majestic organ. Not knowing this is rock, I would say this is an extract from a requiem mass, one which Wright wrote for himself 40 years before his demise and which Gilmour, in one final struggle to create a counterpoint-style play between keyboard and guitar (although not as successful as the one in "Echoes" or, more recently, in "Cluster one"), created 6 years later after Wright's death in this tribute record.
Indeed, this is the album of Wright, the often-underestimated Floyd genius (and stating this objectively, despite my status as a keyboard player). True, Wright's masterpieces remain "The great gig in the sky" and "Us and them" but what hidden secrets are found in this new album. I simply love the seductive sound qualities of "On Noodle Street". Ironically, "Anisina", one of my favourite tracks, is one of the few which does not feature Wright!
And, being the only non-surviving Floyd member, it was fitting that Gilmour, as the 'image' of 21st century Pink Floyd compiled this album as an elegy for Wright. Early Floyd was characterised by Syd, then it was Roger's era, followed by Gilmour when Roger left and, finally, this is Wright's masterpiece (and, in a way, Mason's with his drum solo in "Skins").
Perhaps one of the biggest disappointments is the final track, which would have been better left an instrumental piece concluding the career of one of the greatest bands of all time. The disappointment is probably overshadowed by the album art - the lack of Storm's contribution is clear. However, I did like the 'book' quality of the album sleeve (but not quite the innovation of the blinking LED cover of the album's older brother).
In no way is this a negative air to end this short review. All in all, it was a great experience to sit and listen to a brand new Floyd album, uninterrupted. I can only extrapolate this feeling and think to myself: wouldn't it have been awesome to be around in March 1973 and listen for the first time ever "The dark side of the moon"? But, in a bit of a massive Floydian slip, all I can say is, if pigs might fly...
I never had the privilege of listening to a Floyd album for the first time (I was too young in the 1980s to remember any albums then and too naive in 1994 to recall "The division bell", though I do have feint memories of "Pulse" coming out and listening to it in surround sound at a friend's house...). In an attempt, futile as it might be, to recreate this feeling, as soon as I heard that the Floyd are releasing a new album, the 1st in 20 years - and their last - I was determined to get it and listen to it from beginning to end in its entirety as soon as I get it, resisting the various posts on social media of previews and samples and what not. And so I did. This is a rather overdue review of mine of "The endless river".
No album after the likes of, say, "Dark side" or "Wish you were here" can really be deemed revolutionary. However, the album is really a throwback to the authentic Floyd sound, an endless (so to speak) instrumental song, at times with too much effort in making it sound seamless, with only a single vocal track. Many parts are reminiscent of earlier material. "It's what we do" can be considered to be a re-make of "Shine on, you crazy diamond", or maybe its Part X, notably its time and occasional 4-note motifs. The closing 2 chords in "The lost art of communication" strongly remind me of the amazing equivalent in "Breathe". The references to "The division bell" are obvious in "Talkin' Hawkin'" with the scientist's interventions and with the bells at the start of "Louder than words". I also think "Allons-y" is somewhat a reminder of "Run like hell"; I should stop here with comparisons since this might be getting overboard.
Intertwined between the first part of "Allons-y" and its reprise part is a magical sequence on the Royal Albert Hall's majestic organ. Not knowing this is rock, I would say this is an extract from a requiem mass, one which Wright wrote for himself 40 years before his demise and which Gilmour, in one final struggle to create a counterpoint-style play between keyboard and guitar (although not as successful as the one in "Echoes" or, more recently, in "Cluster one"), created 6 years later after Wright's death in this tribute record.
Indeed, this is the album of Wright, the often-underestimated Floyd genius (and stating this objectively, despite my status as a keyboard player). True, Wright's masterpieces remain "The great gig in the sky" and "Us and them" but what hidden secrets are found in this new album. I simply love the seductive sound qualities of "On Noodle Street". Ironically, "Anisina", one of my favourite tracks, is one of the few which does not feature Wright!
And, being the only non-surviving Floyd member, it was fitting that Gilmour, as the 'image' of 21st century Pink Floyd compiled this album as an elegy for Wright. Early Floyd was characterised by Syd, then it was Roger's era, followed by Gilmour when Roger left and, finally, this is Wright's masterpiece (and, in a way, Mason's with his drum solo in "Skins").
Perhaps one of the biggest disappointments is the final track, which would have been better left an instrumental piece concluding the career of one of the greatest bands of all time. The disappointment is probably overshadowed by the album art - the lack of Storm's contribution is clear. However, I did like the 'book' quality of the album sleeve (but not quite the innovation of the blinking LED cover of the album's older brother).
In no way is this a negative air to end this short review. All in all, it was a great experience to sit and listen to a brand new Floyd album, uninterrupted. I can only extrapolate this feeling and think to myself: wouldn't it have been awesome to be around in March 1973 and listen for the first time ever "The dark side of the moon"? But, in a bit of a massive Floydian slip, all I can say is, if pigs might fly...
Saturday, 27 September 2014
Happy anniversaries
Any Maltese of good sense would know that this year was a special one when it comes to anniversaries. I am writing this less than a week after I 'celebrated' or rather remembered one of my own personal anniversaries, i.e., my first move to London back on 22/09/2007. Seven years. Some say seven is a perfect number; perhaps it is true since, like my 1st year here, this year was truly one where everyday was one to look forward to. But really the aim here was to reminisce on the sort of anniversaries I hinted earlier: the 10th year since Malta joined the EU, the 35th year since Malta no longer served as a military base for any foreign power, the 40th year of Malta's declaration as a republic and the 50th year of Malta's independence.
With only one of these celebrations left, I thought it was a good time to record some of my thoughts at this point, in a time sandwiched between what I think are the 2 worthy of being Malta's national days. One, the establishment of a Maltese head of state, is the culmination of the establishment of a sovereign state, but the former could not have happened if the latter was not already in place; the others were then somewhat circumstantial occurrences which invariably had to happen over time.
Writing this a week or so later after Scotland rejected its call for independence from the UK in a referendum made me wonder even more how a country such as Scotland, with countless natural resources (including oil, gas and, erm - why not - whiskey) could not be bold enough to take a leap and disrupt any reliance or affiliation with another country, even after 300 years, but then a tiny island-nation with no resources of its own, except its people, who was never a ruler but always ruled since the dawn of time, who always relied on external aid, could then make this leap forward half a century ago after a devastating war and at the brink of a nuclear war? And what more, a move endorsed by all major political leaders at the time, settled all amicably and peacefully with no bloodshed whatsoever. And then move on to become a thriving economy, exploiting its rich history and heritage (ironically furnished by all its past subsequent rulers) to create a tourist industry and a manufacturing industry but also being able to read clearly the signs of the age, when manufacturing fled to the far east and instead diversified into freight-less and non-manual ventures but into those requiring 'solely' intellect, IT and so on. An island state which is a success story, with one of the lowest unemployment rates in Europe, which had the 2nd strongest currency in the world prior to joining the Eurozone in 2008, with a health system ranked 5th best in the world and free education to all.
It was a journey at times full of controversy and irony.
The fiery Mintoff changed political direction from integration with Britain in the 1950s to fully-fetched independence in the 1960s, being the first to propose the "Break with Britain Resolution" in Parliament, seconded by pragmatic Borg Olivier. The latter, after obtaining independence, then voted against the establishment of a republic, which in my mind would have represented the ultimate nationalist achievement.
Mintoff, whose political roots were probably established during his time in Britain whilst studying in Oxford in the late 1930s, possibly exposed to Fabianism and as an external observer of the relatively thriving social services and conditions in the UK which he must have longed for to have introduced in Malta (which he eventually did, and more), was then so ardent in getting 'rid' of the British.
Borg Olivier, the prime minister who ultimately negotiated the independence constitution, was arguably elected because of the Church's involvement in the 1962 election which effectively limited the odds of Mintoff's election into government to the slimmest possible, but then had to face a Church which was utterly against independence.
And a few decades later during the EU saga, it was the conservative party, still carrying the label 'nationalist', was pro-EU, whereas other leaders of the right strongly became Euro-sceptics. On the other hand, the labour party, the long-time apt voice of workers who would benefit strongly from such an open market as is the EU, failed to join all the other European left wing thinkers and politicians who tend to be in favour of the EU (even if, at times, this tends to be not really in line with socialist principles, but that is the game of politics for you).
And then the conservative party led by a devout Catholic presumably not amused by consumerism and liberalism, who viciously sought to have a free market and removing all importation embargoes and advocating free-for-all access to the capitalist frame of mind in the late 1980s, after having fought for and acquired EU accession, was most certainly overwhelmed by a transformation into a society with changing values, importing via media and the Internet and adopting an extensive liberal ideology, leading to introduction of civil rights such as divorce and civil unions, including for LGBT couples, and rightly so.
And in another twist of irony, the strongest voice opposing the EU a decade ago is today one of the 6 MEPs in Brussels.
A country of contradiction. A country often of political complexities, even if unnecessary at times. But nonetheless a country of success and economic progress and which has been in the international limelight for different reasons in every decade of its first half a century of sovereignty, aiding in the advancement of the world itself. Malta proposed to the UN measures to safeguard the oceans in the late 1960s. Malta advocated the idea of including a chapter on security in the Mediterranean as part of the Helsinki Accords in the 1970s. Malta hosted the Bush-Gorbachev summit in the 1980s, effectively ending the Cold War. Malta's Guido DeMarco was President of the UN's General Council in the 1990s. Malta was instrumental in helping the West handle the Libyan crisis a few years ago.
Each of these tasks and achievements is totally incommensurate with the size of this country.
I proudly look forward to be participant in the greater part of the next 50 years of this country's journey and, who knows, maybe at 81 also celebrate the first centenary of Malta, an independent sovereign state.
With only one of these celebrations left, I thought it was a good time to record some of my thoughts at this point, in a time sandwiched between what I think are the 2 worthy of being Malta's national days. One, the establishment of a Maltese head of state, is the culmination of the establishment of a sovereign state, but the former could not have happened if the latter was not already in place; the others were then somewhat circumstantial occurrences which invariably had to happen over time.
Writing this a week or so later after Scotland rejected its call for independence from the UK in a referendum made me wonder even more how a country such as Scotland, with countless natural resources (including oil, gas and, erm - why not - whiskey) could not be bold enough to take a leap and disrupt any reliance or affiliation with another country, even after 300 years, but then a tiny island-nation with no resources of its own, except its people, who was never a ruler but always ruled since the dawn of time, who always relied on external aid, could then make this leap forward half a century ago after a devastating war and at the brink of a nuclear war? And what more, a move endorsed by all major political leaders at the time, settled all amicably and peacefully with no bloodshed whatsoever. And then move on to become a thriving economy, exploiting its rich history and heritage (ironically furnished by all its past subsequent rulers) to create a tourist industry and a manufacturing industry but also being able to read clearly the signs of the age, when manufacturing fled to the far east and instead diversified into freight-less and non-manual ventures but into those requiring 'solely' intellect, IT and so on. An island state which is a success story, with one of the lowest unemployment rates in Europe, which had the 2nd strongest currency in the world prior to joining the Eurozone in 2008, with a health system ranked 5th best in the world and free education to all.
It was a journey at times full of controversy and irony.
The fiery Mintoff changed political direction from integration with Britain in the 1950s to fully-fetched independence in the 1960s, being the first to propose the "Break with Britain Resolution" in Parliament, seconded by pragmatic Borg Olivier. The latter, after obtaining independence, then voted against the establishment of a republic, which in my mind would have represented the ultimate nationalist achievement.
Mintoff, whose political roots were probably established during his time in Britain whilst studying in Oxford in the late 1930s, possibly exposed to Fabianism and as an external observer of the relatively thriving social services and conditions in the UK which he must have longed for to have introduced in Malta (which he eventually did, and more), was then so ardent in getting 'rid' of the British.
Borg Olivier, the prime minister who ultimately negotiated the independence constitution, was arguably elected because of the Church's involvement in the 1962 election which effectively limited the odds of Mintoff's election into government to the slimmest possible, but then had to face a Church which was utterly against independence.
And a few decades later during the EU saga, it was the conservative party, still carrying the label 'nationalist', was pro-EU, whereas other leaders of the right strongly became Euro-sceptics. On the other hand, the labour party, the long-time apt voice of workers who would benefit strongly from such an open market as is the EU, failed to join all the other European left wing thinkers and politicians who tend to be in favour of the EU (even if, at times, this tends to be not really in line with socialist principles, but that is the game of politics for you).
And then the conservative party led by a devout Catholic presumably not amused by consumerism and liberalism, who viciously sought to have a free market and removing all importation embargoes and advocating free-for-all access to the capitalist frame of mind in the late 1980s, after having fought for and acquired EU accession, was most certainly overwhelmed by a transformation into a society with changing values, importing via media and the Internet and adopting an extensive liberal ideology, leading to introduction of civil rights such as divorce and civil unions, including for LGBT couples, and rightly so.
And in another twist of irony, the strongest voice opposing the EU a decade ago is today one of the 6 MEPs in Brussels.
A country of contradiction. A country often of political complexities, even if unnecessary at times. But nonetheless a country of success and economic progress and which has been in the international limelight for different reasons in every decade of its first half a century of sovereignty, aiding in the advancement of the world itself. Malta proposed to the UN measures to safeguard the oceans in the late 1960s. Malta advocated the idea of including a chapter on security in the Mediterranean as part of the Helsinki Accords in the 1970s. Malta hosted the Bush-Gorbachev summit in the 1980s, effectively ending the Cold War. Malta's Guido DeMarco was President of the UN's General Council in the 1990s. Malta was instrumental in helping the West handle the Libyan crisis a few years ago.
Each of these tasks and achievements is totally incommensurate with the size of this country.
I proudly look forward to be participant in the greater part of the next 50 years of this country's journey and, who knows, maybe at 81 also celebrate the first centenary of Malta, an independent sovereign state.
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