I spent yesterday in Xlendi for one last time. I planned to sit by the sea all afternoon. The weather didn’t really agree with my intention, turning cloudy and stormy as soon as I arrived. But not knowing when I’d be back to Gozo again, I stuck it out taking up my post at my favorite spot and just watching the clouds roll through over the sea. It was so windy and the waves were so big that the salt was in the air, landing on my cheeks as it whipped around through the bay. It took an hour for the storm clouds to pass but eventually they broke, giving way to sun. Which was, of course, right about the time I needed to go to catch the last bus back to Victoria. Now that it’s winter, the last one comes at 4:30. Groan.
I headed over to Anna’s shop for one last visit. I was there for probably an hour and a half. We talked about a bunch of stuff – the festa, her kids, how she named them, what giving birth was like…the interesting thing is that it’s a Maltese tradition that the godparents choose the middle names of the child so they have 2 middle names. I can’t even imagine what I’d pick for my god daughter Estella if I had been given the choice.
The time seemed to fly on this last visit though Anna, as usual really took her time with her stories. I like how I ask her a question and it takes about 20 minutes for the events to unfold. I guess I do the same sometimes. I asked her what her children’s middle names were and the next thing you know I’m hearing about when they lived in Toronto when Sara was born, where Frank worked, how far away he was from the hospital, how fast her labor was, etc. But I think the details are what help me remember it. When it was time to close the store she pulled out a bag and said there was a small gift in there for me to open when I got back to my flat. She gave me a hug and said goodbye in case I can’t stop tomorrow. I told her thank you for always talking with me and told her how great it was to meet her. I told her I’d send her some postcards of the snow. She laughed. We made sure I had her address and she made sure to point out her email address on the business card, letting me know that if I write her there Sara will get it for her. I told her my dad is the same. When I got back to my apartment I opened my gift and found she’d given me a really nice gift clock in a “vine” theme and a matching photo frame. I think I’ll keep the clock set to Gozo time.
I dashed out again to get a soda at the confectionary across from Maji. The man there recognizes me now, especially after I commented one day on how they are always so busy. So now he greets me with the more familiar “alright?” I still couldn’t really find any pastries I was dying to try – they all just look and taste the same to me. So I asked for 2 of the pastini ta la rusi. He asked me which ones I was talking about and I told him the ones with the pink on them. He said they call them biscuitini ta la rusi. Hmmm…interesting. I had thought about maybe getting a bunch to take home with me but they really aren’t that amazing so why would I bring them home? Too bad I couldn’t really bring home a pastizzi.
I spent the rest of my evening packing. I had a dream last night that the airport said my bags were too big and I couldn't take everything home with me. I really hope that doesn't happen.
Today, Ted arrived around 11 to read the water and heater readings. I think that, despite the fact that he’s normally very particular and would take great joy in “dinging me” for some damages (were he to find any) he was quite easygoing about the check out because, as it turns out, he wants a favor from me. Apparently there’s an American store online that won’t ship to Malta and he’d like me to order something for his son to then ship over to him. As he was in need of a favor he was very good about agreeing to buy the wash tubs and drying rack that I clearly can’t take back with me. He also invited me to his home this evening to meet his wife, have a glass of wine, and see his painting collection. I can’t say I am thrilled to spend my last evening with Ted, but I remembered that if he’s meeting me at 6 I can exit by 8 or 9 and claim I have dinner plans elsewhere. It doesn’t have to be an all night thing. Though, I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing for dinner yet. I had planned to get a pizza from It-Tokk but they too have winter hours and are closing at 4 p.m. today. Maybe I’ll head to Café Jubilee. I just didn’t want to have to buy anymore groceries since I’m cleaning out my fridge tonight.
I saw Grace in the Square this afternoon. She gave me her address and texted Mario so I could get his email address in case I don't see him today. Now that I have less than a day left I feel as if there’s a ton to do. Thankfully I’m already packed but I want to make sure I make the rounds, say goodbye to the people who have helped me, and see all of the things I want to see one last time. I got a sausage roll from the Sphinx on my way to connect and had a nice chat with the girl who works there about how she lived in NY for a year while she was visiting her brother in Queens and how she can’t wait to go back and how envious she was of the snow I told her we got back home. I feel like every day I’ve met someone new here who has been so great about telling me their stories and letting me into their lives in some way or another. I’ll admit, I’m ready to go home as far as creature comforts are concerned. Being able to do laundry sits really high at the top of my list, along with living in an apartment that has heat (who would’ve thunk I’d care about HEAT in Gozo?). But I wish I was going home for a vacation and then returning here. There’s still so much that could be done and so many ways my thesis would benefit from more time. Of course, my advisor says that’s always the problem. We often feel like our work is never done. So I guess I’ll own that there is a lot more I could do. But I will also own that I’m going to “make best” with my work, as many of the Maltese have said to me. Hopefully my best is good enough.
So that’s it for this blog as far as my trip is concerned. I don’t know if I’ll end up using the website when I return. I suppose I could keep updates about how the thesis is coming along the way. We’ll see. I know there are a few blogs I’ve been meaning to add photos too, though I’m not sure how necessary they are after the fact. I can’t deny that writing this blog has been helpful. There were days when I really had no motivation whatsoever and it was only the thought that I would have nothing to say in my blog that got my butt out of my chair and got me moving. So for that, I thank you all. You held me accountable. I also thank you for reading and sharing this adventure with me. I can’t believe it’s already over. I look forward to seeing you all soon.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
One last Festa
12/8
Since returning from my trip sleeping has been a lot easier. I’m still up late to start with but once I lay down it’s not taking forever to fall asleep. Until last night that is. Today is a public holiday- the feast of the Immaculae Conception. So last night Grapes Wine bar had a band playing underneath my window that didn’t start until 10 and ended at 1 a.m. I was so pissed. Oh and there were fireworks in the street too. Those I didn’t mind so much – they weren’t right outside my window. But that band. The music wasn’t “bad” per se – it was done well. They played everything from “Sail Away With Me” by David Gray to “Winds of Change” by the Scorpians, U2’s “All I Want is You” and Kansas “Dust in the Wind.” But I kept thinking about the other people who live in the square all of the time and how at home this would never fly in a residential area without some sort of noise permit. It really got me thinking again about participant observation and how much and when to participate. How much do we leave ourselves at the door and participate like the locals? And would I still be welcome in that scenario? Looking down at the crowd, the people were mostly in their mid to late 20’s with all of those in their 30’s at home with their families sound asleep. And would I have gone were it something happening at home? Maybe if I had someone to go with. But I wouldn’t go to a club by myself at home and locals here confirm that you wouldn’t here as well. And what if I wasn’t the kind of person who would either way?
This morning at 8am the church bells rang, and after every bell a firework went off. That was enjoyable. Then again at 9am. Now at noon the church bells are going. I wonder if they will go for an hour like they did yesterday. Yup – we’re going on 49 minutes so I’m guessing it’ll be a full hour. I’ve decided that if I was ever captured and tortured for information, noise torture would be most effective on me. Between the concert last night and the bells that seem to never end, I’m convinced of it.
After 1.5 hours I couldn’t take it anymore and I decided to head out. I was going to go to a specific store for some souvenir items but it was closed so instead I went down to Grace’s shop and had a quick chat with her and a fellow named John. He described himself as a “domestic engineer” but in reality he’s a retired engineer whose wife has gone on to work. They are both Maltese and just moved to Gozo 4 years ago. Grace explained that the PH for today is the Feast Day of the immaculate conception. She said they were doing a big motorcycle/bike caravan from Ta Pinu to Qala and that there would be a feast in Qala as well though not as big as what would be happening in St. Francis Square tonight. I asked after the bells from the baby’s funeral and she confirmed my guess that it’s because it’s not supposed to be an occasion for sadness since the baby will go straight to heaven. I thought I heard the “motorcade” coming so I excused myself to check it out, telling Grace I would still see her again before I leave.
I was wrong, however, so instead I ducked into a shop that I know takes credit cards and bought some souvenirs. I popped back home to have a snack before going out to St. Francis Square. I figured if they were setting up for a Festa then there would be some action going on there. I was certainly right about that. The streets are lined with the red and yellow Festa banners – most of them brand new without any paintings or embellishments on them. A statue of the virgin Mary has been placed over the normal statue in the center of the square and I found out it was done by Paul Aquilina – Kilena’s son. Men were starting to get the fireworks prepared so I approached a man who was having a cigarette leaning over his gate next to the Schembri watch shop to ask what time the fireworks would begin.
He was balding, with glasses and patches of hair on his ears but he had a kind smile and was dressed well. He wore tan slacks and a maroon colored v-neck sweater, underneath was a sort of red checked flannel shirt. He said around 10 p.m. and that there would be a procession at 6. He asked if I’d gone in to see the church yet and I said no. I made some polite conversation, asking after the feast and what sorts of things might happen in the square tonight and if the noise would bother him living so close. He said the fireworks aren’t too big of a deal for him, some loud bangs but mostly he said its better than the noise of the cars – traffic is blocked off to the street for the day. I asked if he’d be watching and he said yes from his balcony. I asked if it was the kind of public holiday where stores and shops were closed and he said yes, primarily. I asked if he worked or was retired and he said he’s a retired jeweler. He learned the trade from his father and his grandfather before him. He said he loved making jewelry but the paperwork and VAT stuff got to be too much. He said he had 2 shops – the one next door and another one and he said he worried most of the time that they would be robbed and because he didn’t pay for insurance they would get nothing back. But he didn’t want to pay for insurance because of the headache for claims and because they would provide you with things he already had – like the security doors and such. He said he ended up retiring because he had enough. One day a guy from the VAT came to do an inspection at like 9am and he thought, “okay fine” but the man came back 7 times between 9 am and 6 pm! He said “and I wasn’t doing anything wrong!” He said after that he swore it was his last day. He just closed up shop and was done with it. He said it’s silly too because now he draws on the pension instead of working. When he was working he was paying taxes and contributing to the community, now he does nothing but take.
He said they’ve lived in the house he has for 35 years – before that they lived in a place around the corner and he grew up in a house on the hill to the citadel. I asked if the old block Tapie’s was on was still there when he started to build and he said yes. He said it was much quieter then. I asked him how long he’s been married and he said to guess. Because he mentioned he had 2 sons and one was 20 I said “30 years” and he said – no 37. He said he has twins – a boy and a girl and they are 36 years old. And then 16 years later they had another one. I told him that I’d heard that Joseph and Mary were the most popular names on the island and he said it’s true – his twins are Joseph and Miriam. He said, then 16 years later we had our son and thought – we now have Emmanuel. Ha. His eldest son works with cars and his daughter is a social worker. His younger son, the 20 year old, is an artist. He’s still in school but he is already working selling some of his works through the church. He said that one of his items was part of the lottery for the nights festa. He said he had some of his work there if I wanted to see it. I said yes and he took me down to their garage where his son has a makeshift studio set up. He had several very large wall hanging type paintings in various stages of completion and all were magnificent. His father proudly showed off his work, telling me which saint each was and showing me photos of ones that have already been completed and put into the wall hangings for festas. He said his son gets paid for them but not much.
I couldn’t believe how good they were for a 20 year old. I asked if his son wants to stay in Gozo and he said yes, very much. He said he’s going to have to work hard to make a living from it if that’s the case. I said it’s nice that he has the space to support him and let him do his work. He said yes although sometimes his son complains that he needs more space and here he pointed to 2 old cars (pre-50’s) that are sitting in the back of the garage and I’m sure in his sons mind they are just taking up space. I asked a lot of questions about the work – who commissions the pieces, where they’d be hung, how often they make new hangings and what they do with the ones they aren’t using. He said they will use each one for a few years and then they put them into a museum and make new ones. He said there’s been an argument brewing about whether they should continue doing such works. He said he doesn’t understand it – it keeps kids busy and off the streets for them to help their community. It gets them involved in the church and their neighborhood to do so much on a volunteer basis. Indeed the square was swarming with people setting up fireworks and making preparations for the evening and it is all volunteer. He said, “what do they want the kids to do? Crack?” He certainly sounded like he had a beef with the government, that was for sure.
We talked about cars and car insurance and how expensive it is for him to insure his cars. (one is 500 Euro a year and the other is 300.) We talked about how Paul Aquilina is a family friend and how he and his son use each other for relaxation, stress relief, and constructive criticism. When we talked about his daughter being a social worker I tried to get him to explain exactly what she works with (the poor, the abused, etc.) and he said she does it all. He said at first she was in schools but now she works in the office and does all kinds of stuff. I said there don’t seem to be a lot of poor people in Gozo and he said “don’t be fooled. Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t there.” He said that there are people who get assistance but yet they have to have their water and electricity shut off because they can’t afford it. He said it’s silly – why don’t they pay for their water and electricity and give them some food? He said it’s not as obvious as it used to be but it’s still there. He said that when he was a kid everyone in Gozo seemed to be barefoot because they couldn’t afford shoes. He said he had some fellow students who came to class with only 1 shoe on. When the teacher would ask why one shoe they would say because their other foot hurt but the reality was because their mothers had bought one pair and split them between her kids. He said when he was at primary school he never took a lunch with him. He asked me if I could work out why and when I said no he said it was because he never wanted to eat a lunch and have all of the kids who didn’t have one have to watch him eat. He figured if they don’t eat lunch then I won’t either. He said he never had lunch all through school. I asked if that was during the migration period when things were really bad and he said yes. I asked him if he migrated and he said no. He went to school until he was 16 and then started working in his father’s shop and that was it. He said he’s gone to England a few times but never wanted to go anywhere other than for traveling.
He said they went to England because everyone told him how nice it would be to go there to celebrate Christmas but he said he and his wife were disappointed. They went to church with their friend who was hosting them but that was it. he said it wasn’t a big deal at all and the church only had about 30 people in it. I asked him what Christmas is like for him here in Gozo and he said that for him personally he doesn’t like it anymore because of how commercial it is. You have to buy these gifts and send Christmas cards and all of this nonsense and no one seems to care anymore about what it’s really about. He said as a family they go to the midnight mass on Christmas eve and it goes until 1 am and then afterward they have some guests to their home for a drink until 2 or 3 and then they go to bed. He said it’s nice to celebrate with their friends. I asked if they’ve stopped doing a tree then since his children are so old and he said no – his wife is wild about Christmas and decorations though he’s not sure yet about this year because she’s going on a trip to England for a week directly following and by the time she comes back it will be over so he’s not sure what she’ll put up.
While we were talking we were approached by a man who was selling books. I guess his dad was a writer who had started a book on the role of Gozo in WWII but he died before he could finish it and so this guy finished it. he was going around to people in the square selling them for 20 E and autographing them. If it wasn’t in Maltese I would’ve considered buying them. He did turn to me and start talking in Maltese so that was interesting. Then he said that maybe if I have a friend in Malta I could buy one for them because it would be a nice gift. Ha. I said I don’t and then we stood their awkwardly while the other guy excused himself to get more money and said he’d be back. When he returned we talked about Thanksgiving and other American holidays and then he said that I should probably go and check out the church before I can’t anymore – he said pretty soon there would be too many people for me to get in and see it. I asked him what his name was and he said it was George.
As far as I was concerned the church was already packed and it was in the middle of a mass as well so I wasn’t going to bust through just to take photos. I noticed that the church was draped in the red that had been in the citadel last year and I wondered if it was because of the Festa as I don’t recall it being like that last summer when Greta and I went. I made sure to take a picture of the lottery photo his son did and I took some other photos of the hangings. I can’t believe they are all hand painted.
The procession of the statue of Mary started from the church at 6pm and took a good solid 2 hours to complete the rounds of the neighboring streets. It takes 8 men to lift and carry the statue, with 4 in the front and 4 in the back. There are also 4 spotters with these poles that the statue can rest on whenever the men need a break. And believe me – walking for 2 hours, they need to rest a lot. That thing is massive. I’ll post some pics once I’ve uploaded them. They walk from St. Francis Square through the street behind St. George’s into Triq Repubblika and then up to Independence Square, into St. George’s Square, and back down the street to St. Francis Square. The procession is led by the priests carrying banners and candles, followed by one of the band clubs who played a really slow version of “Immaculate Mary.” Next comes some of the festa organizers in suits and I noticed George’s son Manuel had changed into a suit and was walking with them. No doubt because of all of the work that went into the paintings for the banners. Then comes the statue and then following behind the statue is a group of priests holding the blessed sacrament (Body of Christ). And then after that, the congregation follows along as if it’s a parade, walking to whatever stopping point the statue has and watching/listening to the band play. My favorite part of the procession was when the statue stopped in front of the Franciscan Convent and all of the old nuns serenaded Mary from their front door. It was beautiful.
When they got to St. George’s square I went into my apartment so I could get a nice view of everyone in the square. The band played and competed with the sound of the bells that were being hand rung by some of the boys from the church. As they rang the bells they took turns from each of their towers throwing confetti from the bell towers. It was blue paper cut in the shapes of stars with a picture of the statue of Mary on one side and a notice of the date of the festa in Maltese on the other. The procession stayed in St. George’s for awhile and so the band played 3 or 4 songs before they moved on.
By then it was about 8 so I decided to stick around the apartment to write up some notes. The weather was good but still cold enough that I didn’t want to stand around in the Square for 2 hours waiting for fireworks. It turns out I should’ve followed the crowd because George was wrong. They did the fireworks at about 9:15 so by the time I got there at 9:30 I missed the whole thing. Gah. What a bummer. There’s nothing like Maltese fireworks.
Since returning from my trip sleeping has been a lot easier. I’m still up late to start with but once I lay down it’s not taking forever to fall asleep. Until last night that is. Today is a public holiday- the feast of the Immaculae Conception. So last night Grapes Wine bar had a band playing underneath my window that didn’t start until 10 and ended at 1 a.m. I was so pissed. Oh and there were fireworks in the street too. Those I didn’t mind so much – they weren’t right outside my window. But that band. The music wasn’t “bad” per se – it was done well. They played everything from “Sail Away With Me” by David Gray to “Winds of Change” by the Scorpians, U2’s “All I Want is You” and Kansas “Dust in the Wind.” But I kept thinking about the other people who live in the square all of the time and how at home this would never fly in a residential area without some sort of noise permit. It really got me thinking again about participant observation and how much and when to participate. How much do we leave ourselves at the door and participate like the locals? And would I still be welcome in that scenario? Looking down at the crowd, the people were mostly in their mid to late 20’s with all of those in their 30’s at home with their families sound asleep. And would I have gone were it something happening at home? Maybe if I had someone to go with. But I wouldn’t go to a club by myself at home and locals here confirm that you wouldn’t here as well. And what if I wasn’t the kind of person who would either way?
This morning at 8am the church bells rang, and after every bell a firework went off. That was enjoyable. Then again at 9am. Now at noon the church bells are going. I wonder if they will go for an hour like they did yesterday. Yup – we’re going on 49 minutes so I’m guessing it’ll be a full hour. I’ve decided that if I was ever captured and tortured for information, noise torture would be most effective on me. Between the concert last night and the bells that seem to never end, I’m convinced of it.
After 1.5 hours I couldn’t take it anymore and I decided to head out. I was going to go to a specific store for some souvenir items but it was closed so instead I went down to Grace’s shop and had a quick chat with her and a fellow named John. He described himself as a “domestic engineer” but in reality he’s a retired engineer whose wife has gone on to work. They are both Maltese and just moved to Gozo 4 years ago. Grace explained that the PH for today is the Feast Day of the immaculate conception. She said they were doing a big motorcycle/bike caravan from Ta Pinu to Qala and that there would be a feast in Qala as well though not as big as what would be happening in St. Francis Square tonight. I asked after the bells from the baby’s funeral and she confirmed my guess that it’s because it’s not supposed to be an occasion for sadness since the baby will go straight to heaven. I thought I heard the “motorcade” coming so I excused myself to check it out, telling Grace I would still see her again before I leave.
I was wrong, however, so instead I ducked into a shop that I know takes credit cards and bought some souvenirs. I popped back home to have a snack before going out to St. Francis Square. I figured if they were setting up for a Festa then there would be some action going on there. I was certainly right about that. The streets are lined with the red and yellow Festa banners – most of them brand new without any paintings or embellishments on them. A statue of the virgin Mary has been placed over the normal statue in the center of the square and I found out it was done by Paul Aquilina – Kilena’s son. Men were starting to get the fireworks prepared so I approached a man who was having a cigarette leaning over his gate next to the Schembri watch shop to ask what time the fireworks would begin.
He was balding, with glasses and patches of hair on his ears but he had a kind smile and was dressed well. He wore tan slacks and a maroon colored v-neck sweater, underneath was a sort of red checked flannel shirt. He said around 10 p.m. and that there would be a procession at 6. He asked if I’d gone in to see the church yet and I said no. I made some polite conversation, asking after the feast and what sorts of things might happen in the square tonight and if the noise would bother him living so close. He said the fireworks aren’t too big of a deal for him, some loud bangs but mostly he said its better than the noise of the cars – traffic is blocked off to the street for the day. I asked if he’d be watching and he said yes from his balcony. I asked if it was the kind of public holiday where stores and shops were closed and he said yes, primarily. I asked if he worked or was retired and he said he’s a retired jeweler. He learned the trade from his father and his grandfather before him. He said he loved making jewelry but the paperwork and VAT stuff got to be too much. He said he had 2 shops – the one next door and another one and he said he worried most of the time that they would be robbed and because he didn’t pay for insurance they would get nothing back. But he didn’t want to pay for insurance because of the headache for claims and because they would provide you with things he already had – like the security doors and such. He said he ended up retiring because he had enough. One day a guy from the VAT came to do an inspection at like 9am and he thought, “okay fine” but the man came back 7 times between 9 am and 6 pm! He said “and I wasn’t doing anything wrong!” He said after that he swore it was his last day. He just closed up shop and was done with it. He said it’s silly too because now he draws on the pension instead of working. When he was working he was paying taxes and contributing to the community, now he does nothing but take.
He said they’ve lived in the house he has for 35 years – before that they lived in a place around the corner and he grew up in a house on the hill to the citadel. I asked if the old block Tapie’s was on was still there when he started to build and he said yes. He said it was much quieter then. I asked him how long he’s been married and he said to guess. Because he mentioned he had 2 sons and one was 20 I said “30 years” and he said – no 37. He said he has twins – a boy and a girl and they are 36 years old. And then 16 years later they had another one. I told him that I’d heard that Joseph and Mary were the most popular names on the island and he said it’s true – his twins are Joseph and Miriam. He said, then 16 years later we had our son and thought – we now have Emmanuel. Ha. His eldest son works with cars and his daughter is a social worker. His younger son, the 20 year old, is an artist. He’s still in school but he is already working selling some of his works through the church. He said that one of his items was part of the lottery for the nights festa. He said he had some of his work there if I wanted to see it. I said yes and he took me down to their garage where his son has a makeshift studio set up. He had several very large wall hanging type paintings in various stages of completion and all were magnificent. His father proudly showed off his work, telling me which saint each was and showing me photos of ones that have already been completed and put into the wall hangings for festas. He said his son gets paid for them but not much.
I couldn’t believe how good they were for a 20 year old. I asked if his son wants to stay in Gozo and he said yes, very much. He said he’s going to have to work hard to make a living from it if that’s the case. I said it’s nice that he has the space to support him and let him do his work. He said yes although sometimes his son complains that he needs more space and here he pointed to 2 old cars (pre-50’s) that are sitting in the back of the garage and I’m sure in his sons mind they are just taking up space. I asked a lot of questions about the work – who commissions the pieces, where they’d be hung, how often they make new hangings and what they do with the ones they aren’t using. He said they will use each one for a few years and then they put them into a museum and make new ones. He said there’s been an argument brewing about whether they should continue doing such works. He said he doesn’t understand it – it keeps kids busy and off the streets for them to help their community. It gets them involved in the church and their neighborhood to do so much on a volunteer basis. Indeed the square was swarming with people setting up fireworks and making preparations for the evening and it is all volunteer. He said, “what do they want the kids to do? Crack?” He certainly sounded like he had a beef with the government, that was for sure.
We talked about cars and car insurance and how expensive it is for him to insure his cars. (one is 500 Euro a year and the other is 300.) We talked about how Paul Aquilina is a family friend and how he and his son use each other for relaxation, stress relief, and constructive criticism. When we talked about his daughter being a social worker I tried to get him to explain exactly what she works with (the poor, the abused, etc.) and he said she does it all. He said at first she was in schools but now she works in the office and does all kinds of stuff. I said there don’t seem to be a lot of poor people in Gozo and he said “don’t be fooled. Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t there.” He said that there are people who get assistance but yet they have to have their water and electricity shut off because they can’t afford it. He said it’s silly – why don’t they pay for their water and electricity and give them some food? He said it’s not as obvious as it used to be but it’s still there. He said that when he was a kid everyone in Gozo seemed to be barefoot because they couldn’t afford shoes. He said he had some fellow students who came to class with only 1 shoe on. When the teacher would ask why one shoe they would say because their other foot hurt but the reality was because their mothers had bought one pair and split them between her kids. He said when he was at primary school he never took a lunch with him. He asked me if I could work out why and when I said no he said it was because he never wanted to eat a lunch and have all of the kids who didn’t have one have to watch him eat. He figured if they don’t eat lunch then I won’t either. He said he never had lunch all through school. I asked if that was during the migration period when things were really bad and he said yes. I asked him if he migrated and he said no. He went to school until he was 16 and then started working in his father’s shop and that was it. He said he’s gone to England a few times but never wanted to go anywhere other than for traveling.
He said they went to England because everyone told him how nice it would be to go there to celebrate Christmas but he said he and his wife were disappointed. They went to church with their friend who was hosting them but that was it. he said it wasn’t a big deal at all and the church only had about 30 people in it. I asked him what Christmas is like for him here in Gozo and he said that for him personally he doesn’t like it anymore because of how commercial it is. You have to buy these gifts and send Christmas cards and all of this nonsense and no one seems to care anymore about what it’s really about. He said as a family they go to the midnight mass on Christmas eve and it goes until 1 am and then afterward they have some guests to their home for a drink until 2 or 3 and then they go to bed. He said it’s nice to celebrate with their friends. I asked if they’ve stopped doing a tree then since his children are so old and he said no – his wife is wild about Christmas and decorations though he’s not sure yet about this year because she’s going on a trip to England for a week directly following and by the time she comes back it will be over so he’s not sure what she’ll put up.
While we were talking we were approached by a man who was selling books. I guess his dad was a writer who had started a book on the role of Gozo in WWII but he died before he could finish it and so this guy finished it. he was going around to people in the square selling them for 20 E and autographing them. If it wasn’t in Maltese I would’ve considered buying them. He did turn to me and start talking in Maltese so that was interesting. Then he said that maybe if I have a friend in Malta I could buy one for them because it would be a nice gift. Ha. I said I don’t and then we stood their awkwardly while the other guy excused himself to get more money and said he’d be back. When he returned we talked about Thanksgiving and other American holidays and then he said that I should probably go and check out the church before I can’t anymore – he said pretty soon there would be too many people for me to get in and see it. I asked him what his name was and he said it was George.
As far as I was concerned the church was already packed and it was in the middle of a mass as well so I wasn’t going to bust through just to take photos. I noticed that the church was draped in the red that had been in the citadel last year and I wondered if it was because of the Festa as I don’t recall it being like that last summer when Greta and I went. I made sure to take a picture of the lottery photo his son did and I took some other photos of the hangings. I can’t believe they are all hand painted.
The procession of the statue of Mary started from the church at 6pm and took a good solid 2 hours to complete the rounds of the neighboring streets. It takes 8 men to lift and carry the statue, with 4 in the front and 4 in the back. There are also 4 spotters with these poles that the statue can rest on whenever the men need a break. And believe me – walking for 2 hours, they need to rest a lot. That thing is massive. I’ll post some pics once I’ve uploaded them. They walk from St. Francis Square through the street behind St. George’s into Triq Repubblika and then up to Independence Square, into St. George’s Square, and back down the street to St. Francis Square. The procession is led by the priests carrying banners and candles, followed by one of the band clubs who played a really slow version of “Immaculate Mary.” Next comes some of the festa organizers in suits and I noticed George’s son Manuel had changed into a suit and was walking with them. No doubt because of all of the work that went into the paintings for the banners. Then comes the statue and then following behind the statue is a group of priests holding the blessed sacrament (Body of Christ). And then after that, the congregation follows along as if it’s a parade, walking to whatever stopping point the statue has and watching/listening to the band play. My favorite part of the procession was when the statue stopped in front of the Franciscan Convent and all of the old nuns serenaded Mary from their front door. It was beautiful.
When they got to St. George’s square I went into my apartment so I could get a nice view of everyone in the square. The band played and competed with the sound of the bells that were being hand rung by some of the boys from the church. As they rang the bells they took turns from each of their towers throwing confetti from the bell towers. It was blue paper cut in the shapes of stars with a picture of the statue of Mary on one side and a notice of the date of the festa in Maltese on the other. The procession stayed in St. George’s for awhile and so the band played 3 or 4 songs before they moved on.
By then it was about 8 so I decided to stick around the apartment to write up some notes. The weather was good but still cold enough that I didn’t want to stand around in the Square for 2 hours waiting for fireworks. It turns out I should’ve followed the crowd because George was wrong. They did the fireworks at about 9:15 so by the time I got there at 9:30 I missed the whole thing. Gah. What a bummer. There’s nothing like Maltese fireworks.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Funeral crashers, flirting, and fireworks
Today has been a mixed bag of activities. I woke this morning to the sound of funeral bells so made a mental note to check into that. As I was leaving the apartment I ran into Ted coming up the stairs. He asked if we could check the water/heater meters today and I said sure if he wanted but I’m not leaving until Friday. This seemed to surprise him, though I’ve mentioned it now about eight times. He said he’d come back on Thursday instead. He asked after my trip and I did the same. I’ll have to warn Wim – his whole family is planning to spend Christmas 2010 in Brussels! Watch out!!!
Next I made my way to the bus stand to get the newest schedule for December. As predicted, the buses have been cut yet again. From now until February there are no more buses to Drewjra and if you want to go to Gharb, San Lawrenz, Zebbug, Ghasri, Ta Pinu, Sannat, Munxar or Kercem you’d better plan on hiking back because after noon there are no more buses. Not even one at 4:30 or 5 pm to take people back. Nada. I guess it doesn’t really matter since I’m only here a couple more days but still…what a pain.
Heading out to Independence Square I saw Grace taking down her shop. I said hello and told her I was sorry I haven’t seen her in awhile, noticing that they’d switched from displaying summer clothing to more winter apparel. She said they were taking down for the day and then she’d be heading over to her/Mario’s shop for the rest of the afternoon. She looked cozy wearing a snug bright green sweater and a denim cap, holding onto a cup of coffee to warm her hands. It wasn’t that cold out since the sun was peaking in and out of the clouds but we talked about how cold you can get when you’re just sitting in one spot all day. I told her I’d heard funeral bells that morning and asked if she’d heard anything and she said that yes, she’d heard someone died. She asked her husband George about it in Maltese and he confirmed that the funeral would be today at St. George’s. She said probably between 3 and 4. I told her I’d been to the one on Saturday for the little baby and I asked after the fact that so many people seemed to be wearing brown instead of black. I asked if it was intentional or if I was just noticing something that wasn’t there. She said no – it’s because of the babies. She said that when a baby dies, “they have nothing to pay for and we shouldn’t be sad.” She said we should be happy because they are going to heaven and so we don’t wear black because there shouldn’t be any mourning. I asked, “even if the baby wasn’t baptized?” And she said “well I am sure they would baptize the baby if they knew that it was not going to make it.” I then asked about the white flowers and pink ribbons instead of the usual colors. And she said “yes, also for the babies. White – the color of heaven.” This too falls into the logic of babies not needing to pay for anything in the afterlife. Flowers are typically used in commemoration as a payment or offering of something that is alive. If babies don’t need such an offering but the commemorative gesture remains, then white flowers would be a way to make the offering without making a “payment” per se. I also asked about how come they came up Triq R. instead of via St. Francis (the back way) and she said there would be two reasons for that. The first would be if the procession included the band and the second would be if they procession came all the way from the hospital in Malta rather than the hospital in Gozo – which was the case with the little girl. I asked when someone would have the band in the procession and she said either because they themselves were in the band or because one of their family members was in the band. The one thing I forgot to ask about was the bells that rang. They too were different – sounding more like the regular mass bells that ring at noon rather than mourning bells. Perhaps this is because there is no call for sorrow. I will check into it. I thanked her for her insight and let her return to packing up the store as George seemed a little put out that my conversation was hindering her work getting done. He wasn’t being rude or anything but he kept working on around us in a way that made me feel like I was getting in the way.
On my way to the bus terminal I ran into Francis. I was planning to find him tomorrow so this saved me the trip. I told him I was leaving Friday and we made arrangements for him to pick me up in Independence Square at 4:15 am so we could catch the 5:00 am ferry. It’s only a 10 minute drive from here to the harbor but because he takes the car onto the ferry he likes to get there about 30 minutes early to join the queue just in case there are any issues. Especially since the 5 and 6 o’clock ferries are the two busiest in the morning.
Next I stopped off to see Sonja at Coffee Break. I almost didn’t bother her because she looked so busy, and she admitted as much to me as well, saying that she’s been working nonstop. I asked her if she’s working all week and she said yes. The fellow she works with, Roberto, had said hello to me because he recognizes me now from stopping to see Sonja and so I said “you work her too hard, you should give her a break!” He laughed and said “What are you saying about me?” (as in, he’s the one who needs a break). We all laughed and Sonja said to me over the counter “You should tell him to take a break and that you can take a break together.” She had pointed her finger at me when she said it and then moved her two pointer fingers together. She gave me a devilish grin and I returned it saying, “Noooo, Sonja. No. I have to go – see you.” And so instead she called back to him and said, “You should take a break together!” By then I was halfway to the front of the café and was saying “bye” and waving over my shoulder as I laughed. He was doing the same. I have to admit that were he not already talking to a friend of his I may have been game for it. He’s not unattractive and he does know how to make good pastries. Isn’t that what every girl looks for in her man?
I wandered back towards Arcadia hoping to run into some other folks I knew and ended up seeing Alfred having drinks with a lady at the Tamarisk, a pub across the street from the primary school that’s just down the block from Arcadia. He was wearing the same thing as he was the last times I’ve seen him – black jeans, white shirt, black tie, gray jacket heavily dusted with dandruff. He was smoking one of the local cigars and drinking whisky. The woman he was with was English and said she moved here in 2005. They were actually in the midst of a legal discussion and though she was nice enough you could tell she didn’t really appreciate the interruption. Alfred introduced me to her as someone who is here studying the weirdos of Gozo. He asked how my research has been going and I told him it was going well and that I was leaving soon. I asked if it would still be alright for me to send him some questions via email and he said of course. After seeing him it occurred to me that he might be able to ask some of his students to fill out a survey for me as well. I’ll have to check into that.
I did walk all the way to Arcadia before turning around and heading back to my apartment. I wasn’t sure where I wanted to be located for the funeral. I could go to St. Francis Square where everyone would gather for the procession, or I could stay in St. George’s and perhaps take some photos as they entered the square. I decided to stay in St. George’s and managed to take a video clip of the procession of 11 priests, 3 acolytes and about 20 mourners as it rounded the corner of the church and up the stairs. I recognized George among the PB’s. I then exited the apartment, having already changed into black and headed in myself.
This funeral was not as well attended as the last few, with only about 35 people total. I couldn’t get over how many tourists kept wandering in as the mass was about to start and found myself nodding in agreement when one of the older locals got up and went to the back of the church and asked some of them to leave. I couldn’t believe how many continued to stream in, taking photos despite the fact that there was obviously a coffin sitting in the middle of the row and that a mass was going on. But they did it nonetheless, walking the perimeter of the church and taking the photos – some with flash. The whole time I thought, “I get it, you’ve never been here before…it’s cool to take the pictures of the inside of the church…but can’t you wait another 20 minutes until the service is over?” My own disdainful reaction made me all the more aware of my own intentions and presence. It also made me grateful that I know the drill of Catholicism and can follow along respectfully despite not knowing the language of Maltese. I did see that the man who handed out prayer cards left out the tourists at the back but included me. I guess that’s something. It helps that I threw money into the collection plate as well, I am sure.
Oh and this reminds me – the other day during the funeral for the little girl, the woman who was standing next to me was joined by her daughter. The daughter kept slowly backing into her mother whenever she wanted to say something to her and then the mother kept slowly backing into me. Soon enough I had t move completely because the daughter had backed us into some marble stairs. It was almost comical and the daughter had no idea she was doing it. I was thinking about how daughters can be like that, almost smothering at times. The woman turned to me at the same moment and we sort of gave each other exasperated looks and she said something to me in Maltese! Ha. Of course, I have no idea what it was but I’m telling you…give me another 9 months here and would be doing my damnedest to learn.
It turns out the funeral was for a 65 year old man named George. I couldn’t tell at first if he was survived by a wife, as the front row in the church had 4 people in it and they could’ve all just been his children. When the priest finished the mass and came down to shake hands with the family there was only one woman he gave condolences too and I saw that she had gray hair and the rest did not. Perhaps she is the wife and the others are their children. The other thing that caught my eye during the service was that one of the acolytes was either new and still learning or just needed reminding because he was so young. He seemed to be following the direction of one of the priests more than the others who were more experienced, anticipating needs and cues. One of them even went around and took the back of the vestments of all of the priests and placed them behind the chair so that when they next sat down they wouldn’t sit on them. I thought of my own experiences as an acolyte and how the most trusted of jobs (like with the incense) were always given to the older, more seasoned, and less fidgety individuals. I thought of how hard it was to be young and stand still. How despite the fact that it was a funeral there is often still fun to be had in youth as the two younger boys kept trading grins over some inside joke that they alone would think was funny at a time like that.
There are fireworks going off outside today. Tomorrow is a public holiday. I’m not exactly sure why, but there have been fireworks intermittently throughout the day and at noon, the bells of St. George’s rang for an hour and 15 minutes straight. The fireworks remind me that if tomorrow is a public holiday some of the stores will be closed and I was planning to buy some things tonight. Better get to it.
Next I made my way to the bus stand to get the newest schedule for December. As predicted, the buses have been cut yet again. From now until February there are no more buses to Drewjra and if you want to go to Gharb, San Lawrenz, Zebbug, Ghasri, Ta Pinu, Sannat, Munxar or Kercem you’d better plan on hiking back because after noon there are no more buses. Not even one at 4:30 or 5 pm to take people back. Nada. I guess it doesn’t really matter since I’m only here a couple more days but still…what a pain.
Heading out to Independence Square I saw Grace taking down her shop. I said hello and told her I was sorry I haven’t seen her in awhile, noticing that they’d switched from displaying summer clothing to more winter apparel. She said they were taking down for the day and then she’d be heading over to her/Mario’s shop for the rest of the afternoon. She looked cozy wearing a snug bright green sweater and a denim cap, holding onto a cup of coffee to warm her hands. It wasn’t that cold out since the sun was peaking in and out of the clouds but we talked about how cold you can get when you’re just sitting in one spot all day. I told her I’d heard funeral bells that morning and asked if she’d heard anything and she said that yes, she’d heard someone died. She asked her husband George about it in Maltese and he confirmed that the funeral would be today at St. George’s. She said probably between 3 and 4. I told her I’d been to the one on Saturday for the little baby and I asked after the fact that so many people seemed to be wearing brown instead of black. I asked if it was intentional or if I was just noticing something that wasn’t there. She said no – it’s because of the babies. She said that when a baby dies, “they have nothing to pay for and we shouldn’t be sad.” She said we should be happy because they are going to heaven and so we don’t wear black because there shouldn’t be any mourning. I asked, “even if the baby wasn’t baptized?” And she said “well I am sure they would baptize the baby if they knew that it was not going to make it.” I then asked about the white flowers and pink ribbons instead of the usual colors. And she said “yes, also for the babies. White – the color of heaven.” This too falls into the logic of babies not needing to pay for anything in the afterlife. Flowers are typically used in commemoration as a payment or offering of something that is alive. If babies don’t need such an offering but the commemorative gesture remains, then white flowers would be a way to make the offering without making a “payment” per se. I also asked about how come they came up Triq R. instead of via St. Francis (the back way) and she said there would be two reasons for that. The first would be if the procession included the band and the second would be if they procession came all the way from the hospital in Malta rather than the hospital in Gozo – which was the case with the little girl. I asked when someone would have the band in the procession and she said either because they themselves were in the band or because one of their family members was in the band. The one thing I forgot to ask about was the bells that rang. They too were different – sounding more like the regular mass bells that ring at noon rather than mourning bells. Perhaps this is because there is no call for sorrow. I will check into it. I thanked her for her insight and let her return to packing up the store as George seemed a little put out that my conversation was hindering her work getting done. He wasn’t being rude or anything but he kept working on around us in a way that made me feel like I was getting in the way.
On my way to the bus terminal I ran into Francis. I was planning to find him tomorrow so this saved me the trip. I told him I was leaving Friday and we made arrangements for him to pick me up in Independence Square at 4:15 am so we could catch the 5:00 am ferry. It’s only a 10 minute drive from here to the harbor but because he takes the car onto the ferry he likes to get there about 30 minutes early to join the queue just in case there are any issues. Especially since the 5 and 6 o’clock ferries are the two busiest in the morning.
Next I stopped off to see Sonja at Coffee Break. I almost didn’t bother her because she looked so busy, and she admitted as much to me as well, saying that she’s been working nonstop. I asked her if she’s working all week and she said yes. The fellow she works with, Roberto, had said hello to me because he recognizes me now from stopping to see Sonja and so I said “you work her too hard, you should give her a break!” He laughed and said “What are you saying about me?” (as in, he’s the one who needs a break). We all laughed and Sonja said to me over the counter “You should tell him to take a break and that you can take a break together.” She had pointed her finger at me when she said it and then moved her two pointer fingers together. She gave me a devilish grin and I returned it saying, “Noooo, Sonja. No. I have to go – see you.” And so instead she called back to him and said, “You should take a break together!” By then I was halfway to the front of the café and was saying “bye” and waving over my shoulder as I laughed. He was doing the same. I have to admit that were he not already talking to a friend of his I may have been game for it. He’s not unattractive and he does know how to make good pastries. Isn’t that what every girl looks for in her man?
I wandered back towards Arcadia hoping to run into some other folks I knew and ended up seeing Alfred having drinks with a lady at the Tamarisk, a pub across the street from the primary school that’s just down the block from Arcadia. He was wearing the same thing as he was the last times I’ve seen him – black jeans, white shirt, black tie, gray jacket heavily dusted with dandruff. He was smoking one of the local cigars and drinking whisky. The woman he was with was English and said she moved here in 2005. They were actually in the midst of a legal discussion and though she was nice enough you could tell she didn’t really appreciate the interruption. Alfred introduced me to her as someone who is here studying the weirdos of Gozo. He asked how my research has been going and I told him it was going well and that I was leaving soon. I asked if it would still be alright for me to send him some questions via email and he said of course. After seeing him it occurred to me that he might be able to ask some of his students to fill out a survey for me as well. I’ll have to check into that.
I did walk all the way to Arcadia before turning around and heading back to my apartment. I wasn’t sure where I wanted to be located for the funeral. I could go to St. Francis Square where everyone would gather for the procession, or I could stay in St. George’s and perhaps take some photos as they entered the square. I decided to stay in St. George’s and managed to take a video clip of the procession of 11 priests, 3 acolytes and about 20 mourners as it rounded the corner of the church and up the stairs. I recognized George among the PB’s. I then exited the apartment, having already changed into black and headed in myself.
This funeral was not as well attended as the last few, with only about 35 people total. I couldn’t get over how many tourists kept wandering in as the mass was about to start and found myself nodding in agreement when one of the older locals got up and went to the back of the church and asked some of them to leave. I couldn’t believe how many continued to stream in, taking photos despite the fact that there was obviously a coffin sitting in the middle of the row and that a mass was going on. But they did it nonetheless, walking the perimeter of the church and taking the photos – some with flash. The whole time I thought, “I get it, you’ve never been here before…it’s cool to take the pictures of the inside of the church…but can’t you wait another 20 minutes until the service is over?” My own disdainful reaction made me all the more aware of my own intentions and presence. It also made me grateful that I know the drill of Catholicism and can follow along respectfully despite not knowing the language of Maltese. I did see that the man who handed out prayer cards left out the tourists at the back but included me. I guess that’s something. It helps that I threw money into the collection plate as well, I am sure.
Oh and this reminds me – the other day during the funeral for the little girl, the woman who was standing next to me was joined by her daughter. The daughter kept slowly backing into her mother whenever she wanted to say something to her and then the mother kept slowly backing into me. Soon enough I had t move completely because the daughter had backed us into some marble stairs. It was almost comical and the daughter had no idea she was doing it. I was thinking about how daughters can be like that, almost smothering at times. The woman turned to me at the same moment and we sort of gave each other exasperated looks and she said something to me in Maltese! Ha. Of course, I have no idea what it was but I’m telling you…give me another 9 months here and would be doing my damnedest to learn.
It turns out the funeral was for a 65 year old man named George. I couldn’t tell at first if he was survived by a wife, as the front row in the church had 4 people in it and they could’ve all just been his children. When the priest finished the mass and came down to shake hands with the family there was only one woman he gave condolences too and I saw that she had gray hair and the rest did not. Perhaps she is the wife and the others are their children. The other thing that caught my eye during the service was that one of the acolytes was either new and still learning or just needed reminding because he was so young. He seemed to be following the direction of one of the priests more than the others who were more experienced, anticipating needs and cues. One of them even went around and took the back of the vestments of all of the priests and placed them behind the chair so that when they next sat down they wouldn’t sit on them. I thought of my own experiences as an acolyte and how the most trusted of jobs (like with the incense) were always given to the older, more seasoned, and less fidgety individuals. I thought of how hard it was to be young and stand still. How despite the fact that it was a funeral there is often still fun to be had in youth as the two younger boys kept trading grins over some inside joke that they alone would think was funny at a time like that.
There are fireworks going off outside today. Tomorrow is a public holiday. I’m not exactly sure why, but there have been fireworks intermittently throughout the day and at noon, the bells of St. George’s rang for an hour and 15 minutes straight. The fireworks remind me that if tomorrow is a public holiday some of the stores will be closed and I was planning to buy some things tonight. Better get to it.
The end of the cemetery tour
12/6
It’s become increasingly difficult to work since returning from my trip to Belgium/Denmark. I thought the pressure of a deadline would make it sink in – the reality that I’m leaving so soon. But apparently not. I DID get work done today…motivated by the fact that it was my last opportunity to hit the remaining cemeteries on the island and be assured they’d be open as it was the first Sunday of the month. I paid penance for not waking up in time to take the bus to San Lawrenz by walking there. It took a full hour and 5 minutes. The sun was out, warming me as I walked and I think it was the first time I’d felt truly warm since I left 2 wks ago. Now that the weather is cooling here I’ve experienced first hand the cool damp of limestone living. Sitting in one spot here in the apartment it almost feels cooler than it does outside. And with no heater…needless to say the 60 – 65 degree temps are fine for during the day but at night when the sun is down I become very aware that I don’t keep my apartment that cool back home. Of course, people still gather at the cafes outside despite the cooler temps, adding layers to their look and sitting behind screens of plastic where possible. I can’t decide if I’ll be relieved to return to the winter cold of Milwaukee where I’ll have all of my winter clothes at my disposal, not to mention a proper heating system or if I’ll be bummed to leave the warmer daytime weather and gorgeous sunny days. Hmmm…tough call. Too bad I couldn’t have all of my winter gear shipped out here.
On the walk to San Lawrenz it struck me once more how hindered my work has been because of lack of funds. I kept seeing cars whiz past me and couldn’t help thinking that had I the money to afford a rental, my own work would’ve taken on a completely different quality. I could’ve gone to all of the cemeteries in one day rather than one or 2 at a time due to the poor bus schedules and the amount of walking. Not to mention, I would’ve probably spent more time in each town in general were I able to get there in a quick 5 minute ride. Perhaps it would’ve been easier to include information from all of the churches that way. Or perhaps I would’ve spent a day in Malta at the Adoraloratu cemetery where I able to drive there myself (via ferry of course) rather than paying for taxis. I also would’ve spent more time at the Azure window and gone other places of interest at times when the bus doesn’t run – sunset in particular.
In any case, I did walk to San Lawrenz and I did go to the cemetery. But before I could get there, I had to pass through the Square in SL where they were having some sort of holiday raffle. They were playing Christmas music (English) through the speakers and there was a man spinning a wheel and calling out numbers to win chocolates and other prizes. There was also a large castle style jump house for the little ones. The area where the raffle was taking place had about 150 people surrounding it but as there were no other rides, food or other enticements anyone else wandering into the area didn’t stay very long.
Getting to the cemetery, the first thing I noticed was that it was the first cemetery to be sort of “in ground” in the sense that it’s built into the downside of the hill rather than perched on a top or at level with the rest of the street. It therefore has these tall outer limestone walls that act almost as retaining walls. Those are then lined with tall green trees and shrubs and then inside of that there is an inner wall row that is made up of smaller rocks – they are probably limestone but not that typical block style. The whole area looks more “green” than any of the others I’d been too with more plants, trees, and palm trees (because in my mind palm trees are totally different from just “trees”) surrounding the area than any others. The entrance looks out to Drewjra. There were no visitors while I was there at first, though just as I sat down to write up some notes before leaving a family of 4 showed up. They stayed a total of 3 minutes. On their way out, I asked the man if the cemetery was only for ppl of San Lawrenz. He said it used to be but now anyone can buy a plot there if they wish. I asked if they knew if Gharb and Ghasri had their own and they said yes. One thing that was different here than any of the other cemeteries – it was the first place I saw people had left stones on the graves. There were a few where it was clear they were being used to weight something down but there were 2 where it looks like the stones were put there purposefully. There were color pics instead of etchings and that was a feature I’d only seen in one or 2 other places. I also noticed an etching I had not yet seen before – the arch angel Michael defeating Satan.
I stayed for about a half hour and then decided to start heading toward Gharb. On my way, a car of tourists stopped me for directions. Guess I’m starting to look either less like a tourist or at the least, like I know where I’m going. I was glad I headed for Gharb rather than the one I knew to exist in Ghasri because the cemetery in Gharb was larger than the one in San Lawrenz with space for 300 tombs. The one in San Lawrenz could hold 185 roughly. I almost missed it too. I was heading down the road to the left of their church, following the signs that led to some chapel or another. There was a fork in the road and I was going to continue to the right, thinking I could make out the funeral walls in the distance. Thankfully I took a look to the left as well because that’s when I noticed the unmistakable walls of a cemetery as well as the front entrance to a chapel with the light bulbs and everything. I was a little worried it wouldn’t be open, or that only part of it would be, as it looked as if it was sectioned into 2 parts with one being accessible from the chapel entrance and the other behind a closed gate. Thankfully you could get to the second section once inside the first. The first section was smaller, holding maybe 50 tombs and located directly in front of the chapel. Going up a few stairs there was a large area for the common burial section though I wondered if they were still in use as there were no commemoration items on the top of them despite the fact that they looked quite old. In fact, there were even markers indicating some of the tomb areas must’ve been for babies because they were so much smaller than adult sized tombs and Loretu, the caretaker in Ghjansiliem had said this was something cemeteries used to do. The rest of the cemetery spread out to the left and looked more rectangular and average in nature. While I was there, there was only one younger man (late 20’s) there and he said hello to me as he passed to get his car. As I exited, 2 cars pulled up separately, each holding an elderly woman and a middle aged woman and all got out with flowers and candles to leave behind.
On the way back to Victoria I abandoned the Ghasri cemetery. For one, it was getting close to 5 pm and the cemeteries aren’t open past that time anyway. For two, I have actually “seen” the cemetery before on my way to the one in Zebbug. It’s probably big enough to hold 50 plots and is certainly the smallest of them all. Not that this makes it insignificant but walking a half hour out of the way in the dark knowing full well it wouldn’t be open certainly was a large part of making up my mind about it. Triple checking the map, this means that I’ve gone to every cemetery on the island…with the exception of actually going inside the one in Ghasri. It’s a blemish on the record to be sure but at this point, unless there’s a funeral in Ghasri in the next couple of days or I could track down the undertaker I wouldn’t be able to get in either way.
On my way to Arcadia last night I ran into one of the gentlemen who sits outside the Aurora theatre all the time and now says hello to me when he sees me. He said he’d been at a football match at Gozo Stadium from noon until 4 and was very tired and going home. He asked how long I was staying for and I told him just until the end of the week. I told him I’d been at the funeral yesterday and tried to ask him about people wearing brown clothes instead of black. Unfortunately, his English isn’t the best and so he kept thinking I was trying to tell him that the baby was brown or black. Ha. He apologized for not understanding and I apologized for asking and said I’d just ask someone else. He said “Bon voyage and safe travels!”
It’s become increasingly difficult to work since returning from my trip to Belgium/Denmark. I thought the pressure of a deadline would make it sink in – the reality that I’m leaving so soon. But apparently not. I DID get work done today…motivated by the fact that it was my last opportunity to hit the remaining cemeteries on the island and be assured they’d be open as it was the first Sunday of the month. I paid penance for not waking up in time to take the bus to San Lawrenz by walking there. It took a full hour and 5 minutes. The sun was out, warming me as I walked and I think it was the first time I’d felt truly warm since I left 2 wks ago. Now that the weather is cooling here I’ve experienced first hand the cool damp of limestone living. Sitting in one spot here in the apartment it almost feels cooler than it does outside. And with no heater…needless to say the 60 – 65 degree temps are fine for during the day but at night when the sun is down I become very aware that I don’t keep my apartment that cool back home. Of course, people still gather at the cafes outside despite the cooler temps, adding layers to their look and sitting behind screens of plastic where possible. I can’t decide if I’ll be relieved to return to the winter cold of Milwaukee where I’ll have all of my winter clothes at my disposal, not to mention a proper heating system or if I’ll be bummed to leave the warmer daytime weather and gorgeous sunny days. Hmmm…tough call. Too bad I couldn’t have all of my winter gear shipped out here.
On the walk to San Lawrenz it struck me once more how hindered my work has been because of lack of funds. I kept seeing cars whiz past me and couldn’t help thinking that had I the money to afford a rental, my own work would’ve taken on a completely different quality. I could’ve gone to all of the cemeteries in one day rather than one or 2 at a time due to the poor bus schedules and the amount of walking. Not to mention, I would’ve probably spent more time in each town in general were I able to get there in a quick 5 minute ride. Perhaps it would’ve been easier to include information from all of the churches that way. Or perhaps I would’ve spent a day in Malta at the Adoraloratu cemetery where I able to drive there myself (via ferry of course) rather than paying for taxis. I also would’ve spent more time at the Azure window and gone other places of interest at times when the bus doesn’t run – sunset in particular.
In any case, I did walk to San Lawrenz and I did go to the cemetery. But before I could get there, I had to pass through the Square in SL where they were having some sort of holiday raffle. They were playing Christmas music (English) through the speakers and there was a man spinning a wheel and calling out numbers to win chocolates and other prizes. There was also a large castle style jump house for the little ones. The area where the raffle was taking place had about 150 people surrounding it but as there were no other rides, food or other enticements anyone else wandering into the area didn’t stay very long.
Getting to the cemetery, the first thing I noticed was that it was the first cemetery to be sort of “in ground” in the sense that it’s built into the downside of the hill rather than perched on a top or at level with the rest of the street. It therefore has these tall outer limestone walls that act almost as retaining walls. Those are then lined with tall green trees and shrubs and then inside of that there is an inner wall row that is made up of smaller rocks – they are probably limestone but not that typical block style. The whole area looks more “green” than any of the others I’d been too with more plants, trees, and palm trees (because in my mind palm trees are totally different from just “trees”) surrounding the area than any others. The entrance looks out to Drewjra. There were no visitors while I was there at first, though just as I sat down to write up some notes before leaving a family of 4 showed up. They stayed a total of 3 minutes. On their way out, I asked the man if the cemetery was only for ppl of San Lawrenz. He said it used to be but now anyone can buy a plot there if they wish. I asked if they knew if Gharb and Ghasri had their own and they said yes. One thing that was different here than any of the other cemeteries – it was the first place I saw people had left stones on the graves. There were a few where it was clear they were being used to weight something down but there were 2 where it looks like the stones were put there purposefully. There were color pics instead of etchings and that was a feature I’d only seen in one or 2 other places. I also noticed an etching I had not yet seen before – the arch angel Michael defeating Satan.
I stayed for about a half hour and then decided to start heading toward Gharb. On my way, a car of tourists stopped me for directions. Guess I’m starting to look either less like a tourist or at the least, like I know where I’m going. I was glad I headed for Gharb rather than the one I knew to exist in Ghasri because the cemetery in Gharb was larger than the one in San Lawrenz with space for 300 tombs. The one in San Lawrenz could hold 185 roughly. I almost missed it too. I was heading down the road to the left of their church, following the signs that led to some chapel or another. There was a fork in the road and I was going to continue to the right, thinking I could make out the funeral walls in the distance. Thankfully I took a look to the left as well because that’s when I noticed the unmistakable walls of a cemetery as well as the front entrance to a chapel with the light bulbs and everything. I was a little worried it wouldn’t be open, or that only part of it would be, as it looked as if it was sectioned into 2 parts with one being accessible from the chapel entrance and the other behind a closed gate. Thankfully you could get to the second section once inside the first. The first section was smaller, holding maybe 50 tombs and located directly in front of the chapel. Going up a few stairs there was a large area for the common burial section though I wondered if they were still in use as there were no commemoration items on the top of them despite the fact that they looked quite old. In fact, there were even markers indicating some of the tomb areas must’ve been for babies because they were so much smaller than adult sized tombs and Loretu, the caretaker in Ghjansiliem had said this was something cemeteries used to do. The rest of the cemetery spread out to the left and looked more rectangular and average in nature. While I was there, there was only one younger man (late 20’s) there and he said hello to me as he passed to get his car. As I exited, 2 cars pulled up separately, each holding an elderly woman and a middle aged woman and all got out with flowers and candles to leave behind.
On the way back to Victoria I abandoned the Ghasri cemetery. For one, it was getting close to 5 pm and the cemeteries aren’t open past that time anyway. For two, I have actually “seen” the cemetery before on my way to the one in Zebbug. It’s probably big enough to hold 50 plots and is certainly the smallest of them all. Not that this makes it insignificant but walking a half hour out of the way in the dark knowing full well it wouldn’t be open certainly was a large part of making up my mind about it. Triple checking the map, this means that I’ve gone to every cemetery on the island…with the exception of actually going inside the one in Ghasri. It’s a blemish on the record to be sure but at this point, unless there’s a funeral in Ghasri in the next couple of days or I could track down the undertaker I wouldn’t be able to get in either way.
On my way to Arcadia last night I ran into one of the gentlemen who sits outside the Aurora theatre all the time and now says hello to me when he sees me. He said he’d been at a football match at Gozo Stadium from noon until 4 and was very tired and going home. He asked how long I was staying for and I told him just until the end of the week. I told him I’d been at the funeral yesterday and tried to ask him about people wearing brown clothes instead of black. Unfortunately, his English isn’t the best and so he kept thinking I was trying to tell him that the baby was brown or black. Ha. He apologized for not understanding and I apologized for asking and said I’d just ask someone else. He said “Bon voyage and safe travels!”
Saturday, December 5, 2009
A funeral for a little one
Today I attended a funeral for a little girl who was only 9 days old. I almost missed it, actually. I was leaving my apartment and noticed some people at St. George’s with flowers. They weren’t the “typical” funeral flowers though – they were all white and instead of being tied with a purple ribbon, they had a pink one. The woman holding the flowers wasn’t wearing black and the young boy she was with had on a brown dress uniform for his primary school. I brushed them off as guests for a baptism or some special school mass.
I came out into Independence Square and knew something was going on. Four traffic wardens were at each of the corners of the square and as I came into it I heard the unmistakable chant of a church procession coming up Triq Repubblika. I stayed where I was, abandoning my former plans and waited. Sure enough, After the procession of 2 candle bearers and a cross bearer came 13 priests. Following them was a man in a navy suit carrying a very small, white coffin in his arms. He cradled the coffin as if he were cradling the baby. There was a woman standing next to him wearing a camel colored long coat and matching slacks and then behind them was Bertu, though noticeably absent in my eyes were the crew of men he usually uses for pall bearers. Following the couple were about 200+ mourners.
I watched the procession go by and then went back into St. George’s Square via the back street so I wouldn’t interrupt the procession. I went up to my room, got rid of my backpack, and grabbed some money for the offering plate. Inside St. George’s the church was packed – standing room only which is quite a feat in the large space. The only spot I could find to stand was behind a bunch of columns obstructing my view from just about everything.
I couldn’t help but notice that there were more people wearing that tan/camel color rather than the typical black. I also noticed that all of the flower offerings were either white or a combination of white and pink. There were also more students – maybe 25 or so - like the one I saw at the beginning and I wondered if the couple had an older daughter and perhaps these were her classmates. The kids in the brown school uniforms looked to be about 10 – 12 years old.
The man from the church who had come around with the collection plate also came around during the mass to hand out the prayer cards so there was no procession to the front to see the coffin. The mass went quickly – only an hour for the entire thing. On the way out, the mother and father together carried the coffin in their arms to the applause of the congregation. Though the applause sounded robust due to the size of the church and the number of people in it, I couldn’t help but notice it was almost perfunctory for most people. The woman in front of me put her phone in the crook of her arm so she could clap but I noticed she only brought her hands together 2 or 3 times, as if her heart wasn’t really into something so jovial.
Out in the square, people lingered for awhile, some approaching the father and mother to give their condolences. Because it’s a 45 minute walk to the cemetery from St. George’s there was no walking procession afterward and only a few cars followed the hearse as it left.
I found myself feeling relieved that they were going to the Rabat cemetery, where it wouldn’t matter if the child had yet to be baptized in order to be buried there.
I couldn’t help but notice that the mother had about 2 inches of outgrowth on the color in her hair. I remembered that it’s “frowned upon” to color your hair when you’re pregnant and how most moms can’t wait to get it taken care of once their baby is finally born. On this mother though it just made me think about what this last week had been like for them and the stress that couple had endured. The little girl died only yesterday and so I wondered if her parents had been prepared for it. Was she born prematurely? Had she been in the hospital the entire nine days? Or was it sudden and unexpected? And of course I thought of my own experiences with friends and family who had such a loss. It made me sad in a way that none of the other funerals had – though I will admit that they all did. I’m not made of stone. And then I thought about “good deaths” and “bad deaths” and how despite it being a “bad death” to lose her too soon her funeral was as well attended as any of the others I went to. Good or bad, the people of Gozo come out in droves to pay their respects and support the members of their community, whether they know them or not. What a refreshing, healing thought.
I came out into Independence Square and knew something was going on. Four traffic wardens were at each of the corners of the square and as I came into it I heard the unmistakable chant of a church procession coming up Triq Repubblika. I stayed where I was, abandoning my former plans and waited. Sure enough, After the procession of 2 candle bearers and a cross bearer came 13 priests. Following them was a man in a navy suit carrying a very small, white coffin in his arms. He cradled the coffin as if he were cradling the baby. There was a woman standing next to him wearing a camel colored long coat and matching slacks and then behind them was Bertu, though noticeably absent in my eyes were the crew of men he usually uses for pall bearers. Following the couple were about 200+ mourners.
I watched the procession go by and then went back into St. George’s Square via the back street so I wouldn’t interrupt the procession. I went up to my room, got rid of my backpack, and grabbed some money for the offering plate. Inside St. George’s the church was packed – standing room only which is quite a feat in the large space. The only spot I could find to stand was behind a bunch of columns obstructing my view from just about everything.
I couldn’t help but notice that there were more people wearing that tan/camel color rather than the typical black. I also noticed that all of the flower offerings were either white or a combination of white and pink. There were also more students – maybe 25 or so - like the one I saw at the beginning and I wondered if the couple had an older daughter and perhaps these were her classmates. The kids in the brown school uniforms looked to be about 10 – 12 years old.
The man from the church who had come around with the collection plate also came around during the mass to hand out the prayer cards so there was no procession to the front to see the coffin. The mass went quickly – only an hour for the entire thing. On the way out, the mother and father together carried the coffin in their arms to the applause of the congregation. Though the applause sounded robust due to the size of the church and the number of people in it, I couldn’t help but notice it was almost perfunctory for most people. The woman in front of me put her phone in the crook of her arm so she could clap but I noticed she only brought her hands together 2 or 3 times, as if her heart wasn’t really into something so jovial.
Out in the square, people lingered for awhile, some approaching the father and mother to give their condolences. Because it’s a 45 minute walk to the cemetery from St. George’s there was no walking procession afterward and only a few cars followed the hearse as it left.
I found myself feeling relieved that they were going to the Rabat cemetery, where it wouldn’t matter if the child had yet to be baptized in order to be buried there.
I couldn’t help but notice that the mother had about 2 inches of outgrowth on the color in her hair. I remembered that it’s “frowned upon” to color your hair when you’re pregnant and how most moms can’t wait to get it taken care of once their baby is finally born. On this mother though it just made me think about what this last week had been like for them and the stress that couple had endured. The little girl died only yesterday and so I wondered if her parents had been prepared for it. Was she born prematurely? Had she been in the hospital the entire nine days? Or was it sudden and unexpected? And of course I thought of my own experiences with friends and family who had such a loss. It made me sad in a way that none of the other funerals had – though I will admit that they all did. I’m not made of stone. And then I thought about “good deaths” and “bad deaths” and how despite it being a “bad death” to lose her too soon her funeral was as well attended as any of the others I went to. Good or bad, the people of Gozo come out in droves to pay their respects and support the members of their community, whether they know them or not. What a refreshing, healing thought.
Friday, December 4, 2009
More electronic frustration
I swear I'm going to throw this computer out the window. I finally figured out a work around for the cut/paste problem. But now I'm sitting here at Cafe Jubilee trying to paste pictures for my trip to Belgium/Denmark and they won't load. Grrrr. Stay tuned for photos.
Back to Gozo
On 12/3
I had to be up by 5:40. Ugh. But it was worth it since we had so much fun at the Scottish Pub. By 6 we were out the door to head to the train. Chris originally was going to go to campus to do some work but decided against it so we said goodbye at the station. The train dead ended at the airport so I knew there wouldn’t be any problems getting there. I was a little worried when I arrived at the check in kiosk and the computer said there was no record of my reservation. They still have people monitoring the check-in areas but they are trying to move to a primarily automated system. I found a live person and he managed to find my ticket – probably some problem with the fact that it was a Lufthansa flight being operated by Scandinavian Air. The flight left on time at 8:20 and we connected in Milan. From there it was on to Malta and I landed at 1:20. I was grateful to be back but really tired after being up so late and not really sleeping on the plane. I took the taxi to the harbor, the ferry across, and the bus into Victoria and I was back to my apartment by about 3 p.m. After a shower I felt more like a human being and decided to forgo a nap to go to the grocery store and restock some of my essentials. I spent the evening catching up on this blog though now that I think about it I’ve realized that I’ll probably still have the problem of not being able to paste anything into blogspot which will really piss me off if that’s the case.
One week left.
I had to be up by 5:40. Ugh. But it was worth it since we had so much fun at the Scottish Pub. By 6 we were out the door to head to the train. Chris originally was going to go to campus to do some work but decided against it so we said goodbye at the station. The train dead ended at the airport so I knew there wouldn’t be any problems getting there. I was a little worried when I arrived at the check in kiosk and the computer said there was no record of my reservation. They still have people monitoring the check-in areas but they are trying to move to a primarily automated system. I found a live person and he managed to find my ticket – probably some problem with the fact that it was a Lufthansa flight being operated by Scandinavian Air. The flight left on time at 8:20 and we connected in Milan. From there it was on to Malta and I landed at 1:20. I was grateful to be back but really tired after being up so late and not really sleeping on the plane. I took the taxi to the harbor, the ferry across, and the bus into Victoria and I was back to my apartment by about 3 p.m. After a shower I felt more like a human being and decided to forgo a nap to go to the grocery store and restock some of my essentials. I spent the evening catching up on this blog though now that I think about it I’ve realized that I’ll probably still have the problem of not being able to paste anything into blogspot which will really piss me off if that’s the case.
One week left.
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