Now this is my kind of Anthropology

10/13 and 10/14/09

On Tuesday I was surprised to return home from the post office to find flowers and a bottle of wine delivered to my apartment from a friend back home. Gorgeous peach gerbera daisies, yellow carnations, and these big red glossy leaves that look like they have baby corn stalks poking out of them. Clearly I’m no florist. But they really liven the place up and it made me smile all day having a bit of a connection to home reach all the way to me here.

I ran into Ted, my apt owner, taking his grandkids for a walk. I decided to spring the news on him that I’m having another visitor in two weeks. So as not to risk being labeled a brazen American hussy I made sure he knew it was a female friend. He seemed okay with the idea and told me to call him if I need anything before she arrives.

I tracked down two of the local flower shops in town because I wanted to ask them about their funeral flower selections. Both shops were very busy with customers as they are also garden centers so I decided to come back at a better time when they might be more willing to sit for an interview. On my way back through St. George’s Square I finally ran into Paulu, one of the men I met last year when I was here. He doesn’t speak English but was very friendly and interested in the students here last summer. He also had given me a few funeral prayer card samples the last time I was here. I sent him and Henry a Christmas card this past December and told them of my plans to return. I also sent them copies of some photos as well. I’ve been here five weeks now and had yet to see Paulu so I was a bit surprised to finally almost literally bump into him as he was coming out of Gangus café. He immediately recognized me and gave me a big smile. I tried to ask him if he got my card with the picture by pretending to take a photo and he said Yes. He then led me into Gangus and had the owner translate for him so he could ask how long I was in town for and tell me that if I came at 11am the next day he’d bring me a bunch of prayer cards he’d saved for me.

I also spent two hours talking with the souvenir shop owner Tuesday night about a number of things ranging from the cost of electricity in Malta, to car insurance, home buyers, and her laundry business. While we were talking I saw a local man walked past wearing an old I.O.U. sweatshirt. I haven’t seen one of those since gosh 1995? We also saw a man walk through the street twice with an old boombox (I’m calling it that because it was straight up 80’s) blaring Elvis. I guess the freaks come out at night – even in Malta.

Today (Wednesday) I went to Gangus at 11 as Paulu and I discussed but he was not actually in the café, rather he was having a beer with another man under one of Gangus’ umbrellas in Independence Square. When I approached, the other man introduced himself as Lino (Lee-no) and asked if I would join them for a drink. Lino, it turned out, is a retired member of Maltese parliament, having worked there for twelve years. We were soon joined by Alfred, who is a lawyer and a law professor over at the University of Malta specializing in both family law and human rights law. If I had to guess I would say he’s probably in his mid-forties. Poor Paulu – once the two men got talking (and in English for my benefit) he was lost. He did take me over to his old shop (he used to be a butcher and the shop is about fifty meters from where we were sitting) to give me some more prayer cards but he said he’d bring the rest tomorrow. I felt pretty bad because it’s clear that he has an interest in helping me but there is this language barrier. I noticed that both Lino and Alfred would occasionally translate what they were discussing in English to Paulu but they wouldn’t really translate anything he said back to me. Eventually Paulu left and the guys asked me to stay. I could hardly say no since they were buying AND being very informative. We talked a great deal about Maltese history and politics, human rights, religion (both in general and in Malta), tourism, language, sexism, education…you name it. But of course none of that is really what you guys are here to read about so I’ll get to the interesting stuff.

Through the course of conversation they asked me if I was familiar with “Gold Chain Man,” who is a sort of local celebrity. He’s this older man who wears tons of gold chains and gold jewelry. Picture an old, shriveled, short Maltese Mr. T with a beer belly and lamb chop sideburns. He wears a cowboy hat and a tight tank top, usually black or yellow. We saw him a lot last summer and my friend Jessica got a GREAT photo of him showing off his chains. I’ve seen him around a few times this year and I told them I find it interesting that he offers for tourists to take his photo but never wants money. Lino told me it was because he just likes the notoriety and gets a kick out of being infamous. He said he thinks his real name is George and he also thinks that George sleeps with those chains on.

They also introduced me to “Funny man” Tunie who I’ve seen around the square as well. He has that kind of balding head where the hair is just around the nape of the neck but his is bushy and white. He has a very big nose that a few hairs grow out of as well. He walks around with his shirt unbuttoned all of the time and these short shorts showing off his little chicken legs. When I asked them why they said it was because he wants to show off his machismo. I guess he’s a pensioner who has never worked a day in his life and while we sat there, the guys sent him to go get them cigarettes and paid him .70E for his trouble. He was smiling and laughing and the guys said they call him Funny Man because he’s such a character. They said he’s really very smart but just doesn’t do anything with himself and they just can’t understand it. Tunie kept telling me the lawyer is the smartest man on the island but laughing while he said it. I think they all get a kick out of giving each other crap. I felt like I was hanging out with my Uncle as they kept saying we had to have another beer “for the road.” I mistakenly told them about how my Uncle has one for the road and then one for the pavement. They thought that was genius so then they kept saying that too.

I got to meet another local character as well. This man has long white dreadlocked hair and a big toothy grin (minus his right upper first molar). His dreads were so unbelievable that I thought he was wearing one of those baseball hats with the hair attached. But sure enough, he lifted the hat to scratch his head and those locks are all his. He works for the city cleaning the streets but his favorite thing to do is hassle tourists (in good humor). Especially ladies. He tells them “Bob Marley says hello” and then he tosses his hair a little and gives them a smile. His real name though is Johnny, and according to him he’s married to a woman who lives in Germany though I couldn’t get him to tell me a straight story to save his life. I asked Johnny if he liked Bob Marley’s music (affirmative) and who else he likes to listen to. The next thing I knew, Johnny and Alfred are serenading me with Elvis songs. I guess the King really is alive and living in Malta. Lino said, “Why on earth would you need to go anywhere else when you could spend the rest of your life here in Malta living a simple life surrounded by such characters.” Why indeed?

In the end I spent a good 4 hours with those gentlemen. I couldn’t believe how quickly they took me into their confidence, saying things that I wouldn’t have guessed they would say in front of me as a woman and an outsider. For example…Lino pointed out a woman that was hobbling along and asked me if I knew why she was limping. When I said no he responded because her breasts are so big she’s ready to topple over. This resulted in fits of laughter from Alfred. At another point, Alfred noticed my tattoo on my wrist so he admitted that he thinks tattoos on women are great – especially the ones “on their butts. It’s like you are looking at them and they are saying to you, ‘kiss my butt.’” There were also times that Alfred told me stories about the people he’s represented legally. You could tell he was dying to spill particulars but kept saying that as a lawyer he could only tell me the things that were a matter of public record. I’m pretty sure he crossed the line when it suited him though. They are convinced I should change my thesis to “The Characters of Gozo” and just spend all of my time in Independence Square observing all of the “weirdos” I see. (Their words, not mine.) Oddly, they also classify my old wine pal friend Henry as one of the weirdos. Alfred said Henry was his teacher in primary school and they say he’s gotten eccentric in his old age. I told them I guessed I wasn’t surprised. It seems that often anthropologists find the “fringe” members of society more willing to talk to them than anyone else. “Of course,” I said “that certainly explains a lot about you both as well.” They ate it up. By the time our afternoon was over, Lino kissed me on the cheeks to say goodbye and Alfred called me a “sweetheart.” I’m sure I’ll be seeing them both again.