Journeys With Denise

04/05/2026

Happy Easter to our wonderful travelling family! 🐰🌸
Wishing you a day filled with love, laughter, sweet treats, and beautiful memories!

03/28/2026

Over the past few days, our ladies have enjoyed some well-deserved personal exploration time. Some visited MUŻA, Malta’s National Museum of Art, and explored the fascinating Lascaris War Rooms, while others visited Domvs Romana which offers a fascinating glimpse into the private life and daily customs of an ancient Roman aristocrat. Although only a small part of the noble Roman townhouse (domvs) was uncovered, the beautifully detailed mosaics and surviving artefacts remain powerful evidence of the home’s former splendour and wealth. Then they took the opportunity to finish up a bit of last-minute shopping.

On one adventure, we hopped on the local bus and set off in search of the breathtaking Dingli Cliffs and the mysterious Clapham Junction Cart Ruts—an intriguing archaeological site near the cliffs, marked by ancient parallel tracks carved into the limestone, believed to date back to the Bronze Age (around 2000–1000 BCE).

One evening, we came together to enjoy a lively folklore show at Ta’ Marija, a true cultural celebration filled with traditional dance and authentic Maltese performances.

And now, as our journey through Malta comes to an end, we look back on the special moments and unforgettable experiences we’ve shared. Thank you for a wonderful adventure filled with both laughter and tears. I truly value your companionship and friendship, and I will always cherish the beautiful memories we’ve created together.

03/26/2026

Yesterday, our adventures began by visiting the Three Cities of Malta—Vittoriosa (Birgu), Senglea (L-Isla), and Cospicua (Bormla)—nestled together along the edge of the Grand Harbour, directly across from Valletta. These towns are among the oldest and most historically rich places on the island, filled with centuries of Maltese heritage.

Our visit began in Vittoriosa (Birgu), the oldest and most well-known of the three. This was the very first home of the Knights of St John when they arrived in Malta in 1530. Birgu soon became their headquarters, growing into a fortified town lined with grand auberges, noble homes, and strong defensive walls.

Standing proudly at the tip of the peninsula is Fort St Angelo, keeping watch over the harbour like a mighty guardian of Malta’s past. Long before the Knights of St John ever arrived, this rocky headland was already prized. The position is perfect—high, defensible, and commanding the entrance to the harbour. Over time, the site grew from early fortifications into a true fortress, strengthened again and again as Malta’s importance rose.
But Fort St Angelo truly became legendary in 1565, during the Great Siege of Malta.
That year, the Ottoman Empire arrived with an enormous fleet, determined to crush the Knights and take Malta. Across the water, Fort St Elmo fell after a brutal fight, and soon the enemy turned their full attention to Birgu and Senglea. Fort St Angelo became the beating heart of the defence—a command centre, a refuge, and a final line of protection.
From within its thick limestone walls, the Knights coordinated resistance while cannon thundered across the harbour. Smoke, fire, and screams filled the air. The Ottomans attacked again and again, but the fortress held firm. Every stone seemed to absorb the violence of battle, and every tower became a symbol of stubborn survival.
Even after the siege, Fort St Angelo remained crucial. It served as the headquarters of the Knights before Valletta was built, and later it became an essential military base for whoever ruled Malta—French, British, and beyond. The British strengthened and used it heavily, leaving their mark on the fort’s structure and layout.
Today, walking through Fort St Angelo feels like stepping into layers of history. You’ll find bastions overlooking the water, narrow passageways once filled with soldiers, and sweeping views of Valletta that make it easy to understand why this place mattered so much. It isn’t just a fort. It’s a survivor—standing exactly where it always has, staring out over the harbour, as if still waiting for the next fleet to appear on the horizon.

After exploring the fort and wandering through the historic streets of Vittoriosa, it was time to slow down and enjoy a well-earned glass of wine. Tucked away from Malta’s busy roads, is Zafrana Boutique Winery, home of Markus Divinus—a place that feels less like a winery and more like a secret waiting to be discovered. This is not a large commercial estate. It began as a small dream, built on passion, patience, and a deep respect for the land. Over the years, harvest after harvest, the winemaker worked closely with local growers, carefully selecting grapes that carry the true character of Malta—shaped by strong sun, rocky soil, and the salt of the surrounding sea. At Zafrana, everything is done with care. Production is small, the process is personal, and every bottle feels handcrafted, as if it holds more than wine—it holds a story. The cellar itself has an intimate charm, where the scent of oak and fermentation lingers in the air, and each barrel seems to whisper of past vintages. Each sip becomes part of a journey, guided by the people behind the label, who share their knowledge with warmth and pride. It’s the kind of place where time slows down, conversations flow easily, and the wine feels richer because you understand where it came from. Zafrana is more than a winery—it is a hidden gem of Malta, where the island’s landscape, history, and spirit are poured into every glass.

Stay Tuned for more adventures!

03/24/2026

03/23/2026

Today we visited the Malta Chocolate Factory for a fun and indulgent chocolate experience.

First, we learned how to craft four different cocktails, each thoughtfully paired with chocolate. We tasted the drink on its own, then again after a bite of flavored chocolate—watching as the notes shifted and deepened with each pairing. There was something playful about it all, mixing and experimenting, making cocktails for one another and quickly discovering that some of us are far better bartenders than others.

Today we visited the Malta Chocolate Factory for a fun and indulgent chocolate experience.
We began by stepping up to the bar, where we learned how to craft four different cocktails—each one carefully paired with a unique chocolate. First, we tasted the drink on its own, noting its flavours and character. Then came the magic: a bite of chocolate, and suddenly the drink transformed. Notes deepened, sweetness shifted, and entirely new flavours emerged. It was as much a sensory experiment as it was an indulgence. We laughed as we made cocktails for one another, quickly discovering that some of us are better bartenders than others.

As the experience unfolded, we were taken back in time to the origins of chocolate itself.
Mayan chocolate was nothing like the sweet treat we know today. It began as a bold, bitter drink—made from crushed cocoa beans, water, and chilli peppers. There was no sugar in Central America, so the taste was rich and intense. The mixture was poured back and forth between vessels until a thick, frothy foam formed on top. Even the word “chocolate” is believed to come from the Mayan term xocolatl, meaning “bitter drink.” Cocoa beans were so valuable that the Aztecs used them as currency. They paid for food, clothing, taxes, and even offerings to their gods with these small but precious beans. Carrying a handful of cocoa was like carrying a wallet full of money—proof that, in their world, wealth truly did grow on trees. When the Aztecs conquered the Mayans, they demanded tribute in cocoa, ensuring a constant supply since they could not grow it themselves. The beans were guarded carefully, stored in locked boxes, and even counterfeited by clever traders. Their ruler, Montezuma II, was said to drink as many as 50 cups of cocoa a day—adding an extra one when entertaining a lady friend. Believed to have powerful, stimulating effects, it was considered so potent that women were forbidden from drinking it.

In 1502, during his fourth voyage to the Americas, Christopher Columbus first encountered cocoa beans. When some spilled onto his ship’s deck, he noticed how urgently the locals rushed to gather every last one—revealing just how prized they were. He brought them back to Spain, where the drink was adapted to suit European tastes. Sugar and honey were added, softening the bitterness and transforming it into something entirely new.
From there, chocolate captured the imagination of the Spanish court and, over the next century, spread across Europe—evolving into the sweet indulgence we know today.

For our next chocolate experience, we became artists—stepping into the role of chocolatiers to create our own sweet masterpieces. Each of us designed a dozen chocolates, carefully choosing shapes, fillings, and decorations. It was a chance to let creativity take over,

03/22/2026

Update from Malta

For the past couple days we had time to explore the island on our own.
Yesterday, we enjoyed a cruise around the two harbours in Malta. The sea was calmThe story of the Grand Harbour is not just the story of a place—it is the story of Malta itself. The Grand Harbour has been used for over 2,000 years. The Phoenicians were among the first to recognize its value—a deep, naturally sheltered port perfect for trade and safe anchorage. Later came the Romans, who expanded its importance as Malta became a key stop along Mediterranean routes. Everything changed in 1565 during the Great Siege of Malta. The harbour became the stage for one of history’s most dramatic battles, as the Knights of St. John defended the island against the Ottoman Empire.
After their victory, the Knights built Valletta on the harbour’s edge—a fortified city unlike any other, designed to guard these waters forever. Massive bastions, watchtowers, and walls rose from the rock, turning the harbour into a near-impenetrable stronghold. Centuries later, during World War II, the Grand Harbour once again stood at the centre of history. Malta became one of the most heavily bombed places on Earth. Ships were sunk, docks destroyed, and yet the harbour never fell silent. It remained a lifeline—bringing food, fuel, and hope to the island. Now, the Grand Harbour is alive in a different way. Traditional fishing boats bob beside luxury yachts. Cruise liners glide into port, dwarfed by the ancient fortifications. Ferries cross between cities that were once rivals in war but now share the same peaceful waters.
If you walk along the Upper Barrakka Gardens in Valletta and look down, you’ll see the harbour in its full glory—a sweeping, dramatic curve of sea wrapped in history. It’s not just a view; it’s a reminder that this harbour has witnessed centuries of human struggle, survival, and triumph. Every ripple in the water carries echoes of sailors, knights, traders, and survivors. And if you stand quietly long enough, you might just feel it—the sense that this place has seen everything… and is still here, watching the next chapter unfold.

After our cruise in the warm sunlight we indulged in a delicious ice cream from Amorino’s. Then onto the bus to explore more of Valletta. Once we arrived in Valletta we divided into two groups and ventured off to explore, meeting up friends dinner later that evening.

A small group of us set out to explore the hidden St Catherine’s Monastery, a place that had remained closed to the public for more than 400 years. Today, its doors are finally open, offering a rare glimpse into a world once completely sealed off from the city. We began in the gardens and underground rooms of the monastery, originally established in 1575 as a refuge for female orphans. The site was once the home of Marquis Giovanni Vasco Oliveiro and his wife Katerina. In a deeply personal act of gratitude after their son survived the plague, they donated their residence, Casa Vanilla, transforming it into a sanctuary for those in need. They went even further—adding a cloister, building an additional floor, and ultimately leaving all their possessions to support the institution after their passing. As we wandered through the cloister, it felt like stepping into another century. Life here was once lived with quiet simplicity, far removed from the outside world. Passing through the modest rooms where the nuns once lived, you could almost sense their presence. Beyond the thick stone walls, Valletta continued to buzz with life—but inside, there was only stillness, reflection, and a profound sense of calm.

From there, we made our way to the Black Friars of Malta—the members of the Dominican Order, a community whose story has been quietly woven into the fabric of Valletta for centuries. Their name comes from their distinctive dress: a white habit covered by a black cloak. Over time, the people of Malta simply came to call them the “Black Friars,” a name that has endured through generations. The Dominicans had already established themselves in Malta long before Valletta was built, but their role grew significantly after the Great Siege of Malta. As the new capital took shape, so did their convents and churches, becoming an important part of the island’s spiritual and intellectual life. Among their key sites in Valletta is the Church and Convent of St Dominic, closely connected to places like St Catherine’s Monastery, where Dominican nuns lived in quiet seclusion and prayer. What set the Dominicans apart was their mission. They were not only devoted to prayer but were also known as preachers and teachers. Deeply engaged in the study of theology, philosophy, and scripture, they became some of the most learned figures of their time. In Malta, they guided communities, preached to the people, and helped shape religious understanding during periods of change. While they never held the kind of power the Knights did, their influence was steady and enduring. Within the walls of their convents, life followed a simple rhythm—small cells, shared meals, hours of study, and daily prayer. Yet their presence extended far beyond those walls. They were part of everyday life in Malta: listening, teaching, offering guidance, and caring for those in need. Even today, their legacy lives on. Their churches remain, their traditions continue, and their quiet presence can still be felt in the hidden corners of Valletta.

Today offered a slower start—we were able to enjoy a lie-in before easing into the morning. When we finally set out, we followed the seafront promenade, strolling along the water’s edge from Qawra all the way to St Paul’s Tower. The promenade runs right along the shoreline, offering uninterrupted views of the Mediterranean. On one side, you have the open sea—constantly shifting in color from deep blue to bright turquoise depending on the light. On the other, a lively mix of hotels, cafés, apartments, and small local businesses. It’s a place designed for walking or simply sitting and watching the waves roll in. Some attended Sunday Mass and enjoyed shopping along the promenade and others visited the

03/20/2026

Hello from Ancient Malta!

In Malta, “Lawrence the falconer” almost certainly refers to Lawrence Formosa, one of the island’s most well-known modern falconers and handlers of birds of prey.
His story feels like something lifted from another age. He fell in love with birds when he was just four years old, the moment he first held one in his hands—later recalling it felt as though he had been given the world.
From that day on, his life became intertwined with the skies. For over forty years, he has worked with falcons, hawks, and owls, building not just skill, but trust. A deep, almost familial bond. Many of his birds are trained to fly freely, only to return to him—guided not by force, but by instinct and connection. Falconry itself is one of the oldest traditions known to humankind. In Malta, it once carried noble prestige, where falcons were so prized they were said to be worth their weight in gold. For Lawrence, this is more than a practice—it is a calling. He has dedicated his life to preserving this ancient art, training and flying his birds in the wild while sharing his knowledge of Malta’s natural heritage with those who come to watch. Through his work, he helps keep alive a tradition that might otherwise fade with time.
You’ll often find him along the island’s southern cliffs, in places like Wied iż-Żurrieq and the nearby Blue Grotto, where the land falls away into the endless blue of the Mediterranean. Here, against a backdrop of wind and sea, he sometimes dresses in traditional attire, releasing his birds into the open sky. They rise, circle, and disappear into the vastness—only to return, swift and certain, to his outstretched hand.
It is, by every account, something magical. A rare and timeless encounter between human and nature.
And as you leave, the image lingers—not just of the bird in flight, but of the quiet man beneath it. Still standing at the edge of the island. A keeper of an ancient bond between human and sky, holding onto a tradition Malta once treasured… and quietly ensuring it is not lost.

Our next experience was perched high on a sun-warmed ridge overlooking the endless blue of the Mediterranean, the ancient stones of Ħaġar Qim stand in quiet defiance of time. No one knows exactly who built them. There are no written records, no names etched into history—only the whisper of a people who lived here over 5,000 years ago, long before the pyramids of Giza Pyramid Complex rose from the desert sands. Imagine arriving here in 3600 BC. The air would have been thick with the scent of wild herbs, the sea stretching endlessly below. Men and women, guided by knowledge passed down through generations, hauled massive limestone blocks—some weighing more than a car—using nothing but simple tools, ingenuity, and sheer determination. Each stone carefully placed, each curve deliberate, forming temples aligned with the rhythms of the sun. Step inside, and the world changes. The noise of today fades. You’re surrounded by towering megaliths, their surfaces worn smooth by millennia of wind and touch. Doorways—perfectly shaped, almost impossibly so—lead into rounded chambers, as though the temple itself was meant to embrace those who entered. In one chamber, during the summer solstice, sunlight pours through a carefully placed opening, illuminating the stone like a spotlight from the heavens. It’s no accident. These people understood the sky. They watched it, studied it, lived by it.
Archaeologists have uncovered small statues here—figures with full forms, often called the “fat ladies.” Not gods in the way we might imagine, but symbols of fertility, life, and abundance. This wasn’t just a place of worship—it was a place of connection. To the earth. To the seasons. To each other. And then… they vanished.
Around 2500 BC, the temple builders disappeared. No signs of war, no clear catastrophe—just silence. The temples remained, slowly claimed by earth and time, until they were rediscovered thousands of years later. Today, as you stand beneath the protective canopy, looking out over the same sea they once knew, it’s hard not to feel a quiet sense of wonder. Who were they? How did they move such immense stones? And perhaps most haunting of all—why did they leave? The wind still moves through Ħaġar Qim, just as it did thousands of years ago. And if you listen closely, it almost feels like the stones are trying to tell you their story.

Our last experience, The Ħal Saflieni Hypogeum, is not just a place—it is a descent into time itself. Beneath the modern streets of Paola lies a secret that the sun has never touched. You wouldn’t know it at first. Above ground, life hums along as it always has—cars passing, voices echoing, the rhythm of a living island. But below… far below… another world waits.
You step inside, and the light begins to fade. Stone surrounds you, cool and silent, carved not by nature, but by human hands over 5,000 years ago. Deeper you go, through narrow passageways and chambers that seem to breathe with age. This is no ordinary structure—it is a temple, a sanctuary, and a resting place for the dead, all hidden beneath the earth.
No sunlight has ever reached these walls. And yet, they feel alive. The chambers open one by one, each more mysterious than the last. Smooth curves carved into limestone, red ochre spirals still faintly visible—echoes of a people long gone, yet somehow still present. In one room, your guide pauses. This is the Oracle Chamber. You speak softly… just a whisper.
But the sound returns to you, deeper, richer—resonating through the stone as if the earth itself is answering. It’s said that a voice here can travel through the entire complex, vibrating through your bones. Some believe it was used in rituals, where sound became something sacred… something powerful. You don’t need to believe the stories to feel it. You feel it anyway.

As you move deeper, the air grows still. This was once a place of burial—thousands of individuals laid to rest within these chambers. Among them, the famous Sleeping Lady, a small carved figure found curled in eternal rest, as if dreaming through the ages. Time behaves differently here. There are no windows. No sense of day or night. Only the quiet presence of something ancient… something watching. And then, slowly, you begin your ascent. Step by step, you return toward the surface, toward light, toward the present. But something stays with you—a feeling you can’t quite name. Because the Ħal Saflieni Hypogeum is more than stone and history. It is a whisper from a forgotten world. A place where the living once stood in the darkness, speaking to the unseen… and perhaps, just perhaps, were heard. When you step back outside into the Maltese sun, it feels brighter than before.
But you can’t help but glance back. Because beneath your feet, the ancient world is still there… waiting in the dark.

No cameras are permitted inside the Hypogeum, we do not have pictures of our own. Here are a few from the book that was purchased by some of our friends.

03/19/2026

Step with us into a quieter Malta—long before bustling cafés and seaside promenades—into stone houses where the steady rhythm of wooden looms once echoed through narrow streets.
In villages like Żebbuġ and Siġġiewi, weaving was not just a craft; it was survival, identity, and pride. Families passed the skill from one generation to the next, fingers learning the language of thread before they could even write their names.
Imagine a dimly lit room. Sunlight slips through a small window, catching dust motes in the air. A woman sits at her loom, her feet working the pedals, her hands guiding wool or cotton threads into intricate patterns. Clack… clack… clack. The loom sings as fabric slowly comes to life—blankets, rugs, and traditional shawls known as faldetta.
The materials were humble but meaningful. Sheep’s wool, sheared under the hot Maltese sun, was cleaned, spun, and dyed using natural pigments—earthy reds, deep indigos, and warm ochres. Every colour told a story of the land.
But weaving in Malta wasn’t only about beauty—it was about resilience. During hard times, especially under foreign rule or economic struggle, these woven goods were traded or sold, helping families survive. A well-made blanket could last decades, carrying the warmth of both wool and memory.
Over time, industrialization began to quiet the looms. Machine-made textiles replaced handwoven ones, and many of the old techniques started to fade. Yet, the craft never fully disappeared.
Today, you may still find weavers keeping the tradition alive—honouring centuries of skill with every thread they pass through the loom. Their work is slower, yes—but richer. Each piece holds something machines cannot replicate: the touch of a human story. So when you see a woven Maltese rug or blanket, you’re not just looking at fabric—you’re looking at history, patience, and the quiet heartbeat of Malta itself.

Come closer—today, the air is warm, and it smells of butter, pastry, and something unmistakably Maltese. Today, we learn the art of making pastizzi.
In kitchens across Malta, this isn’t just cooking—it’s ritual. Passed from baker to apprentice, from nanna to child, the making of pastizzi is a dance of hands, patience, and just the right touch.
First, the dough.
Flour, water, and a pinch of salt are brought together—simple ingredients, but don’t be fooled. The magic lies in how it’s worked. The dough is kneaded until smooth, then stretched—pulled and coaxed—until it becomes almost translucent. This is where skill shows itself. Too rough, and it tears. Too timid, and it won’t stretch.
Then comes the secret to that irresistible crunch: layers upon layers of fat—traditionally lard, sometimes butter—spread thinly as the dough is rolled into a long coil. This coil rests, as if gathering strength, before being cut into portions.
Now, the filling—the heart of every pastizzi.
Two classics reign supreme:
* creamy ricotta
* or a spiced pea mixture, known locally as piżelli
Each small piece of dough is opened into a delicate pocket, filled generously, then pinched into its iconic diamond or shell shape. Not too tight—pastizzi need room to breathe as they bake.
Into a very hot oven they go.
And then… the transformation.
The layers puff, crisp, and flake. The outside turns golden and shatters at the slightest bite, while inside remains soft, rich, and comforting. The scent drifts out into the street—just like it does from the famous Crystal Palace (Is-Serkin), where locals gather at all hours for a fresh batch.
You take one in your hand—still warm, almost too hot. One bite, and the pastry crackles, crumbs falling like golden dust.
This is not delicate food. It’s honest food. Street food. Soul food.
And now you know: behind every pastizzi lies not just a recipe, but generations of Maltese tradition—folded, layered, and baked into every single bite.

The day gently unfolded on a sun-warmed farm tucked away in the Maltese countryside, where time seemed to slow the moment we arrived. There, we were welcomed by Charlie and Bella—guardians of the land, storytellers at heart, and hosts whose warmth lingered long after the meal was done.
Our adventure had already been rich with hands-on tradition, shaping delicate pastizzi and laughter echoing through the open air. But here, on their farm, it all came together.
A long table was set beneath the open sky, simple yet inviting. Plates began to appear—each one a small celebration of Malta’s culinary heritage. Fresh bread, sun-ripened vegetables, local cheeses, olive oil that glowed like liquid gold—and at the center, the pastizzi we had made ourselves, now baked to perfection.
As we ate, Charlie began to speak. His voice carried the weight of years spent working the land—stories of childhood days when life was harder, yet simpler. He spoke of seasons, of resilience, of how food was never wasted and always shared. Bella, with a gentle smile, added her own memories. Their stories wove effortlessly between past and present, much like the threads of a well-loved tapestry. There was laughter, too—moments of lightness that reminded us that joy, like food, is best when shared. It became clear that this was more than just a meal. It was a glimpse into a way of life.
A connection—to the land, to tradition, and to the people who keep it alive.
Long after the plates were cleared and the last crumbs of pastizzi had disappeared, we carried something with us: not just the taste of Malta, but its stories—told by Charlie and Bella, and now, a small part of our own journey too.

03/18/2026

Malta update......
The past couple of days were set aside for personal exploration of Malta, giving us the freedom to wander at our own pace and soak in the island’s charm.
Yesterday, we decided to hop aboard one of the popular sightseeing buses—an easygoing way to take in the scenery without a plan set in stone. Riding through the countryside, past stone walls and scattered villages, we made our way to Ta' Qali Crafts Village for a bit of shopping. The village itself felt like stepping into a living workshop. Artisans worked just beyond open doors, shaping glass, painting ceramics, and crafting delicate filigree jewellery—skills passed down through generations. It wasn’t just shopping; it was a chance to see Maltese creativity come to life. Each little shop held something unique, from vibrant hand-blown glass to traditional lace, making it hard to leave empty-handed.
After a relaxed morning at Ta' Qali Crafts Village, we hopped back on the bus and made our way to Golden Bay, where the landscape opened up into sweeping coastal views. From there, we set off on foot, wandering along quiet country back roads and winding cliff-top paths, the sea stretching endlessly beside us. Our walk led us to a perfect lunch spot overlooking Riviera Beach—a truly breathtaking setting, with dramatic cliffs, turquoise water, and the peaceful rhythm of waves below. The scenery felt almost untouched, raw and beautiful in every direction. After lunch, the group split into little adventures of their own. Some of the ladies continued along the paths toward the distant cliffs, drawn in by the views and the promise of even more stunning vantage points. Others took on the challenge of climbing the 161 steps back up to the top—steady, steep, but rewarding with every glance back at the coastline below.
Tired but content, we eventually made our way back, carrying with us the fresh sea air, the laughter, and the memory of a day filled with simple, beautiful moments before returning to the hotel.

Today’s adventures took us on a slightly different path. Once again, we boarded the bus and set off to see more of the island, enjoying the ease of simply going wherever the day led us. Our first stop brought us to the Mercury Tower, a striking modern landmark that rises high above the surrounding skyline. From there, we stepped into the immersive experience of Odyssey Malta—a journey that blends storytelling, visuals, and movement to bring Malta’s rich history and culture to life in a truly engaging way.
After our flying-high experience, we made our way up through Mercury Tower—first by elevator, and then the final stretch on foot—until we reached the 33rd floor.
From that height, the views were nothing short of spectacular. St Julian’s stretched out below us, a lively mix of rooftops, winding streets, and the sparkling coastline beyond. The sea shimmered in the distance, wrapping around the bays and inlets, while the city buzzed quietly beneath us.
It was one of those moments where everything seems to pause—taking in the contrast between the modern skyline and the timeless Mediterranean horizon. A perfect vantage point to appreciate just how beautiful and diverse Malta truly is. We sat for a while, simply soaking it all in—the sweeping views, the sea breeze, and the quiet pause above the bustle of St Julian’s below.
Eventually, it was time to move on and trade panoramic views for something a little more playful. Our next stop was the Museum of Illusions Malta, where reality twists and nothing is quite as it seems.
Stepping inside felt like entering a different world altogether—rooms that defied gravity, mirrors that played tricks on the eye, and exhibits that had us laughing, questioning, and snapping plenty of photos. It was a fun and the perfect way to keep the day full of surprises.
It was a fascinating contrast to the natural landscapes of the previous day—trading cliffs and countryside for innovation and storytelling.