Easy rider | Published: 01/09/2007 |
I’m starting to think I’ve been conned. They promised me that Gozo was just the place for a cycling softie like me- but from the air, the place looks suspiciously hilly. A tiered wedding cake of an island, its neat terraces slope towards sheer cliffs that nosedive into a startlingly cobalt med. Only once I’m on the ground and away from the airport do I find they were telling me the truth
Gozo- Malta’s sleepy, rural sibling- is one of those places here every day feels like a lazy Sunday afternoon. Quiet country lanes and balmy weather do indeed make it just the spot for a two-wheeled taster break- Islanders even drive on the left, making it easy for British visitors. But since padded cycling shorts are three words that simply don’t belong in my holiday plans (or my suitcase), I’ve decided to do it the easy way. The idea is to play join-the-dots with a handful of gorgeous hotels- cycling no more than a gentle 20 km a day- while my luggage is ferried by car. No Lycra, no heavy bags, just the promise of massages and G&Ts at the end of each leisurely stretch, and a nice tan by the end of my trip.
Arriving at the Ta’Cenc hotel, a cluster of honey-hued suites that sweep down towards the sea, I dine beneath the twisted limbs of a 400-year old carob tree, stuffing myself with broad bean risotto in preparation for what lies ahead. Waking the next day to cloudless skies and brilliant sunshine, I am already having doubts as I make my way to breakfast, casting longing looks at the comfy pool loungers. But Sammy the island’s resident bike guru is waiting. I join two outdoorsy-looking couples on a wicker sofa in the lobby while he chats through our itinerary. Although we’ll all be following the same route, we won’t be cycling in a group, so everybody is free to move at their own pace. There is not a yellow jersey in sight, and even novice like me can follow the cycling-for-dummies map, marked with picnic spots, swimming coves and restaurants. Any last worries are allayed by the time I read the safety section: ‘A word of caution…Energy diminishes noticeably after the midday picnic, especially when its washed down with a few glasses of local wine.’ Phew, this is not going to be a race to the finish.
Sammy leads us into a courtyard, where a row of smart cruising bikes gleam in the morning sunlight. But before we can ride off into the distance, he throws the proverbial spanner. ‘Now,’ he says, ‘pay attention to the puncture repair demonstration.’ Eyes widen as he shows us how to detach the brakes, remove the inner tube the inner tube, glue the puncture, and then put the whole thing back together again. Noticing our panicked faces, he adds, ‘all right, here’s my mobile number. If anything happens, just call and I’ll come and rescue you.’ With that, I leave the others standing and pedal off down the drive.
Freewheeling trough the teeny village of Sannat, where washing flutters from balconies and walnut –faces old men wave as I pass, a rugged, sun-baked landscape unfurls. Punctuated by a tall date palms and tufts of scarlet bougainvillea billowing from tumbledown dry stonewalls. The scale of the map is deceptive, and before I’ve even broken sweat, I’ve arrived at my first must see, Xewkija (pronounced ‘show-Kia’). Its soaring rotunda looms incongruously over the tiny village; the third largest dome in Europe, It was funded by the locals. It’s the same story all over Gozo: even in the tiniest village you’ll find a disproportionately vast church. Either Gozitans are exceptionally pious, or there’s just not much else to do on the island. Inside the light-flooded dome’ people pray silently at long wooden pews. I creep to the back, and a lift takes me to the top of the tower. Following signs pointing to ‘natural beauty all around’, I find sensational vistas, the sea glittering like disco ball in the distance. More importantly, I can just make out Ramla Bay, where I’ve decided to stop for a lunchtime dip.
Weaving between vineyards heavy with grapes, the route curves towards the coast and dips down to Calypso’s Cove, where legend says a lustful nymph kept poor Ulysses captive for seven years. It’s no wonder he was desperate to escape- a rather dank and unappealing cavern, it’s not much to look at these days. But Ramla Bay, below, is a striking slice of pale orange sand, washed by neon-bright turquoise. Parking my bike beneath the shade of a palm, I pull on my bikini, pick my way down the steep track to the beach, and within minutes I’m contemplating octopus stew, cold beer in hand. As a dedicated beach bum, I’d planned to spend a few hours sunbathing here, but after just a few minutes lolling on the sand, I’m itching to get going again. There’s something very addictive about pottering along on a bike. Besides, I’m keen to make it to the ancient temples of Ggantija before dusk.
Malta and Gozo are scattered with megalithic temples, but those just outside the village of Xaghra are the biggest and most impressive. Thick slabs of weathered rock, they date from 3600bc, which makes them the oldest surviving man-made structures in the world. I idle among the imposing ruins, until long purple shadows tell me it’s time to return to my bike and set off for the final leg. But a loud bang stops me in my tracks. My tyre has exploded, and is now hanging forlornly in shreds. There’s no way my puncture repair kit can deal with this disaster, so I phone Sammy, and by the time I’ve pushed my bike the 10 minute distance to the Cornucopia Hotel, a replacement is waiting. Now that’s service. Free from puncture duty, I cradle a glass of chilled Pinot Blanc on my balcony as the sky turns flamingo-pink, and Gozo’s villages glow like embers on the hillside.
I’m a little saddle-sore the next day, but the prospect of some spa action at my posh hotel later that evening has me sprinting for my bike. It’s a blow-away-the-cobwebs whiz downhill to Marsalforn, where fishing boats are bobbing in the harbour. The bells are chiming 11, but the village is only just stirring- no wonder even Maltese come here on holiday.
As I pedal on, the coast becomes wild and rugged, the cliffs wind-sculptured, the breeze whipping the sea into foamy peaks. Below, a honeycomb of salt pans spreads down to the water- families have gathered salt from these pools since roman times. As I pass by above, the wind swirls saline confetti into the air, coating me with a fine layer. At Wied il-Ghasri, I hide my bike in a patch of wild fennel and descend stone steps to the bottom of a fissure-thin gorge. An old man in inch-thick glasses is drying off in the pebbly cove, which echoes with birdsong. He waves goodbye and I have the clear water to myself. This magical place is off limits unless you have a bike- the potholed track is too tricky for the coaches that ferry day-trippers over from Malta.
On through stone villages sweet with jasmine and honeysuckle, I spy battered Minis parked along the lanes, and red telephone boxes: legacies of a British imperial past. It’s an unusual way to arrive at a five-star hotel, but the staff are kempinski’s front desk are unfazed by the dusty, pink –faced vision standing before them with a pair of grubby panniers. They direct me straight towards the spa for a steam-clean. I’m convinced that the French ladies in the hotel tub are staring at my newly sculpted calf muscles, until I realise that I’m still smeared with bike grease. But by the time the therapist is finished with me, I am peach-soft and perfectly buffed.
By my final day, I’ve slipped into a happy routine: cycle, swim, eat. Cycle, massage, sleep. My skin has takes on a healthy glow, my tension levels have eased and I rather think my legs are leaner. I've become a cycling convert. On the last afternoon, I decide to make a side-trip to Fungus Rock - a soaring arch over the sea that graces nearly every postcard of the island. A coach roars past, pale faces pressed against the windows. I might not be on the island’s, fast track, but as I trundle along in the sunshine I can’t help feeling smug. Just one thing: my rear seems to be somewhat less well padded than when I started this trip. Next time I think I'll pack those cycling shorts after all.
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Going Gozo on two wheels
| Published: 01/04/2007 |
Cycling in Gozo was the offer from the wife. Sounded like a perfect holiday apart from two small details - where exactly is Gozo and what sort of cycling do they do there? A quick trawl through the recesses of my brain and the only thing I could dredge up was that Gozo is somewhere near Malta. A quick check round the office added that it is the small island that's nicer than Malta but nobody, absolutely nobody, had ever been there let alone on a bike. On that basis it was an offer too good to refuse.
Four weeks later we were pedalling along in the Mediterranean sun heading towards a distinctly Moorish village. After a morning's ride along small country roads dotted with giant cacti covered in prickly pears we were ready for a soft drink and an ice cream or better still, a beer. Finding the centre of the village was easy as all roads led to a huge church at the top of a small square.
The streets were empty and the shutters down on the white plastered houses, it was beginning to look like a spaghetti western, Fortunately the man outside the one open shop was not smoking a cheroot or nursing a Winchester rifle. Instead he was quite happy to sell us a coke and a choc ice using perfect English.
Like all Gozitans, - yes, that is what the residents are called - he learnt English at school as, along with Maltese, it is the island's official language. Glad of the rest we sat on a bench next to a red telephone box and looked across the square at the village police station - a small stone building with a proper English blue police station lamp hanging above the door!
All this summed up the enigma of Gozo. It is a quiet, unspoilt Mediterranean island. The villages are clusters of small white houses set on the tops of hills where old men sit outdoors having a coffee in the village squares. But it was also part of the British Empire and there are English influences everywhere from English shop signs and newspapers to battered Ford Anglias on the roads.
Not everything is English though. For example, every village has a Catholic church. These are not just any old church but the biggest you have ever seen - high enough to be a cathedral in any other country.
On our first bike ride we found ourselves at Xewkija pariah church which has Ihe third largest dome in Ihe whole or Europe. And just in case you weren't sure how high that is they have built a lift to the top to save you struggling up the stairs. Some are endowed with mystical posers.
The Basilica of Ta Pin, for example, was built in the 1920's after a local woman was said to have heard the Virgin Mary speaking to her and a number of miracles were supposed to have occurred on the site. Now it is a place of pilgrimage and in a side chapel there is a collection of letters from worshippers who have been healed after visiting the church. There are even some surgical appliances no longer needed by the cured.
The cycling on Gozo is great. The island Is 14 kilometres Iong and only seven kilometres across at its widest point. The roads are small and there is virtually no traffic. Most of the island is on a plateau with gentle rolling countryside and those huge churches are great landmarks. As long as you aim for the right one you can't get lost.
From most of the villages you can cycle down to the sea. From our hotel we freewheeled down to Marsalforn, a small resort built round a fishing harbour. A hearty lunch of local lamuuki fish, freshly grilled and washed down with local white wine, set us up for the afternoon's ride. We cycled along the coast through a lunar landscape with acres of salt pans on one side and cliffs eroded into weird shapes by the wind on the other.
Another day we pedalled down to Uweija and the oddly-named inland sea. It is really a small lagoon and as a jaundiced traveller I was wary of paying good money to be taken in a small boat through a hole in some rocks. But when we emerged on the other side it was worth every Maltese lira. The cliffs towered above us and the clear blue water stretched down to the depths below.
On Sunday we pedalled in to the capital Victoria and parked our bikes in Independence Square. It was filled with families having a coffee or something stronger after church. We followed suit before heading up to the citadel - the walled part of the town that houses the cathedral and numerous ancient buildings in a maze of narrow streets.
A walk round the ramparts provides spectacular views of the whole island and builds up an appetite for lunch. This can be anything from pastizzi, small pastries filled with ricotta cheese or peas, to a simple plate of Italian style pasta with tomato sauce or a full blow out of baked ravioli followed by rabbit stew washed down with local vino. After that you will need to sit for half an hour in the square before pedalling back to the hotel.
After a day's cycling there is nothing to beat a beer by the pool followed by a hearty meal, preferably with a good view thrown in for good measure. Gozo's hotels fulfil these requirements, with ease. Ta Cenc, for example, is a beautiful low rise building with separate bungalows built around a pool in a spectacular garden setting overlooking the sea. The Cornucopia is a more traditional hotel with great views over Marsalforn Bay, while the Kempinski San Lawrence Resort is pure five star luxury. If the two massive swimming pools aren't relaxing enough, its spa will waft away any aches and pains acquired in the saddle.
With quiet roads and good food, Gozo turns out to be a great place for a gentle introduction to cycling Mediterranean style.
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Pedal Power in Gozo | Published: 09/01/2007 |
For some reason I had always thought Gozo was somewhere in the Sahara Desert. In fact, it is a tiny island just off the coast of Malta where the British ruled for 164 years, from 1800 to 1964. As a result, the inhabitants of both Malta and Gozo exhibit some traces of their British heritage, such as driving - or cycling, as we did - on the left-hand side of the road, having a penchant for brass bands and, of course, speaking English as well as their own language, which has its roots in Hebrew.
We soon discovered that Gozo is a friendly place. The people may be poor and the infrastructure sorely lacking, but here is an island very much at ease with itself. Tiny whitewashed cottages dot the harbour-side, but it is not some latter-day Greek island - Gozo has a very strong identity which is far more Arab than Mediterranean. The locals are extremely proud of their history.
In the capital, Victoria, stands the grand Citadel - a huge yellow stone fortress with 180° visibility from its uppermost parapets. The city was named after Queen Victoria whose Diamond Jubilee was celebrated in 1897, although local people still sometimes refer to the city by its old name, Rabat. Here, in 1800BC, the Phoenicians took advantage of its strategic position 420 feet (140m) above sea level. Later the Romans built a temple here. The Byzantines and Arabs also built their own structures on this site and examples of these varied architectures are visible everywhere - not just in the citadel itself but also in the medieval streets of Victoria.
Gozo is very much defined by the Catholic religion. Vast churches dominate the skyline and the domes and steeples can be seen from miles away. Ever since St Paul was shipwrecked in Malta, religion has played a vital role in the life of the Gozitans. St Paul preached the Gospel during his three-month stay in Malta and converted many Maltese people to Christianity.
One of the most famous churches on Gozo is Ta'Pinu, named after local man Fillipo Gauci, or Pinu for short, who first looked after it in the 16th century. In 1883 a local peasant woman named Carmela Grima heard a voice calling to her as she prayed. She told her friend Francesco who had also heard voices in the chapel. The same year his mother fell ill and he lit a candle for her. When his mother recovered he saw it as a miracle.
The word soon spread and many miraculous events were attributed to the chapel, including Gozo's escape from the plague the following year.
A new church was built integrating the old chapel building and, in 1932, Pope Pius IX raised Ta'Pinu to the status of a basilica. Inside, a whole room is now a shrine dedicated to all those who claim to have had 'miracle cures'.
Not far from the capital on the outskirts of the town of Xaghra stands one of Gozo's most famous prehistoric landmarks, the Ggantija temples. It is believed that these temples were built around 3500BC, making them some of the oldest in the world. According to local legend, a female giant named Sunsuma carried the enormous rocks on her head all the way from the village of Ta'Cenc -a distance of several miles. Whether or not you choose to believe the legend, experts certainly now believe that the temple took around 15,000 days to construct.
Nearby is another landmark -' Calypso's Cave. Gozitan legend has it that the nymph Calypso seduced and kept Ulysses a 'prisoner of love' for seven long years in this cave. Whether or not you believe the story, the view from above is absolutely stunning and the little cove of Ramla Bay has a wonderful beach - rumour has it Madonna filmed her latest video here.
Our first night was spent at the Hotel Ta Cenc where we were regaled with all the local legends by the manager, who was also extremely proud of the fact that several celebrities had stayed here. He described Gozo as 'the place time forgot' - an apt description as time certainly seems to have stood still here. People make their own amusement, crime is virtually non-existent - in fact there is no prison on Gozo -and everyone has a friendly word for you in the local shops and restaurants.
Eating out seems to fall into two categories - cheap and cheerful and expensive and serious. Cheap and cheerful usually comprises pasta and tomato sauce with a salad -there is quite a strong Italian influence here. Haute cuisine normally means local fish such as lampuki with sauteed potatoes and fresh greens. The traditional Gozitan snack is called pastizza -. a small parcel-of flaky pastry filled with either ricotta cheese or mushy peas. The local aperitif, known as Kinnie, is made from a variety of herbs and is worth a try despite its over-riding taste of cough medicine.
As we cycled through the countryside I could not help thinking something was missing. Where were all the sheep? Wherever you looked, the rather arid landscape and fields were devoid of any livestock. I asked our guide about it and he informed me that the sheep lived in the back rooms of the houses; Sure enough, when we were cycling down a particularly rural village path, I could hear bleating from the back of one of them. Apparently, global warming has made the summers so hot that the sheep cannot take the heat and have to stay indoors.
It is true that Gozo has a particular type of climate that is very much affected by barometric pressure. One night we witnessed an amazing electrical storm. At first I thought that Mount Etna, which is only 60 miles (96km) away had erupted and we were suffering the aftershocks. The thunder and lightning were very dramatic and we feared there may be no cycling the next day. However, we awoke to bright sunshine and clear skies.
If the British influence is obvious everywhere in Gozo, it is even more so in Malta, which we visited on our last day. We decided to take a look around the walled ancient capital of Mdina first. We then took a cab to the other end of the island to see Valletta, the 16th-century city which is now the capital. Valletta was the first city to be built following detailed plans and its fantastic fortifications made it impregnable.
Although the Phoenicians, Greeks, Carthaginians and the Romans have all left their traces on these islands, so have the Arabs and the Normans. However, it was the Knights of St John who made Malta a key player in the cultural arena of 17th and 18th-century Europe. These knights started off in Jerusalem in 1048 where a number of monks opened a 'hospital' to care for pilgrims. The prestige and courage of these 'soldier monks' prompted Charles V to offer -them the Maltese islands in 1530. Indeed, Valletta is named after the French Grand Master of the Order of St John, who successfully defended the islands against Ottoman attack.
Cycling is a great way to see Gozo, as the island is quite flat and only five miles (8km) across. It was fun exploring many of the little coves and pretty villages en route. To the west of Gozo we cycled along bumpy coastal paths to the Inland Sea, a natural pond of shallow water which is linked by a narrow tunnel through towering rocks and caves to the Mediterranean. We managed to commandeer a tiny fishing boat to take us through the tunnel. Looking over the edge of the boat, we could see amber and azulite beneath the water. Suddenly we could see a tiny chink of light and we were out in the open sea with huge cliffs towering above us.
The little boat took us far enough to get the best view of the famous Azure Window, formed out of two gigantic columns of rock some 128 feet (40m) in diameter with a huge slab of rock on top - it resembles a giant window underneath which the azure waves shimmer and sparkle.
Gozo may be the place time forgot but we found our time there was a truly unforgettable experience.
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Children away? Take a holiday | Published: 01/01/2007 |
In the heart of the Mediterranean lies the tiny island of Gozo. This quiet, rural haven is a world away from the large, modern holiday resorts that have sprung up on its sister island, Malta, a mere 5km distant. Here the pace of life is slow and steady. No road rage here, unless we are talking about a stubborn donkey.
Gozitans drive on the left, there's only one set of traffic lights and the island is only 14 x 7 km at its widest point, which is all good news to anyone planning to see most of it by bike -especially someone (like me) whose last bike had stabilisers. Sammy our friendly local contact, sorts out our bikes and quickly dispels my novice's concerns, After a few saddle adjustments, a short practice run, distribution of maps and a lesson in how to mend a puncture - just in case - we're off.
Cycling through the towns and villages is a great way to see the island's many attractions at your own pace, although it is hilly! For a small island it packs in a surprising number of ancient monuments, impressive churches, secluded bays and opportunities to stop and watch the world go by Farmers clop past in their pony and traps, off to tend their crops. Dry stone walls divide the fields. Carob trees, plentiful and protected, are harvested in August, producing medicinal syrup. Huge spiky cactus plants - an excellent fodder crop - are everywhere. Well-tended vines keep local families in robust table wine.
Freewheeling down the steep hill into Marsalforn Bay is exhilarating. This former fishing village is Gozo's main holiday resort and still has brightly-coloured 'luzzu’ fishing boats bobbing in the harbour. Time for a quick Kinnie, a popular bitter soft drink made from oranges and herbs, before cycling beyond Marsalforn, past the network of saltpans carved out of the rock along the shoreline. Each summer sea salt is harvested as it has been for hundreds of years. Along the edge of the saltpans fishermen cast their lines, while fully rigged-out scuba divers scramble down to the water's edge to experience some of the Mediterranean's best diving. Further along the coast the Azure window, Fungus Rock and the Inland Sea are other natural attractions that have drawn. people to Dwejra Bay for many years.
Rather more man-made wonders are to be found at Ggantija. As its name implies, legend has it that this complex of two temples was built by a giantess who carried the massive 50 tonne stone blocks on her head from nearby Ta'Cenc. Dating from 3600-3000 BC these prehistoric temples on a hill top near the village of Xaghra afford fantastic views over most of southern Gozo.
Each village contains a large and well-attended church. Most Gozitans are Catholic and are regular churchgoers. In the town squares the old blue lamps outside the disused police stations and familiar red telephone boxes are the legacy of 165 years of British rule. But long before the British showed up, the Maltese archipelago was a magnet for everyone from the Phoenicians and the Romans to the Arabs, the Spanish and the Knights of St John - a fascinating cultural mix reflected in the island's language and cuisine, The capital, Victoria, is dominated by the bastions of the Citadel within whose walls you'll find the Cathedral with its ornate interior, Unfortunately the money ran out before the project was completed so the beautiful ceiling is, in fact, a tromp-l’oeil painting to create the illusion of an expensive dome.
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