Christmas of 2018, I couldn’t afford to fly home to the States so I pounced on a cheap ticket to Malta instead. I knew nothing of the island nation, knew nobody at the hostel I had booked, and really had no expectations. It was wonderful. And then my phone was stolen…with all of my pictures. Here are the few that survived one way or another, scavenged from Messenger chats and friends’ photo rolls. They don’t even tell half of the story, but it’s all I can offer. So here are the surviving memories of my own little Christmas miracle.
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The First Morning
That smile is solar powered. After months of bundling up for a Budapest winter, my skin was finally sun kissed and I was electrified by all of the potential that I felt from my first full morning in Malta. I walked on to the rooftop to see the playful maze of unfamiliar buildings stretching out to the horizon, and I knew that whichever street I took, I would find something that took my breath away. In many ways, I felt rich–rich in time and potential and excitement (not to mention I hadn’t spent all of my money on late-night ricotta-filled pastries yet).
Not pictured: My grumbling stomach, the bashful way I avoided talking to my fellow hostel mates because I was still feeling shy.
Me, pulling my scarf around me even tighter to fight off the evening chill on the rooftop–we were playing music and I’d rather shiver than go inside and end it.
The harmony of a full plate of freshly made carbonara, graced with a side of fluffy parmesan from the hole-in-the-wall restaurant downstairs.
My First Maltese Sunset
Without a map or any idea of what the island had to offer, I simply followed the coastline and ran into someone else who was staying at my hostel. 
He helped me take pictures and wondered how two people from different countries ended up on this tiny rock over Christmas. He helped me with my gelato and kindly corrected my rusty French. Tired and ready for dinner, we almost turned back. But instead, we turned one more corner, and came face to face with this.
Not pictured: His friendly exasperation as I stopped to take a new photo every 20 paces, our accidental intrusion into the sanctuary of wild cats living in the park.
Christmas Lunch
Watching the hostel workers set the table for Christmas lunch packed all the excitement of listening for reindeer on Christmas Eve as a child. Leading up to my first Christmas away from home, I often worried if it would be possible to get into the mood. But sitting in the Maltese breeze and pulling Christmas crackers in between bites of a homemade meal and swapping dad jokes with my table mates was the perfect answer to the question.
Not pictured: Me, en route to Malta, praying that God would lead me to friends so that I wouldn’t spend Christmas alone.
Fake Bethlehem:
The morning I was supposed to fly back to Budapest, I changed my flight and hopped a ferry to the island of Gozo instead. True, I still had a long list of things to see in Malta, but no matter what sights I took in during the day, what I really wanted to see was the hostel family I had become used to coming home to. That being said, an excursion to Gozo wasn’t a burden at all. I barely scratched the surface of all it had to offer, but I still got an eyeful at the City of Bethlehem walkthrough/re-enactment. I got to hold a Roman sword, so I won’t complain!
Not pictured: Waiting an hour at the bus stop (public transportation schedules are optimistic at best in Malta), and being swept up into the narrative of a German father + son duo. Staggering around the ferry like a drunken pirate because of the huge waves.
On the Way to the Ħaġar Qim Ruins
Halfway through a 20 minute walk to the ancient…ruins, and neither the view or the company was getting old yet. We didn’t know it then, but we would spend hours on different buses and side roads that day, chasing down history.
Not pictured: Being smothered by wind as we walk along the Maltese coast, watching the grass whip back and forth on the slope downhill from ancient ruins Ħaġar Qim.
A Bus Stop Somewhere in Malta, post-ruin visit
The dust on my shoes was from ruins older than Stonehenge.
Maybe it was an affront to history, but we cared less about the ancient stones and more about the view they looked out on. Everything was brought to life by the wind–the choppy blue sea, the bending grass–and I felt brought to life by it too. Whoever these people were, whatever they worshipped, you could feel the importance.
The word of the day could have been “exasperation”…We spent countless hours waiting for buses we had just missed, after all. But everyone in this group found a way to make sure that wasn’t the case. We joked about the rooftop shenanigans at the hostel the night before. We practiced our Spanish and English and French, swapping vocabulary words like they were baseball cards. We wiggled along to someone’s iPhone speaker’s weak offering of Despacito. Finally we collapsed into our seats on the bus–still with another stop ahead of us.
Not pictured: Advancing slowly through the Silent City just after dusk, yellow glow of streetlamps throwing shadows on the old stones, twisting our way lazily through the narrow streets. Arms around my waist, harmonies with a Spanish accent rising to the sky.
Post-Scuba Dive at Cresta Diving Center
Emerging from my first dive was a mix a feeling refreshed and reborn. Removing the oxygen tank was a literal weight off my shoulders, but so was discovering that I could fight off those first urges to panic underwater.
Not pictured: Me frantically sprinting through the nightlife district in the early a.m. after sleeping through my alarm; me discovering the total-body-workout that is putting on a double-layered wetsuit for the first time.
The incredibly vibrant fisherman’s village, Marsaxlokk. This was the product of a whim, choosing to step on the the first bus that came, whether it was going here or back to the hostel. This solo afternoon was my greatest treasure of the trip, I felt. The famous fish market had closed by the time I arrived with the late afternoon sun, but all of the cheerful boats were still out in the harbor. I had no idea this place on earth had existed the night before and now I was witnessing incredible beauty just laid out in front of me. I sat down at a bayside cafe and willed myself to remember.
Not pictured: That slow smile that was a product of lingering glances from my handsome Swiss waiter, a perfect cappuccino, and my helpless attempt at slurping fresh oysters before I gave up and used a fork instead.
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