An-American-in-Malta

Theatre in Malta

       

          Who Says Malta is Too Small

                             for Culture?

 

          Manoel Theatre—Photo by www.grouptravelorganiser.com/.../

I laugh when people actually say they wouldn’t move to Malta because there isn’t enough culture.  Ha!  The Manoel Theatre in Valletta, built in 1731, is one of the three oldest theatres in Europe—if not the oldest—still operating.  And operate it does. 

Here is a University-of Malta-related website listing all the many upcoming events of the Maneol Theatre plus those of the St. Cavallier—also in Valletta:

                           http://events-in-malta.heroku.com/

Let me know what you think.

Going to the GYN in Malta

 

                            The GYN Examination:

           The Differences between Malta and the US

Okay, this is not going to be a sensationalized post.  This is really for women who may be staying or living in Malta, and who may need the services of a gynecologist.  It turns out that there’s quite a difference between going to a GYN in the US versus going to one in Malta.  Here’s what I found:

Making the Appointment—This was easy.  The GYN’s office is located right next to the pharmacy where my family doctor is.  I had wanted a female GYN, but my Maltese hairdresser recommended this male doctor, so I decided to do it.  It only took me a few days to get an appointment for a routine exam.  This was easier done in Malta than in the US.

Reception—The doctor’s office—which he shared with at least one other doctor—was located in an old Maltese-style townhouse.  I’m getting used to this now. It’s not a slick office that you get in the US. The reception area looks more like a living room.  But that’s OK once you get used to it.  Of course, there is a desk and a whole big file case.  The receptionist was very friendly and didn’t sit behind a glass window, as in the US.  She seem harried but friendly.

The Doctor—I liked the doctor who I first met in his office to chat with a bit before disrobing for the exam.  He had gray hair and a bad knee.  He apologized for his knee and explained that was why he was using a crutch. He was friendly and knowledgeable, asking about my medical history, medications, any problems.

The Examining Room—This is the part I didn’t like.  The room seemed grimy.  It was not the slick, hygienic room I’m used to.   The room had an examining table (with no stirrups) and clean enough looking paper sheets.  But there was a dusty ultrasound machine.  There were also dust balls collecting in the corners (Malta is eternally dusty).  There was a tube of gel (on a unclean—looking instrument table), probably used prior to an ultrasound examination.  What bothered me was that the tube looked grimy around the rim—like a toothpaste tube that hasn’t been wiped in a long time.

The Exam Itself—This seemed OK to me—a lot shorter than a GYN exam in the US.  The doctor used a disposable plastic speculum which was much more comfortable than those metal ones in the US.  The doctor did a brief breast exam, and asked if I go for regular mammograms.  (In Malta, women at no great risk for breast cancer go for regular screening mammograms every 18 months—not every year as in the US; now the US cancer authorities are recommending every 18 months.)  The doctor did not perform a rectal exam nor did he take a small sample to test for rectal cancer.  That surprised me.  And there was no attendant in the examining room—which was fine with me.  And there was no sign asking you if you want an attendant—which is common in he US.

Cost—The GYN exam cost 50 Euros which was for a private visit. I paid the doctor in cash—which he preferred—and he gave me a receipt.  I will be trying to get this fee refunded from my private European insurance which is supposed to cover annual, preventative check-ups.  The doctor filled out and signed the form right then at the end of the visit.  He also wrote me a prescription for a GYN product I needed and which turned out to be a lot cheaper than in the US. And as a favor, he also wrote me a prescription for Retin-A—something I would have had to wait for a dermatologist to prescribe.  (And Retin-A turned out to be a lot cheaper than in the US.)

Conclusion—I felt the GYN experience was OK.  It was less stressful and uncomfortable than a GYN exam in the US. I liked the fact that I met the doctor beforehand to talk in his office before the physical part of the exam.  I didn’t like that the room seemed dirty.  That bothered me a lot.  And I guess I would have preferred—just for peace of mind—to have the rectal exam/and or the simple swab test for rectal cancer.  But I felt the doctor knew what he was doing and I appreciated him writing me the extra prescription which had nothing to do with his field of practice.

 

New Feature!

 

         Participate in THE FORUM

 

Due to popular demand (one person), I now have a new feature for you to have fun with:  The Forum.   This is where you can all interact, exchange ideas and argue (within reason).  The only requirement is that your contributions be related in some way to this blog’s topic.  Have fun (and don’t blame me for anything bad that happens from this).

 

 

Chocolate: Dessert or Disaster?

    

Does Anyone Know of a Chocolate

               Rehab Center in Malta?

                 Photo from New York Chocolate Tours—US  

del.icio.us Tags: Malta,Americans in Malta,expats in Malta

                            I need one.

 

A Celebrity in Malta

 

               Will the REAL Celebrity

                        Please Stand Up?

 

A few weeks ago, I was really excited to come across a film being shot at a cafe in Balluta Bay.  Malta is an on-site location for many films (Troy, Gladiator, Popeye) because of its splendid scenery.

There was a famous Russian actor (I’m told he was famous by the film crew) who kept repeating a scene over and over—watching his parked car get smacked and then going over and conversing with the man who smacks his car.  I watched about four takes.  Each one lasted about one minute until the director would yell, “Cut!”

I was thrilled to see that after fifteen minutes preparation for a scene that lasted at most one minute the director would scream, “Quiet! Everyone quiet on the set.” 

I loved it; it felt like I was watching a movie being made.  Well, in fact, I guess that’s because I was watching a movie being made.

I have no idea if this movie will be a success or not, if the good-looking Russian actor was really anyone famous or not.  But I do know that there was quite a crowd of people—including me—watching this guy doing something we all think is great—acting in a movie.

Then I went home to my place in Sliema—only about a ten-minute walk from the movie set.  I had to talk to T., my neighbor across the street, to ask him to take care of my cat Egypt for three weeks while I went to England with Mr. S.

No one knows T., except his family, friends, neighbors, basically just the locals—as they say in Malta.  He’s certainly no international celebrity.  But maybe he should be, would be if the world valued T.’s minor accomplishments.

Away from Malta in the Winter

       

                Please Take me Back to Malta

                

                   Photo by:  www.jesslaccetti.co.uk/2005_11_01_jesslaccett..

You won’t believe how much a little snow can stop a big, powerful country like England.  I’m in Petersfield, about an hour southwest of London.  This is not a photo of Petersfield, but it might as well be.

I miss Malta. I know I have it a lot better than many people. But I just want to complain for a moment, OK?  I can’t walk a few miles a day like I’m used to doing.  I already fell flat on my face in the street. Of course, someone had to come out of his house to ask if I was OK.

I just feeling like eating chocolate and staying under a blanket. And I’m getting fat from indulging myself in these sinful ways.

What makes me mad is that nobody here knows what to do.  Some salt thrown on the ice would help a lot. But nobody is doing it.  We don’t have any in my mum-in-law’s house—or we would do it.

I miss Malta. I miss the sun, the streets with no snow or ice and my Maltese friends who complain about everything in the world—except snow.  There has never—to my knowledge—been snow in Malta.  (Yes, there is hail, but not snow and ice that stays on the streets for weeks).

Anyway, I want to thank all of you loyal readers. I love your comments. I can’t answer long, detailed letters—sorry about that.  But stay with me through my next year in Malta, inshallah.

And I wish each of you reading a good holiday and a very happy and healthy New Year.  (By the way, I hate New Year’s).  But you have a good time.

 

Traveling from Malta to Germany

 

            Doing Time in a German Toilet

I often said you could drink from a German public toilet.  And the other night, I almost had the chance.

Mr. S and I were in Germany at a really nice hotel in Heidelberg at a breakfast meeting of his company.  I was doing my usual investigation of the hotel bathroom.  I have to examine—or use—every bathroom in any building I enter.  You know.

When I was finished, I was just thinking how I was going to tell everyone upstairs at the breakfast how wonderful German toilets are—especially in comparison to those in Malta—spotless, flushable, completely well maintained.  As this thought passed through my mind, the handle of the toilet door came off in my hand, and I was locked in the toilet.

For the next thirty minutes, I was yelling out one of the few German words I know—Hilfe—which means help.  The bathroom was really far down in the basement of the hotel and no one could hear me banging on the door or yelling.  Finally, someone from the hotel heard me yelling Hilfe out the basement window.  A maid came in and pushed the door in from the outside.

When I got upstairs, Mr. S. looked up from his coffee and noted that he thought I took longer than usual in the toilet.  But one of his female colleagues had convinced him that women sometimes take long in the bathroom, so he didn’t do anything about it.  Well, thanks for listening to your instincts, Mr. S.

Anyway, it could have been worse. I could have been locked in a Maltese toilet.

The Christmas Cleaning Frenzy in Malta

               

                 Going Mopless in Malta

                           

You think you’ve got it bad—those of you who don’t live in Malta.  We’re not talking about the weather (sorry). No, we’re talking about the obsessive need to clean. 

Maltese women must clean their houses every week.  But come Christmas, oh G-d.

At last, at last, I was finally accepted by a group of wonderful Maltese teachers at my school. By accepted, I mean I was invited to lunch and coffee breaks with them.  I could now laugh, cry and best of all—gossip with them.

Here’s one of my last luscious gossip sessions I was privy to:

“Did you hear that M____ has been using Pledge instead of Endust this year?”

“Why? I thought she was happy with Endust?”

“She was, But you know how it is.  She just gets on better with Pledge.”

“What has she been doing with it?”

“Well, when she has to move a cupboard to clean behind it,”  (and this part was said in a low whisper) “she sprays it on the floor in front of her and the cupboard moves a lot faster.”

At this point, the Lord’s name was taken in vain.

Then all eyes were on me.

“What do you use?”  I knew what they meant, really. What do Americans use to clean with?  Do Americans measure up to the Maltese in cleaning capacity and capability?

I thought I was being clever when I said, “I don’t even use a wet mop when I clean the floors.”

There was a sudden intake of breath in the room.

“What do you do?”

“I do it dry.”

“How?” At this point, I could feel the panic and revulsion rising in the room. I should have excused myself and left. But I couldn’t stop the words from coming out—you know?

“Well, sometimes I take a towel or some dirty clothes and step on it and walk around the room and clean the floor that way.”

Silence. Total silence.

My Maltese friends—who were probably no longer my friends—furtively glanced at each other and then at their watches.

“Well, I guess it’s that time again. Yes, time to go.”

And then I knew it was over.  I had said something unacceptable about not using a mop to clean the floors (honestly, only when someone comes to visit but I didn’t even admit that). And worst of all, my new friends had lied to me—just to get away from me.

When I looked at the time, it was only five minutes to 11.  And class doesn’t start until 11.

Everyone had done the unspeakable—but this action spoke volumes about how I was not really one of them—never was and never would be.

Teachers had left early for class.  And that hurt.

 

Safety in Malta

 

    Compared to the US—Malta is Safe…

                                 Very Safe

They say wherever you go, people are basically the same.  They’re not.  No one in Malta—except another American—can relate to this:

Yesterday, I chatted for a bit with a Maltese florist in front of his shop, and he asked me how I am. I said OK. It was nice to chat with him for a moment. And then he asked how my daughters are in the US.

So instead of saying fine, OK, as I usually would, I told him about a phone call I got from one of my daughters who lives in New York City (where, by the way, all my EFL students long to visit or return to if they’ve been there).

My daughter has an internship in the Bronx.  I always try not to think of where she works and I always pray that she’ll be safe.  And then she called me yesterday and “reminded me” why I don’t want to think of where she works.

Another Article of Mine

 

Check this out if you’d like:

How to Say Goodbye to EFL Students, published an Associated Content.com