Turkey Time

 

Back in the beginning of October I was actually a little bit sad that I missed out on Thanksgiving. It is actually my favourite holiday because I love fall (autumn for the Brits who read this) and there is nothing really superficial about the holiday, it’s just about getting together with family and having a really nice meal and having to change your pants halfway through to make room for pumpkin pie. Thankfully there are a lot of American students here doing the dual master’s program who so kindly invited me to celebrate this Thursday. It was obviously the best meal that I’ve had since I’ve been in Malta because there was so much to choose from: mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, bean casserole, carrots, stuffing, salad and of course turkey.  On top of all of that there was an amazing dessert spread which included a Nutella cake (chocolate cake with Nutella icing between layers and then completely iced in nutella- hello!), and apple crumble. Basically, I was in heaven and my intelly belly was just lovin’ it.  So overall it was a great night and thank you so much to the hosts for such great company.  Of course the question came up of us trying to determine the difference between Canadian and American Thanksgiving. Essentially the whole idea of the holiday is the same but I thought this chart was cute in trying to explain the differences.

Yumtown, population 15

Let me start by saying that my anxiety about the new module that I started last week was a bit of an overreaction. That’s not to say that the workload is any less than I expected but it has been a rewarding week based on the fact that what we’ve learned, we have also been able to practice through mock facilitations and mediations. Sounds fun right? Maybe fun isn’t the word, but by the end of the week I was exhausted which is probably why I went into a little hibernation this weekend. During the time that I managed to be awake, I found myself at an International Students Dinner. Everyone brought in food from their home country to share; coming up with something Canadian was probably the hardest thing to do. People helped me out by suggesting I bring McDonalds, Timbits, bacon, beef jerky, or maple syrup but I really couldn’t bring those things seeing as a) McDonalds isn’t food  b)timbits were out of the question since the closest Tim Horton’s is in London and c) the latter 3 don’t really make up a meal. Anyway I decided on a smoked salmon/cream cheese/cucumber/bread concoction and pretended first of all that it was Canadian salmon and second of all that it was a typical Canadian dish. 

 

I had to take a day off from work this weekend; I caught up on sleep and more importantly I saw Harry Potter which was, wait for it, wanderful. The whole movie experience was so different than in Canada. First of all I called in advance to reserve my tickets and picked them up when I got there. I realise that’s not so out of the ordinary but what is different is the fact that seats are assigned and halfway through the movie there is an intermission! I was so not prepared for that part but it was a welcomed break since, as I’m sure you recall from my very first blog entry my tiny bladder forces me to have to pee every hour. And for those of you who are wondering, the movie was great but, then again, I’m 100% biased and I  don’t think there’s any way I wouldn’t have liked it.

On another note, before the movie started, Alessia and I wandered around Valletta just to kill time and get a snack. We went to the most disorganized and poorly managed cafe that I’ve ever been to. Actually I’ve been there before but failed to write about it but I think that if my brother’s company was hired to go there, about half of their employees would be fired. Let me explain how it works: you tell the person behind the counter what you would like to order, he or she (usually she) then gives you a piece of paper with your order only for you to literally turn around and walk 2 steps to the lady at the cashier who collects your money and then gives you your receipt. Then you walk 2 steps back to the original person who then gives you what you’ve ordered and who won’t give you what you’ve ordered unless you bring the receipt which she knows you’ve paid for since she can see the cashier and watched you pay not ten seconds before. Who came up with this system? First of all, it is such a waste of time and second of all it’s a waste of paper. Would it not make more sense if the person behind the counter printed off a sticker with the price of what you ordered and you brought that to the cashier along with your purchase? It seems to me an easy solution to eliminate the customer walking in circles and the company wasting unnecessary amounts of paper. Come on people!  Okay, rant complete and I feel better.

Local or Guest?

So how long does it take for you to live somewhere and actually be considered a local? Are there certain requirements you have to fulfil? Maybe you have to speak the language, be able to give directions, know at least 5 people on the bus before you get to your destination? I admit I can’t speak the language (I haven’t been reading my Learn Maltese, Why Not book... I’ll tell you Why Not- honayyyy no time), I have been asked for directions (which I was able to give, surprise, surprise), and sure I don’t know 5 people on the bus but is it weird that I saw a guy from the grocery store near my residence in Lija, walking around in Valletta and I thought to myself “oh that’s Carlos from Smart.” Okay, ya that’s probably weird that I know his name because we’ve never talked before, I am just observant and I’ve read his name tag. My point is that in the past seven weeks that I’ve been here, I feel more and more like a local every day. I usually eat lunch at one of four places which therefore makes me a regular there and it’s really nice when people recognize you and genuinely ask you how you’re doing. Take for example, the salad place (I don’t actually know the name of the restaurant –some regular I am), I went there Friday morning before my exam to grab a cappuccino and then later to get a wrap and the guys there asked me how the exam went. I’m not sure how many places I could go to at home that would do that. It’s a nice feeling. I also feel like a local based on the fact that I can spot the non-locals. It’s a fun game I like to call “Spot the Brit.” It’s an all-too-easy game because you can spot them because they’re the only ones dressed in some sort of white apparel, often times looking slightly cold because- surprise- it’s not summer anymore. I’m not going to lie, even though it’s not summer, the weather right now is really great- not too hot and not too cold, like a perfect September afternoon. Sorry you guys at home in 3 degree weather, it’s still around 20 in Malta. Woot 

On another note, I took advantage of the little free time I was given this weekend and I went exploring to Marsaxlokk (say that 3 times fast), the old fishing village. The girls and I walked around and checked out the market, sat down to people watch a bit and then came back home. When we got back to Valletta we noticed that some of the Christmas lights have been turned on in the city and it’s really beautiful so see. It makes me crave some hot wine and Christmas movies. So if you need to find me in five weeks time, I’ll probably be drunk under my snuggie watching The Holiday.  Here’s hoping that those five weeks go quickly -I know that the next 2 will for sure, I’m mentally preparing for a killer module.  

Trying to ward off the evil of my next course

Hitchiking & Old Friends

For someone who has an embarrassing sense of direction, it is amusing to see what kind of situations I find myself in when I have absolutely no idea where I am going. Take for example yesterday, I made an appointment in Attard to get my eyebrows done and according to Google Maps it said that it was 1.8 kilometres from the residence. In the morning when I went for my run I thought that it would be a good idea to try to run to the place which would kill 2 birds with one stone: first of all I would be exercising and second of all I would know where the place was when it was time for me to go there for my appointment. Let’s just say the only benefit that I had was the exercise since the first direction that Google gave me didn’t match up with the streets... yes that’s right, I’m blaming the streets for not being laid out properly. Did you think I was going to take full blame? But anyway as a side note, after giving up trying to find the place I was looking for, I ended up running around aimlessly just trying to remember landmarks so that I could get back to the residence. As I was doing so, I stumbled upon my grandfather’s old house, so that was really special for me. Later, after I showered and it was time to head to Attard, I hopped on a bus and asked the bus driver to just let me know when to get off which he was nice enough to do. The only problem was that although I was in Attard, I literally had no idea where I was supposed to go from there.

So me being me, I wandered around and asked for directions. The first person I asked was a girl crossing the street who was about to have a driving lesson. Between her and her instructor, they decided that they knew where the place was and said they would take me. Shwing! Listen, I know hitchhiking and talking to strangers is not the best idea at times, but I think exceptions can be made. On a weird note, the back of the instructor’s head looked like my grandfather’s... just saying. Even though things weren’t accomplished the way I originally intended, I think it was better in the end- I exercised, had a couple nostalgic moments, got dropped off in front of where I needed to go without having to pay taxi rates, and got my eyebrows tamed. I’m not complaining with that.

Earlier on in the week I was contacted by a friend from my 2006 exchange to London; Donna told me that she was going to be in Malta on holiday with her boyfriend (now fiancé – congrats you two!) and that we should meet up. It was really great to see her and it was great to know that although a lot of time had passed, we were able to pick up right where we left off. So that was a really unexpected but welcomed surprise; I’m sure both of us would have agreed that we would meet again sometime but we wouldn’t have guessed that it would be in Malta. I guess you just never know when or where you’ll bump into a friend.