Exploring Springtime Malta through The Maltese Web

Set amidst the stunning architecture and rich culture of Malta, ‘The Maltese Web’ is a thriller.

The Maltese Web is the story of a financial intelligence officer, Marica Debono, seeking redemption to restore her career, while battling criminals and juggling her personal demons and family obligations. As she confronts her own past and risks everything to redeem her career, Marica realises she must destroy the web to protect her island and those she loves. Set during spring in Malta, the novel weaves sights of a Malta into the story, that many people do not experience .

While much is made of Malta’s Mediterranean sunshine and warm climate, there are parts of Malta and everyday Maltese life that come alive in spring. Drawing from the experiences of living in Malta over a year, we had many memorable experiences in spring. Here are some excerpts from the novel that showcase Malta when it is not baking hot, under the relentless summer sun, and provide a taste of what can be thoroughly explored in relative comfort.

This scene is Marica, our heroine, with her trusted analyst Joseph. They are looking out from their office balcony of the Monetary Intelligence Unit, the MIU.

Silence sits between us as we look out across the edge of suburbia colliding with the green of spring fields. I never tire of following the patches of crops meshed with the brown dirt of farms preparing for more planting. Fields hemmed by the white jagged lines of old stone rock walls, stacked waist or shoulder high. I admire how the farmers built these field borders which turn the farms into a patchwork of green and brown marching up the hillside to the stone bastions of the old capital, Mdina.

As our visits had been exclusively in summer when much of Malta is a dry straw colour but living on the island during spring allowed us to appreciate the stunning beauty of the rocky landscape dotted by green and deep brown fields across the countryside.

Here Marica is driving through the countryside of Malta, near where she grew up and remembers the Festa Frawli, the Strawberry Festival, a festival we very much enjoyed. This opened our eyes to Malta’s small agricultural industry and introduced us to festivals that were not the traditional religious festa that we had experienced on our short holiday visits. Across the island we sought out the town festivals that celebrated both their past and present, such as the Bread Festival at Qormi, an agricultural festival at Mġarr and the olive festival at Żejtun, Żejt iz-Żejtun.

Fields of crops, large commercial sheds breeding rabbits and hot houses for vegetables, line either side of the car, as I head deeper into the agricultural land of Malta’s north west. The strawberry crops will soon be ripe and the locals will turn the streets of Mġarr into a sea of red during the strawberry festival.

Spring in Malta can be chilly, we arrived with suitcases full of summer clothes. Fighting against the cold howling winds walking the streets of Valletta and attempting to sightsee in between dumps of driving rain had us quickly shopping to buy warmer clothing. In this scene Marica and Joseph are talking tactics while taking a break from the intense investigation of the money laundering trail orginating in Cyprus. Birkirkara is the second largest city on the island and is the home of a mixed residential, commercial and industrial area. We would drive past the city on our way through the island’s central region to explore other parts of the island and it occasionally became our shopping destination.

He has seen the scarf, cap and an overcoat in my office. A gust of wind reminds me that I could do with them now, the zip on my purple jacket is pulled higher to extinguish the shiver that creeps down my neck.
‘There are another two months, before it is hot enough for me to go to the beach. The winter months are gone, spring is just enough time for me to get this body into shape.’ My hands run down my forty something sides over my purple jacket to my jeans and stop on my hips. ‘If this job will let me get home in time for my Zumba classes.’

His smile breaks out, interrupted by another sip of his Red Bull, raising the silver can towards the blue sky, ‘To summer.’
‘Watch out! Too soon you will be out of your twenties, if you are not careful, this job will make you an old man. You need to watch what you eat, cut back on that Red Bull rubbish and give up that filthy smoking habit.’
Joseph smiles the smile of an indestructible twenty-something, ‘And here we are overlooking the outskirts of lovely Birkirkara on this beautiful spring morning.’ His arms sweep a large ironic arc.

After a harrowing experience in Mġarr, Marica meets up with her sister Ilaria at a cousin’s farm. Here she discusses what she has just endured and is faced with a dilemma; she is convinced the investigation is inching closer to exposing the secrets hidden by il-Brimba, the spider, but those she is chasing are threatening her the people she loves. It is growing increasingly dangerous, yet she is learning more about her father with each discovery, firing her curiosity and determination to uncover the truth.

It is a short drive to my cousin Richard’s farm for the Sunday lunch. I concentrate hard, slowing from the stretch of smooth tarmac to enter a dirt road, following the narrow opening between the white rubble rock walls. I swing into an even tighter lane to enter Richard’s farm, the size of a small paddock. I park my car on the dirt patch that has become the parking area for the day. I take a moment to admire the view. A vibrant green landscape fresh from winter, crawls up a low hill, to the rocky ridge underlining a blue sky which is interrupted by slow moving white clouds.

Without the danger of a money laundering investigation, we did experience a visit to the farm owned by a cousin of my wife for lunch and drinks under blue skies enjoying a pleasant afternoon.

While the sea in summer is mostly placid with gentle swells, in spring it whips into vicious waters creating a spectacular display. In this scene after late nights following an intricate web in the intelligence they have uncovered, Marica takes time out on a Sunday to clear her head to try and find a way through the roadblocks that have been thrown in her path by the timid bureaucracy.

The rock shelves are empty for as far as I can see. The surging sea swell collides with the sandy brown rock platform, sending a spray to wet the rocks at my feet, as I walk along the foreshore. I pull the zip higher on my purple jacket and wedge my hands deeper into the pockets. The sun is strong but springtime is too cold for us Maltese to expose our skin to obtain a tan. Like me, several others are out enjoying a Sunday walk on the promenade above, with layers of protection wrapped around their bodies to ward off the chilly wind.

Walking along the Sliema promenade and on the rock shelf below became a splendid ritual both in spring to enjoy the route via the seaside, without being swept into the waters, and in summer. The walks in summer along the St Julians coastline to Sliema, would be punctuated by trekking across the scorching rock platform to take a cooling dip in the gentle sea swell before finding one of the bars for a refreshing drink or two.

I hope you enjoyed a different view of Malta, that you would not see in tourist brochures and that you liked how I have weaved spring-time Malta into my novel. Leave me a comment below if you have memories of Malta in spring.