As the sun sets on Italy, the moon rises on Malta.

I know this because I stood for two hours waiting for a bus that never came so I could watch every moment of the moon-rise from the airport bus stop. My advice? Do not trust the bus service in Malta late at night. However, this minor glitch to the start of my stay in Malta was not enough to dampen my spirits. I had heard so much about Malta being at the maritime crossroads of so many conquering civilisations, it fascinated me before I set foot on it.

I have said before that, due to its antiquity, most of Europe lives within their history in the form of mediaeval buildings and such. Nowhere is this more apparent than in Malta, where, especially in the main city of Valletta, residents live inside history, meaning they are literally living within the fortified walls that encircle the harbour and town – the fortifications that were first built in the 1500s and updated in the 1700s.

I, however, am staying at the University of Malta student residences outside of the city, which is also a hostel offering cheap accommodation that includes breakfast, which turns out to be a perfect choice despite the first night’s difficulty in finding it – which involved the previously mentioned bus no-show followed by another bus driver and fellow passenger assisting me with where to alight then another hour of asking university security guards to direct me and pushing my two suitcases around the deserted campus late at night before arriving and settling into my dorm at 1130pm.

I am here for six days, enough for a decent mouthful of Maltese life. But where to start? With a free walking tour whose 5 p.m.meeting point is the Valletta City Gate. I manage to get myself there early and walk around absorbing the Valletta city life.

What strikes me first about Malta is the colour. All the buildings are made from the same hue of sandstone quarried from deep within the main island and used in all buildings great and small. Its almost ochre-yellow is the perfect tonal contrast to the deep blue shades of the surrounding ocean. The fortress walls stand like a beacon to all incoming ocean-going travellers, and reflect a uniformity of solidity and strength. At the city entrance gate when you arrive on foot, there is an enormous ditch or dry moat at least 50 metres high that you pass over. You can imagine a trellissed gatehouse archway here originally with posts to watch all who approach and a lowering drawbridge. Now the gate has been modified and updated with no covering arch to denote that the city is ‘open’ to the world; not a closed off city but one – according our Maltese guide –  capable to be part of the world stage.

Our guide takes us through excellent detailed explanations of mainly the history of the Knights of Saint John or the Knights Hospitalers who were Knights, Priests and Healers (these days known as St John’s Ambulance) and who built the fortifications in the 1500s. Their role was to provide help and care for those pilgrims visiting the Holy Land during the Crusades, and they pre-date the Knights Templar who were Knights, Priests and Soldiers. Within the fortress they built a hospital accessible via tunnel from the harbour so that patients could be taken directly from ships to the enormous ward, where each bay had its own toilet – that and hygiene were things that were unheard of elsewhere in those days. He also lets us in on the psyche and thinking of the average Maltese, being one himself, and how their opinions  and social mores – from recent to modern history – have shaped the current identity.

Malta would not exist without its maritime industry and its site in the Mediterranean shows what a strategic position it held along major trade routes. This history is evidenced by remnants of ancient civilisations as well as more recent role it played in WWII (and was bombed extensively because of it). The ocean still plays a huge role in modern life: cruise ships line the inner harbour; superyachts and smaller fry sit in numerous marinas; ferries ply between Sliema and town; trips on ketches, yachts, or ‘pirate ships’ take tourists to various popular diving or swimming spots; fishing villages thrive on what’s on offer as local catch; the Rolex Middlesea Yacht Race is held while I am visiting; and it seems each person owns a tiny one-two person boat or dinghy moored nearby.

Walking around the city on the tour, I am struck by something else. I am warm. I am wearing a t-shirt and open-toed footwear. The temperature is a balmy 26 degrees and it is late October. Even a short shower of rain that catches us unawares is welcome because the rain is warm. I am thawing out after trying to outrun the cold. This is the first time on this trip since Canada that I have hit ‘summer’ weather and I am loving it. I feel like I have landed in Morocco with the warmth and low sand coloured buildings.

I am also struck by how friendly, helpful, warm, and hospitable everyone is. Many say to me, “Hope you are having a nice holiday!” The locals look like a mixture of Italian and Arab descent with swarthy features but blue eyes and perfect English. It is disarming and utterly charming.  Their local language sounds like a mix of arab words and Italian (as a result of being so close to Sicily), and indeed you have your Italianophiles and Anglophiles, as a lot of the older generation learned Italian, with English now taught in schools as mandatory alongside Maltese. They have a gentle lilt in their speaking that sounds like halfway through a sentence they needed to emphasise their point but in a sweet calm way.

While here, the author I have chosen is Edward de Bono, who, though not officially writing about Malta, is Maltese which I didn’t know, and whose fame regarding Lateral Thinking is world renowned. He coined the term lateral thinking in the 60s. It is a way of providing solutions to problems based on indirect thinking rather than traditional logic and viewing an idea or concept creatively to reach a result. This book Think! Before It’s Too Late proves to be an interesting and thought provoking eye-opener. De Bono believes that we humans have become complacent in our thinking, relying too much on logic, argument, and judgement, which appear to follow a linear path. He outlines, in this more recent elaboration of the concepts of inventiveness and idea creation, the use of asymmetry to realise humour and creativity, and that we need to change our perceptions and approach to thinking in order to solve world issues.

I am fortunate to be given free tickets to a hop on-hop off bus tour for the following day by a generous couple from Perth who leave on the cruise liner parked in the harbour. I have never done one of these before and find it convenient way to see what I want to see: the old harbour of the three towns; the Blue Grotto – a cave that reflects aquamarine-coloured inviting ocean waves; and Hajar-Qim – a Bronze Age Temple that pre-dates the pyramids. It takes a full day and in the evening I wander back through town to the ferry that takes me homeward.

I have been hankering for a swim. And you need to have a boat ride in a sea-faring nation, right? I manage to combine the two in a cheap day trip on a pirate ship. For €20 I get all-you-can-eat buffet, full open bar from 10 a.m., and a ride where I can act like a pirate for the day. We set sail for Comino, one of the two outer islands, dropping off some at Gozo – the largest of the two – and returning to a swimming place made in heaven, the Blue Lagoon. The sun warms my back and the sea breeze cools me down as we motor through calm waters to Gozo, pass through choppy seas in the strait there, and stop at Comino. I opt to not start drinking at 10 like many due to the fact that I do not know what the waves will be like, and there is nothing worse than stepping over beer-smelling vomit on the way to the bathroom. I disembark and climb rocky outcrops up off the boat and down to the beach. Even this late in the year it is a popular tourist spot. My roommate at the hostel – a Dutch medical student – told me that this week is Europe’s Autumn Week where many, including her parents, fly to warmer climes before the cold of winter sets in. This explains why I see so many schoolkids. But I am not deterred from my quest to get wet.

I set aside my bag of things, looking quite distinct in my large white sun-shirt (I am a fair-skinned Australian after all and I burn easily) and swimmers that I have carted around the world for just such an occasion, and clamber down the steps to the sea. The tide is in and the wash from the breaking waves pulls a little as I step off into the ocean for the first time in what seems like the longest time. It is cool but not cold. I brave the tug of the waves and wade further out getting caught in the swell as it gets deeper. I dip under the next small wave and emerge into the blinding sunlight reflecting off the water and making the multi-layered teal ocean splinter into myriad blue hues. I am in bliss.

After a few moments of enjoying the feel of it, I swim strong and hard for the opposite tiny beach, hover for a while there running my toes through the underwater sand, then swim back. It is ecstasy. When I return to the boat, the ship’s captain – a salty sea-dog looking man with a gentle face and full salt-and-pepper beard – decides to lower the side ladder and a group of us jump off the side of the pirate ship into the deep blue.

I return refreshed and my quest for a swim finally fulfilled. On the walk home I pass a few groups of yachties jogging along the waterfront corso, in town for the Middlesea Yacht Race, distinguishable by their quick-dry shorts and shirts emblazoned with slogans like “Stop dreaming. Go sailing!”The next day, on my way to see my final sight, I happen to walk past television camera crews and commentators, along with cameramen piloting drones for overhead shots, and I see the start of the yacht race. What an impressive sight,  watching all these enormous yachts pacing up and down the start-line on a glorious sunshiny day until a hooter sounds and they break away and run out through the harbour into open ocean.

I am in town to see the Knights Of Saint John’s hospital that they built in the 1500s. It is in a large impressive building that fronts the harbour and gave safe and secret access to the ward while the city was being attacked or under siege. The ward is one room that is 150 metres long and these days is used as a convention centre for important occasions. It is a breath taking edifice.

I decide to end my visit to Malta with a short wander through town, marveling that each street appears to end in a splash of distant blue of the harbour, and participate in the jaunty horse-and-carriage rides that abound – a touristy thing but why not? Besides, they look so elegant and I have never been in one. It is an awesome way to top off my stay, swaying in the back of a tiny fringed hansom listening to the clip clop of hooves on cobblestones (while being stared at and photographed by other tourists which is an odd feeling) as we travel along the waterfront, and imagining myself as a grand lady of the 1500s on an errand, ending with my stepping down from it onto the street and patting and cooing to the horse as a thank you. Malta, you are magnificent.