Our English classes reveled in Malta, though perhaps reveling too much is Malta’s great scourge.
It is a place so tromped-over for millennia that it lacks much of a soul. The modern English and French and Italian highrise partygoers do not help revive it. I was at times sorry to add to that burden.
But the traditional architecture is military-masculinist, very satisfying to a mind such as mine, and its greatest moment may have been in WW2, when, defending the Allies against all odds, it racked up the best per-shot success-record of the war.
As a result, Malta received Britain’s George Cross of Bravery as an entire nation, the only non-personal entity ever to do so.
Also, outside the thick and steep sea walls, beautiful ad-hoc fishing shacks are stacked between the antique fortifications and the eternally raging Mediterranean sea. That practical interstice is magical, my favorite part of the island.