The Silent City of Mdina

As I stepped into the ancient city of Mdina, the air was thick with history, whispering tales of a bygone era. The narrow, winding streets seemed to hold secrets in their shadows, and the silence was almost palpable. Known as the Silent City, Mdina’s quietude was a stark contrast to the bustling urban landscapes I often explore. Here, the architecture spoke volumes, with its medieval walls and baroque facades, each stone a testament to the passage of time.

Our guide, a local with an intimate knowledge of the city’s history, led us through the labyrinthine alleys. We paused at the Cathedral, a magnificent structure that stood as a beacon of faith and resilience. The view from the bastions was breathtaking, offering a panorama of the Maltese countryside, a tapestry of greens and ochres under the Mediterranean sun.

The city seemed to exist in a different realm, untouched by the chaos of modernity. It was a place where time stood still, and I found myself lost in its timeless beauty, a stark contrast to the decaying remnants of Soviet-era cities that I often find myself drawn to.

Rabat’s Sacred Streets

Leaving Mdina, we ventured into Rabat, a town that thrummed with life and devotion. The streets were alive with the footsteps of locals, their faces illuminated by the flickering candlelight of the Altars of the Repose. It was Good Friday, and the air was thick with reverence and anticipation.

We visited several churches, each more awe-inspiring than the last. The 18th-century church, with its intricate altars and lifesize statues, was a sight to behold. These statues, I learned, would later be carried through the streets, a tradition steeped in history and faith.

Rabat was a tapestry of sights and sounds, a living testament to the enduring spirit of its people. The town’s atmosphere was electric, a stark contrast to the silent reverence of Mdina. It was a place where history and tradition converged, creating a vibrant mosaic of culture and faith.

A Taste of Tradition

No journey through Malta would be complete without indulging in its culinary traditions. As we wandered through the streets of Rabat, we were treated to a feast of flavors, each dish a reflection of the island’s rich heritage.

We sampled qassatat, savory pies filled with ricotta and peas, their flaky crusts melting in our mouths. The fried dough with anchovies was a revelation, a perfect blend of salty and savory. Honey sweets and carob confections offered a taste of the island’s sweeter side, while the bread of the apostles, dense and hearty, was a fitting end to our culinary journey.

Each bite was a reminder of the island’s history, a taste of the past that lingered long after the last crumb was gone. It was a journey through time, a gourmet exploration of Malta’s Easter traditions that left me yearning for more.

In the end, the Good Friday Tour was more than just a tour; it was a journey through time, a glimpse into the soul of Malta. It was a reminder that even in the most silent of cities, history speaks, and its echoes can be heard in the most unexpected of places.