🇲🇹 Night Stalker

Hello Adventurers, 

In life, I’m gun shy ‘bout firearms…but when it comes to travel, I’m never afraid to pull the trigger…a claim my Marathon Earth Challenge surely supports. Like, I’ll take a random shot in the dark…and deal with the consequences of my decisions (be they informed or not). My wife? She’s the complete opposite; she labours on where to aim — due to being more studious — when suggestively firing us abroad via airplanes.

Now, if you’re a longtime reader of this newsletter, you know I somehow duped a normal / responsible / mature woman to marry me a few years back (i.e. proof that atheists don’t need God to receive angels or miracles). And that this project — the Marathon Earth Challenge — took form through considered negotiations with my wife…since I’m asking her to accommodate me / make some huge sacrifices this year.

As such, we agreed to some basic ground rules; 1) I call Christine 7PM nightly (totally reasonable / doable / why I look perma terrible this year…because I often wake up in the middle of the night — in some other timezone — to call her at the agreed upon time) and 2) We never go more than a month apart without seeing each other; which is why I go back to Toronto to see Christine in between quarterly ‘legs’, and why Christine comes out to visit me on each ‘leg’ (having already joined me in Mexico, Italy, and Portugal thus far).

Anyhoo, me and Christine have just met up with my Mum and her partner in Spain — more on that in a future issue — but before we decided to do this, she debated wanting to meet up elsewhere / earlier so we could spend some time alone…but then she changed her mind. As such, I found myself with a few days to kill — after I had already spanked much of Europe / didn’t want to backtrack to European-countries-already-marathoned — but had to be somewhere nearby that’d have a direct flight to Madrid. So…Malta?

And so I went…to the little island in the Mediterranean Sea…where my Dad had done military exercises in the 1970s…and where my Grandad Gerry had been a sailor in the 1950s (and where he had won a swimming race on a day off…and was prized a tiger tattoo on his forearm…which mesmerized me as a boy in the 1980s, was the catalyst for me getting tattooed in my teens, and — in doing so — eased my little brother’s want of getting tattooed too…because I blazed the trail as the first one to royally piss off our under-the-monarchy parents with regards to permanent’d inky mistakes).

Beyond my family’s British-empire-on-its-way-out connection to Malta, I didn’t know much about it / went there sorta blind. And really, the plan was just to do some chill marathons and decompress — on what I presumed would be a Cyprus-like kind of island — after a hectic month of non-stop travel (in order to normalize myself before meeting up with my wife). And fuck me, because Malta — specifically, its weather / infrastructure — just didn’t align with what I had imagined (the latter being some sort of naïve guesstimate on my part…because I didn’t look into things at all).

This issue of the newsletter recounts four marathons ‘round Malta; a place I loved…but hated marathoning. Let’s get in it…being the country as well as my fucktard follies,

- Ben Pobjoy

P.S The ‘September Batch' of Pobjoy Postcards visited 'The Jesus Tree of Malta' on a marathon this week before they were posted from Spain. If you want to receive a monthly, one-of-a-kind handwritten postcard from me on my Marathon Earth Challenge, you can subscribe here.

2023 TREK TRACKER

Where in the world...record am I?

• Countries visited: 60

• Flights taken: 61

• Kilometres flown: 86,419

• Marathons completed: 180

• Kilometres trekked by foot: 8,554.7

• Total kilometres trekked since 2015: 71,646

RAPID WEEKLY RECAP

A speedy synopsis for time-crunched readers

• The Wildest Thing: I’ll keep this one high-level (so as to spare you from the grisly details)…but I was marathoning some highlands in a quasi-remote part of Malta, and came across a twenty-something tourist looking weird / holding a bluetooth speaker playing techno…in some random field sorta near a coastal swim spot. She froze when she saw me…and I visually replied with a look of ‘Um, have I done something wrong?”… and then I noticed her friend was squatting a few feet away taking a poo…and that ‘speaker lady’ was playing camouflaging audio / had totally failed in her memetic ‘you had one job’ role as sentinel🤢

• The Biggest Obstacle: Marathoning Malta in dangerous 35°C weather with 75% humidity AKA wet-bulb temperatures…which really hurt my organs…but that I luckily only had to contend with for two outta my four days there🤒

• The Lesson Learned: Google Maps is atypically unreliable in Malta (but 99% effective elsewhere). The app routed me across multi-line highways as well as suggested some roads that turned out to be impassable military roads. Basically, Google Maps led me into danger, induced some stressful situations, and necessitated some backtracking / me figuring things out on the fly…which was difficult to do when my mind was melting in the humidity🤬

FIELD NOTES: MALTA

An island where things are changing as time stands still

I can absolutely guarantee that you would have a phenomenal time in Malta if you hit the spectacular coastal swim spots, took in the wonderful centuries-old architecture, and strolled the seaside promenades (that exist in so many of its terrific towns). Not only is the place charming, it is super convenient because according to Wikipedia, "The [main] island is 27 kilometres long and 14.5 kilometres wide, with a total area of 246 square kilometres." Basically, you can get anywhere there by car in like 15 minutes (I’m not joking)…because Malta is that tiny (it’s just a lil less than a third the size of Toronto).

However, Malta is sorta shit for pedestrians…and a total nightmare for marathoners. The island is very old so the streets in towns and villages — which can date back hundreds if not a thousand years — can be tight; meaning you feel the vehicles parting air as they pass you. And when sidewalks exist, they often have a thin width (two feet-ish?) or are sorta gnarly / bumpy / busted. But it is manageable…if you’re surefooted. However, in urban areas much is walled and winding so you can’t see what’s around a bend…until a car comes whipping ‘round it / within inches of you. Again, still not too bad if you move defensively / stay alert.

But it is the bigger roads through the countryside — that connect the towns and villages to one another — that tend to be most dangerous for marathoning. While there are only 520,000 ish people living across the Maltese islands, it has the fourth highest level of car ownership in the European Union. So there are lots of cars…all driven with a lax driving style; like little to no indicating when changing lanes or turning…and stop signs / crosswalks…they’re just sorta interpreted as a ‘sometimes yield sign’…but no vehicle ever comes to a complete stop. And the sidewalks are spotty on these roads; they’ll exist for a couple hundred metres (where the width wanes and tapers), they end, and then you have to sprint and ‘frogger’ across a few lanes of fast traffic and pole vault the dividing guard rail to get to the other side of the road…to pick-up the sidewalk there…which’ll then end in another few hundred metres. This sketchy crisscrossing is constant…made harder with sight-limiting walls / curves in the road, and stretches where there’s no streetlights…so you’re squinting to decode objects / trying to process the state of the terrain under your feet in the moonlight…or in total darkness where you’re dependent on car headlights for light (which cast weird shadows / trick your eyes). Honestly, it is kinda stressful…and I was clenching my marathoned-chaffed, no muscle, girl-child-looking butt cheeks a lot.

Furthermore, there are very few traffic lights, lots of multi-lane roundabouts with no pedestrian markings (so you gotta say a prayer, give’r, and hope cars swerve ‘round you), oh and on occasion you’ll get pushed off of the road by vehicles — and into — jagged stone walls or cactus needles (no trees, cacti or bushes seem to get ‘trimmed back’ here by public works so the sidewalks can be totally obstructed). And you’re doing all this while adapting to cars driving on the left…which is one of the few holdovers left from the island being a British colony (which isn’t felt much beyond the abandoned red telephone boxes from yesteryear…and today’s handful of Marks and Spencer locations). And yes, I just went boringly deep on the state of the streets…but it’ll be relevant if you keep reading. Plus, I wanted you to feel what I felt…since it isn’t apparent in my photos.

Lastly, in terms of infrastructure — and driving style — and the developing state of development here, Malta-as-place IMO feels way more North African / Middle Eastern than European…and I’m continually finding (due to the amount of kilometres I’ve cranked out worldwide by foot this year) that Europe — as a whole as well as what it means to be European — is a complete construct in terms of concept. Really, it’s just a super loose thing — more of a club / less of a cohesive cultural thing-y at this point in time — and just way more of a geopolitical grab bag.

Malta had me thinking its roads were maybe the inspo for AC/DC’s Highway to Hell…but the highway-like roads here do spit you out into towns that are pure architectural heaven. Said another way, the pedestrian pain does pay dividends. Me? I was most partial to places in-land — yes, because they have 17th century rotundas and fortified cities from the medieval period — but mostly ‘cause towns like Rabat (my fave) exemplify Maltese uniqueness; new and old builds made from limestone (which gives everything such visual cohesion), and because structures show the waves of past influences on these lands (which have been ruled by the Phoenicians and Carthaginians, Greeks, Romans, Arabs, Normans, Aragonese, Knights of St. John, French, and British).

IMO, the three defining features of Maltese homes are the gallarija (being ornate closed wooden balconies that hover out over streets / are an Islamic descendant of the mashrabiya which were used for privacy, modesty, and oppressing women…when da ladies weren’t culturally permitted to leave the house…but allowed to watch the street from the indoors), insanely colourful doors (this IG dedicated to them is a must-follow), and ornate door handles or door knockers (this is worth a quick glance / read). From afar — as well as up-close — I just loved exploring buildings here; every single fucking town had absolute stunners (that span hundreds of years), and I was sorta gobsmacked by how such a small place could have so much variety.

Outta duty, I feel like I have to acknowledge Valletta — Malta’s capital — which is the EU’s smallest capital at just 0.61 square kilometres in size. TBH, I found it to be a big tourist trap…but it has a rich history, and is sprinkled with 320 monuments (namely religious reliefs on the corners of buildings)…and I guess it is worth checking out. Specifically, the Saint John's Co-Cathedral which has the most slammin’ / glittery gold / maximalist interior, houses some of Caravaggio’s best paintings, AND HAS THE MOST SKELETON-COVERED / HEAVY METAL FLOOR I HAVE EVER SEEN!!! Like, it is nothing but dead, reinterred knights under intricate marbled memento mori. And, if I ever won the lottery / owned a house, I think I’d do a riff on this cathedral’s visually dizzying floor (but prolly in some sliver of a mancave ‘cause my ‘regular person’ wife would likely have none of it house-wide). Anyway, I’d take Saint John's Co-Cathedral over St. Peter’s Basilica any day of the week! It’s way darker and way cooler.

Nothing gives me more joy than marathoning alongside the sea or ocean…I just find it so calming, grounding, and peaceful; seeing light rippling off of waters (be it sunlight in the day or city light in the evening). And I’ll never tire of the sounds of waves either. Swoon. And Malta, it just has it all; from raw-as-fuck coasts with kinda dangerous swim spots (i.e. strong currents and big drops into the water…so this is not the place for shit swimmers) to delightful on-the-water promenades in many coastal towns. I hit both — as well as the highlands — because I love it all / was trying to best catch the sea breeze (because I was melting).

Due to the heat, I’d mostly start marathons here after sunset so as to avoid heat stroke (as I drank six leets of water daily as I ate hydration / electrolyte tablets like candy). These nocturnal marathons were sometimes terrifying — ‘cause of the described road sitch here — but the late-night treks did let me see folksy Marsaxlokk Harbour, locals chilling at the inlet around Marsascala Port, the grandeur of Birgu, the hip stretch of Sliema, and joyous St. Paul’s Bay (where everyone was having a rocking time); all lit up at night and looking so dreamy!

The best tho? Malta is radly multicultural (like, on a harmonious Toronto level), you can get espresso late into the evening (verging on midnight), this fucking refined-ass civilization lets people hack darts on terraces, the people here are super nice (like, I got ‘doored’ five times…and the offenders were mortified / so genuinely apologetic), and while I’m a Pepsi Max loyalist the government has an innovative C.O.L.A mechanism that gets activated on the reg / is something other countries could learn a thing or two from.

MEET A MAKER: CHRISTOPHER CHETCUTI

It is really embarrassing to publicly admit on my part, but my wife has rallied behind my big dream sans pushback (i.e. me doing the Marathon Earth Challenge)…as I’ve traditionally been nothing but a massive barrier / roadblock / obstacle / asshole when it comes to assisting her in realizing her one big dream (i.e. us owning a house together).

I won’t get too deep into this — not because it’s too personal, but mostly because I was simply too rigid in my individual position; that I’m way more into being a totally free, no debt having, cash-flush rolling stone living for experiences rather than being someone who’s beholden to a bank / mortgage / structure on a continent that doesn’t know how to live good. But yo, my wife is a normal person — and house as sanctuary / proximity to family is her thing — and I’ve always understood her angle…so I had to finally buck up, suck it up, STFU, and commit to handing over the loot to help fund Christine’s dream (because marriage is compromise, and the opposite of compromise is divorce, LOL).

Anyhoo, it’s our wedding anniversary next month — and Christine has been a saint to me / my project — so I wanted to use the upcoming anniversary to re-acknowledge that I’ve been the problem, re-apologize for the zillionth time, and just re-communicate my commitment to realizing her dream. And I thought it would be cool to try and do this with a gift that blends our wildly different dreams.

So — when in Malta — I did what the locals do; I sought out a signature Maltese door handle (for me and Christine’s future home). And my adventure to make this happen was as serendipitous as it was spectacular.

Anyhoo, I did some Googling on the fly and learnt about the Funderija Artistika Chetcuti — the last / only artistic bronze foundry on the Maltese Islands — and basically showed up to the foundry on a marathon unannounced (and looking like a crazy / stinky / sweaty person)…unsure if they had a showroom…let alone door handles.

I left my boiling, non-air conditioned room in Msida to trek to Luqa to search for the foundry (snapping photos en route of door handles as inspo for what I hoped to find / buy). When I got to the industrial zone in Luqa, I sorta found the foundry but couldn’t determine where the front door was. Luckily, this random dude — who was near a gate — noticed me looking lost and asked if I needed help. I told him what I was looking for (in terms of object and business), and he was like, “I’m the guy — with the business and the goods — so come on in!” Basically, if he hadn’t been standing there — like, at that exact moment — I’d have bounced, and probably failed in my pursuit.

The guy took me into his little office — where I learnt he mostly does commissions of bronzework for artists, private commissions for the monied and/or makes statues for the country (all of which take time)…and I immediately felt like my ‘cash and carry’ self was wasting his time…until I noticed a bronze ‘tear eyed door handle’ on a wall…that I had photographed about an hour earlier on a door while en route. And I was like, “OMFG! I’ve seen that in Malta — like, I just photographed it — and it is exactly what I want!” to which he replied, “Oh, probably not…there’s just a prototype version of it on my front door at home.” And then I showed him my photo, and it was his work — on his house — and we both exchanged that “WOW! SO WEIRD!” look, and chuckled. Like, what are the odds of me passing / noticing his house amidst tens of thousands of others?!?! So rando!

He also commented that it was perfect timing on my part… because he was in and out all week, getting married (on Friday, as in yesterday), and then OOO on a honeymoon (on Sunday, as in tomorrow). I was like, “Congrats man…I’m married too…and here to get something for my wife.” And then he confirmed he had a few ‘tear eyed door handles’ left — which were actually designed by his wife-to-be who’s the woman behind Malta Doors — but said he’d need a few hours to finish one. Like, if I’d be willing to come back (which I was).

And then he had a change of heart, and was like, “Actually…do you want me to make you an espresso? And do you want to hang out and watch me finish it?” And I was like, “HELL YEAH!!!”

Anyhoo…Christopher Chetcuti, 35, is a second-generation bronzesmith who took over his late father’s foundry (his Dad taught him the craft). The elder Chetcuti had studied bronzesmithing in Florence, Italy before returning to Malta to found his foundry decades and decades ago; one he largely built by hand as well as from the ground up (including the kiln…which Christopher recently reconfigured by hand too). Anecdotally, Christopher is going to Florence on his honeymoon to see some of his Father’s earliest sculptures…how rad is that?

Now I will prolly butcher this explanation of the bronzesmithing process…even though Christopher walked me through it…but here it goes; the artist first sculpts the desired object by hand out of warm and pliable wax, the hardened wax sculpture is then moulded (i.e. covered in a silicone-like substance that’s allowed to cure then covered with a plaster-based material exterior, and this is then put into the blazing hot kiln where the wax melts away), a crucible is then filled with bronze ingots and heated to thousands of degrees and the liquified bronze is then poured into the cast, the bronze is allowed to harden / cool before the plaster is removed from the cast, and the artist finishes the sculpture to their liking (i.e. removing vents / the sprue, doing any spot welding, doing any decorative hammering, and adding a patina or some colouring if desired). Jesus, I hope I got that right! Furthermore, the process is hot — and physical — which is why Christopher doesn’t have an ounce of body fat on him.

Basically, I hung out with Christopher as he ‘finished’ the sculpture-as-door-handle for me; he sandblasted it, added indentations to the iris by tool / hammer, did lots of sanding, and applied a liquid chemical solution by brush to the sculpture to give the objet the aged patina I sought (activated by blowtorching the solution on the bronze…pictured below).

Christopher gets his wax from a church — which he up cycles from leftover ‘nubs’ from used church candles — and he fired up the fan-fed, kerosene-fuelled fire pit for me (he’ll have to tell you how he gets the kerosene…it’s amazing), and he even gave me a tour of the foundry’s upper level which houses his late Father’s top-notch sculptures.

Being able to see an artist’s creative space — as well as being permitted to watch their process, and document it — is such a gift…and this fiery day made my scorching Malta marathons totally worth it…everything was fuego!

Christopher and I developed a rapport quickly — as we talked about being creative weirdos blessed by wonderful women as partners — and then he was like, “Do we want to customize the back of this for your wife?” and I doubled down with another, “HELL YEAH!” So Christopher die-stamped-by-hand mine and my wife’s initials on the back of the handle alongside the Maltese words ‘għal dejjem’.

I was yapping Christopher’s ear off as he was doing this…which distracted him as he hammered the individual letters — being my bad — and one ‘e’ got stamped backwards. He panicked, but I genuinely applauded the forced error; love has to be an infinite acceptance of flaws.

Anyway, I’d like to extend an early ‘happy anniversary’ to Christine…

…And a belated ‘happy wedding’ to Christopher and Lisa (I didn't meet her…but she sounds terrific);

May both our relationships endure — and age beautifully — like Malta’s solid AF door handles.

BEST LOCAL THING-Y

This wasn’t the best local thing-y I ate in Malta — ‘cause it was so subtle in flavour — but it was by far the coolest thing I’ve eaten in some time. Basically, I was marathoning past cacti non-stop in the Maltese countryside, and I kept noticing these seemingly ‘new growths’ that looked like fruits atop the cacti.

So I made a mental note, hopped on the interwebz later — and I’m glad that I did — because I learnt they’re known as ‘prickly pears’…and that they are edible…but that the skin isn’t (it can turn your stomach if eaten ‘cause of some compound). So I brought tweezers, a knife, and a spoon to eat some on my next marathon…and did; de-pricking them and skinning them on some found rock then scooping out the innards. Basically, it had a mild melon-adjacent taste and and kinda like a kiwi-soggy-chia-seed flesh. It was pleasant — not good or bad — but mostly just neat. Like, to eat something novel-to-me…that was free-as-offering from the land.

POBJOY'S GLOBAL PRICE INDEX

This is an on-going documentation of how much things cost in different places around the world. Here are some of the things I bought in Malta (all prices converted to USD):

• One public transit bus ticket for a 20 minute ride from the airport to the city centre: $2.13

• One cucumber, one 200 gram jar of instant coffee, one 180 gram box of Neo cookies (i.e. 20 knock-off Oreo cookies), two 2 litre bottles of water, three spring onions, three 400 gram cans of cannellini beans, three 400 gram cans of lentils, and four 330 millilitre cans of Coke Zero from a grocery store in Msida: $16.82

• Five minutes of free air conditioning, one 500 millilitre bottle of Coke Zero, two 80 gram flapjack bars, and three 500 millilitre bottles of water from a convenience store in Marsaxlokk: $5.61

MARATHON MUSINGS

On navigating darkness, negativity, and things getting real

I disembarked the airplane late one evening and was immediately walloped by Malta’s wet warmth…it followed me from the airport onto the public bus and into the city centre…and then up into the stuffy — and sweltering — and sweat-stained room I was staying in, the one in some fourth floor Airbnb flat that I was sharing with the two Tunisian brothers…where the insufferably humid heat lingered for days; indoors, outdoors, everywhere, inescapable.

And so began the looping negative thoughts — cycling endlessly — as they became as dangerous (and felling) as the inescapable wet-bulb temperatures; where I couldn’t effectively shed my body’s excess heat as my cooked mind was overcome by irrationality as well as hot thoughts…where me was slipping away from me.

Doubting and dooming in the mind.

Worn and wiped in the body.

When both mind and body start to rebel against you, the spirit goes dark…and slips into some kind of no man’s land…in some far corner of the psyche. And it’s a terrible place to be, one terribly hard to claw your way out of.

The Marathon Earth Challenge is some kind of exploratory / existential riff on the scientific method…and I’m the chief scientist / test subject (who — at best — only ever earned a C- in my high school science classes). And there were some questions about my physical / creative abilities I wanted answered, and some hypotheses, and now an experiment that’ll yield a conclusion.

I don’t know which is which in the aforementioned…but I had some assumptions going in. And like clockwork, they materialized on-schedule; not because I’m a genius, but because I’m a mortal. And because I knew it was gonna come for me… eventually, as in now.

I did 174 marathons in a single calendar year a few years ago…so I figured I could do 174 marathons this year…meaning I knew this project was only really ever gonna start at marathon 175…and get progressively more difficult from marathon 176 onwards. And that’s exactly how it is playing out, and will continue to play out (not because I’m negative, but because I’m a realist…and because I’m positive that this test will be a test).

So as I get duller…as I get further away from home and familiarities…as I go deeper into places completely unknown to me…my advantages? They’re gone. So now, I just gotta lean into this (not knowing what ‘this’ is, or what ‘this’ even means anymore).

Malta was four marathons in four days. Two in the wet bulb, three mostly in the dark (on ragged and sketchy roads), and all four across 2,500+ metres of elevation gain. Eked out by a quit-y mind and broken body that were held to the fire to get it done.

And on the final kilometre of the final marathon in the darkness of a Maltese night as well as in the darkness of my self — I shit you not — it started to rain (but was too minimal to be refreshing). And this isn’t about that, it’s about the associated lightening.

There were thunderbolts out over the sea, and off in the horizon…visible but soundless. Something I have never experienced before.

And I see you out there…

…And I know you’re near…

…And to that I say, ‘Bring your noise’

Not because I’m taunting the reaper trailing me…but because I am here too; alive, kicking, and doing everything in my power to stay one step ahead of the scythe.

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