Valetta can be brutally hot in summer. As a tourist, you don't want to be roaming the streets in the afternoon. Even Theo admits--it's too hot, so we make a unanimous decision to find refuge, in much the same way as orphans did 400 years ago. St. Catherine's Monastery for female orphans, founded in 1575, still stands today. It no longer houses orphans, but it is still the refuge for a small group of nuns who live there. It is maintained by volunteers who come on a daily basis and tend the lovely garden, feed the animals that live there, and do whatever has to be done.
There is an interesting back story to how the orphanage came about. A marquis and his wife donated the building, formerly their palace Casa Vanilla, to say thank you to God for saving their son during a plague. They built a cloister and donated all their belongings after their death.
Entering this cloister is like walking back in time. Before electricity and running water and toilets, before radio and TV, before the internet, you can peek into the past and see what life was like when people made the decision to get away from it all.
Theo wants to go straight to the garden. He wants to sniff the flowers and trees. Dan and I, on the other hand, don't want to miss a thing so we decide to follow the placards carefully posted that identify the various rooms so we can see this old-fashioned world.
Our first room is where washing of clothes and linens were done. No, there is no washing machine. Instead, they used a large stone basin.
Some of the brick walls are filled with religious photos. Now a days the walls also contain photos of the nuns who lived in the cloister. We continue walking and discover a room filled with wash basins. When girls entered the convent to become a nun, part of the expected dowry from their family was often a zinc wash basin or a small wardrobe.
Girls did not always come willingly. Sometimes they were dragged to the cloister kicking and screaming by their families, who hoped living in the cloister would control their behavior. The cloister had a room called a control room where the troubled girls were kept until they conformed. It is small and sparse.
Theo, ignoring the rope (where the door would have been) that says stay out, sniffs the basins and tables, trying, as we are, to make sense of a place that existed in a time that believed a girl's future could be determined by her family, that she might have little say in it. We move onto the next area, but Theo stops with a pleading look in his eyes.
"Okay. Okay. We'll visit the garden."
It is perfectly placed in the center of the cloister. The rooms surround it. You can access the garden from several doors. The sun shines in, and it is all greenery and flowers and fountains and statues.
There is a small fountain. Water trickles from a spout to a wider basin below. Theo hears the water and rushes over. I'm thinking it is like our fountains at home that all the cats drink from, and Theo is thirsty. But no, Theo stops and stares for another reason.
Turtles. Two turtles live in the small basin. They blissfully swim around until they're tired and pause momentarily on the stones. They soon take off again, swimming faster than you would imagine, considering how slow they walk on land.
Theo is mesmerized. He climbs to the top of the basin and leans over to get closer. There are times when I can read his mind.
"Do not go in that water."
He acts like he doesn't hear me.
"Theo, if you go swimming in that water, you'll freak out the turtles. So don't do it."
Theo looks up, but I can't tell if he's agreeing with me or not. I wait. He continues to lean over and watch the turtles.
I pull out my iPhone to take a video, but decide to take a moment to appreciate how peaceful and restful the garden is. I imagine the women who lived here during the centuries, how they must have enjoyed this space--the planting of vegetables and herbs, the fruit trees, the quiet and solitude of sitting on a bench . . .
I hear it before I see it. The splash of water. It is either the turtles trying to escape or . . . I can't believe it. In that split second when I focus on taking the video, Theo jumps into the water. He misses one of the turtles by an inch or two. The water isn't deep, but I suspect that Theo didn't think it through. He jumps in, and now he panics.
This is the kind of thing that can get you thrown out of cloister. It is a miracle that Theo is allowed to walk around and be a cat. Usually places say--only service animals allowed--and we sneak him in. But this is Valetta in Malta.
It is not difficult to rescue Theo. Dan grabs on and lifts him out of the water, totally dripping. We have a few tissues with us but not enough to even begin to dry him off.
But Theo, a cat after all, gives a few shakes and the water shoots off in all directions. The front of Dan's shirt is soaked. Somehow I manage to avoid looking like I got caught in a rain shower.
All's well that ends well. "It actually feels quite good," Dan says.
I secretly wish Theo had sprayed me.
And, Theo? He doesn't care that he almost drowned a turtle. He doesn't care that he's leaving water spots on the stone floor as he traipses along, in search of another adventure. And that's the beauty of being a cat. He doesn't care.
STAY TUNED TO PART 2 OF THE CLOISTER NEXT WEEK
