The Lure of the Dingli Cliffs

 So far Dan, Theo and myself have spent all of our time in Malta in Valletta, the capital. This morning we decide to branch out and visit the small village of Had Dingli that dates back to prehistoric times. It is approximately eight miles away and known for its scenery, most specifically the sweeping vistas of the sea.  

Less than 4,000 people live there. For years Had Dingli was connected to Rabat, Malta, but when Malta was divided into small parishes, Had Dingli came into its own. 

Had Dingli is also known for--and you spot them right away--the super high cliffs. It is actually the highest place in Malta. Which most likely explains why Had Dingli is still semi-rural, with little to no public transportation to get there from Valletta. 

 

I'm glad we're seeing these cliffs from a distance. No one has any desire to climb onto those giant stone rocks for a better view. We can see imaginary signs for danger all around.

Except Theo. He's been squirming around all morning. Not content to be carried safely in a backpack to see the scenery. As always, he wants to be on the ground, sniffing.

"What do you think?"

I shrug. There's only so much you can do to keep a cat happy. They always seem to have their own agenda. Which, of course, they'll never admit to. Dan puts him down.  

I issue the usual warning. "Stay with us, Theo, and stay away from those cliffs."

We slowly walk around and continue to explore. Theo is sniffing behind us. I continue to look back, just to make sure he has no intention of making a mad dash toward the boulders, that now seem like they're getting closer. Or are we getting closer to them?

We seem to be walking in a diagonal direction. Unconsciously, we've been trying to stay near Theo, 'close enough to scoop him up' distance, while he's been slowly but surely making his way toward the boulders, ie. the cliffs. 

I whisper to Dan, "Do you see what he's doing?"

Dan smiles, supremely calm. "He's either moving closer to the cliffs or the cliffs are moving closer to us."

"And moving closer to him." (Referring to our gangster cat.)

Sometimes it seems as if we speak a secret language to each other. Dan's eyes widen--a sign that he's about to take action.

"I get you."

Dan wanders over to Theo. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out our secret stash of dried cat food. Theo looks up and comes over. We have a small portable, rubberized bowl that flattens for easy carrying. But now Dan punches it out to be a bowl. We pour the food. Theo sniffs his way over. Danger is averted. For now.

There is one more thing we want to see. An ancient, tiny chapel--St. Mary Magdalen Chapel--overlooks the Dingli Cliffs. No one knows when it was originally built but there is a reference to it dating back to 1446. It was used by the local farmers. It is of simple construction with one door and one window. By 1575 it collapsed, but it was rebuilt in 1646. There's an inscription--dating from hundreds of years ago--above the door that this chapel was not awarded the usual "ecclesiastical immunity". That was changed years later.

We can't go inside, but we learn that the altar is made of limestone and behind the altar there's an altarpiece depicting Jesus forgiving Mary Magdalen.  

I stand in wonder--in awe of the Dingli Cliffs and the ancient chapel that in one form or another has been around for almost 600 years. Theo is about to take a nap. And so it goes. 

Bunny Heaven in the Cloister

 Despite the almost turtle drowning, Dan and I (with Theo grumbling beside us) continue mosying around and investigating the 400 year old cloister in Valletta, Malta. Even though this cloister used to be a palace, there's nothing elaborate here, but the stone walls are quaint and soothing. 

We visit a room where the sisters did their ironing and mending. 

We visit a room filled with ovens for cooking and baking.

There is also a room that the nuns used to prepare rose water, known as Melissa. They used a wine making machine to distill rose petals, adding crushed rose leaves, red wine and other herbs. Rose water had a wonderful lemony aroma and attracted bees. It was used for its anti-inflammatory properties and to soothe and hydrate skin. 

We look up and notice the religious decorations that surround us--the various statues of saints, of angels affixed to the stone walls. 

We are so engrossed in trying to understand a lifestyle that is so different from ours that we don't notice that Theo has gone unusually silent. "Theo silence" usually means he's plotting something. I look around to make sure that all is well, but Theo isn't there. Another cat has taken his place. It's as if a magic spell has occurred. A young skinny cat is walking between Dan's leg, where Theo was just moments before. What?

There are only two possible explanations. Theo has turned into another cat (highly unlikely but this place does give off some unusual vibes) or Theo has walked off and by pure coincidence, another cat has appeared. Out of nowhere? 

This cloister is a big place. Theo could have wandered anywhere, but there's usually a method to his exploring. If only we can figure out what it is. What would he be interested in? Besides food . . .

We glance at the cat who is looking up at us. As if he's trying to tell us something. "Let's follow this guy and see where he leads," Dan suggests.

Sure enough, as if on cue, the cat takes off across the courtyard and down a hallway. He's wandering to a part of the cloister we haven't seen yet. Frankly it's a part we didn't even know existed. Dan and I hesitate. Are we really going to follow a cat?

Don't judge. 

Finally it all becomes clear. The cat does live there. Volunteers arrive every day and feed him. And where is the cat taking us? To a little bit of bunny heaven. Of course, that's where Theo is. Somehow he sniffed out the bunny smell and without saying a meow, he followed his nose. 

I want to say--"You're in big trouble." But I also feel an immense sense of gratitude that Theo is here, unharmed. I want to pick him up, but I hate to disturb him. 

Theo is mesmerized by the treasure he's found. He's got his full face in between the slats of the cage and he's watching the bunnies. 

Let him have his fun. Theo is safe. After a few minutes, we scoop him up, remind him he can't take a bunny home with him, and we leave the lovely and cool cloister.

The only question lingering in my mind is--how did the cloister cat know we were looking for Theo? How did he know where Theo was? Was it a lucky guess, or was there something more mysterious going on? 

I turn to say thanks, but he's gone. Without a meow, he led us to the bunnies, to Theo, and then he left. Mission complete. I try to get some answers out of Theo, but all he says, "I did what I had to do." His usual Theo response, but now I think I understand.

Theo Visits a 400 Year Old Cloister

 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 

 

Theo and Mt. Etna

 Years ago I saw one of Mt. Etna's many eruptions. From a distance it looked like the lava was spilling into the blackened sky. Some of the eruptions are harmless, some are not. It is wise not to get too close to where the lava is spilling out. 

Earlier that day, while it was erupting, I was lucky enough to take three different forms of transportation to get up the mountain. I then walked across what looked like a moonscape. The ground was still covered in black shiny glass-like lava from centuries before. 

Finally, I reached my destination. A crack in the earth on the other side of the mountain. I had to climb up a small incline before I had the chance to look down and watch lava flowing by inside the earth. The heat rising up from the crack melted the make-up off my face. It was a moment I would never forget. 

This is not the usual experience you have in other places. It would be considered too dangerous. I learned later the Sicilian Mafia was in charge of this operation. 

Now I am back in Sicily with Dan and Theo to see this notorious volcano. I want to see and show the boys that crack in the earth so they can see the flowing lava. 

We must ride part way up the mountain by car. The road winds its way up the mountain. Then at a certain point we'll meet our guide and walk the rest of the way up. This is not the way I went up the mountain the first time. Clue #1

The scenery is spectacular as we wind our way up the mountain. Everything looks lush, alive. 

We pass stands and stands of white birch trees. I don't remember them from the last time. Clue# 2

The higher we travel up Mt. Etna, the more spectacular the views. We can see the top of the mountain in the distance, where four or five craters exist. Now it's only spewing steam, but it still looks impressive. Again, there were few spectacular views the last time. Clue# 3

Then we begin to see the evidence of the many prior volcanic explosions. The black lava shows how far it has come down the mountain in previous eruptions. 

We have plans to meet our guide at a rest stop. We arrive and get out. Theo is itching to get out and run around and sniff. I feel that he'll have a much better experience if he knows something about Mt. Etna. 

"Theo, Etna is a very special volcano." 

We tell him everything we know: 

Mt. Etna is an active stratovolcano on the east coast of Sicily. It is one of the tallest, active volcanoes in Europe. It covers an area of 459 square miles. It is also one of the world's most active volcanoes and is in an almost constant state of activity. In 2013 it became a UNESCO World Heritage Site. 

Most eruptions occur at the summit. Some occur on the flanks of Etna, where there are over 300 vents ranging in size from small holes that emit steam to large craters hundreds of feet across. The flank eruptions are more dangerous. Since 1600 AD there have been 60 flank eruptions. Interestingly, the first recorded eruption of Etna was 396 BC. The historic record is filled with accounts of eruptions by scholars, writers, soldiers, and historians.

You never know if Theo is really listening. We watch him roam around and make a beeline for the lava on the ground. 

"Theo, we are in a magical place." 

That is true, but it is also a place of danger. I think about the crack in the earth. And I worry. Is this such a good idea?

We meet our guide and begin our trek up the mountain. She poses near a boulder that was kicked out of the mountain during an eruption. 

As we get higher and higher up, the path narrows in places and becomes quite slippery. Dan grabs hold of Theo, just in case. If you slip, you can literally fall off the mountain. 

All our hearts beat a little faster.

I say to our guide, "Does the mafia still run things around here?"

She looks confused, even a bit shocked. Clue #4

I then mention to the guide what I want to see. Now she looks at me as if I'm crazy. "That is no longer a possibility for tourists. You have to be a trained professional to get anywhere near that close."

I feel a mixture of disappointment, but some relief. 

"Don't worry. There are some great views on top," she assures me. 

After all the bragging I did, I know Dan and Theo will be disappointed, too. I couldn't be more wrong.

Dan, who is afraid of heights, is doing everything he can to stay on the mountain. He is not a fan of narrow slippery trails. Theo is happy just sniffing his way up the mountain. How many cats can brag that they've sniffed the actual Sicilian lava?

Our guide is right. The views are spectacular. The lava is everywhere.

When we reach the top, we see the crater in the distance. 

All in all, we are satisfied. I have my memory of the flowing lava, Dan made it down the mountain alive, and Theo is gobbling up snacks in the back seat of the car.  Another sort of perfect day.

Theo and the Sputtering Volcano

 I am not an expert on volcanoes. I don't know why they erupt sometimes and not at other times. I don't know how to tell if an erupting volcano is dangerous or just a sight to behold.

In the United States, there are only a few active volcanoes--Kilauea in Hawaii, Mount Rainier and Mount St. Helens in Washington state, Mount Hood in Oregon, Redoubt Volcano in Alaska, and then there's Yellowstone National Park.

Volcanoes that sputter and spit lava and steam are not easy to spot in the United States. The last volcano that erupted in the US was Kilauea in September 2024. The last dangerous eruption in the US occurred when Mount St. Helens erupted in 1980 and killed 60 people.

Maybe that is why volcanoes are so fascinating. There is that element of danger which warns you not to get too close. 

We are cruising to Siracusa in Sicily when we pass Stromboli, an active volcano in Sicily that erupts quite often. It is near sunset. A 3/4 moon hangs in the sky. 

We see the first fiery sparks every 10 minutes or so, and that gives me plenty of time to run and get Theo. He is napping, of course, but I shake him awake and explain the situation.

"Theo, this is a sight to see. I want you to come out with me. You'll probably never get to see a volcano erupting again."

Theo yawns.

"I'm serious. I wouldn't be so dismissive. Trust me on this."

When Theo is thinking or considering an idea, he usually gets up and stretches. He arches his back. He pretends not to be listening.

I wait. "Well?"

It would be nice if Theo says something like "No, mom, I'd rather not" or even "Just forget it."

But he doesn't. He relaxes and closes his eyes. 

"Theo."

Volcanos are not his thing. Obviously.

I'm back outside on the deck. The sparks from the volcano get bigger and bigger.

Then two lava sparks appear, and the lava begins to flow. You can see it begin to wind its way down the mountain. We're assured there is no danger. It is far enough away from civilization to hurt anyone. 

An erupting volcano is a mesmerizing event. You have a hard time pulling away. We blithely walk around on the earth, seldom thinking about what lies underneath. Until we have an earthquake. Or until a volcano erupts. 

Later, I show Theo the video I took. His attitude is completely different. He wants to see all three videos. He actually looks excited to watch the sparks and sputters. 

I don't want to say "I told you so" but the words pop out of my mouth. I feel bad.

"Well, tomorrow," I tell him, "We'll be climbing up Mt. Etna. Dad can put you in his backpack. Maybe you'll even be able to see some lava up close and personal."

 

Theo and St. Bart's Thumb

 We drag a love sick cat with us to the island of Lipari. Theo doesn't want to leave Sorrento and Ms. Cow. We lure him with a promise of extra snacks and a peek into one of the most famous churches in the area, famous because of a thumb--a relic of a saint--that is now there.

Imagine--we are in the Tyrrhenian Sea with incredible views before we land on the largest island in the archipelago that sits offshore near Sicily.  Theo is not interested in the view; he only wants to see the thumb.

We love the idea of visiting Lipari. Yes, we want to see the thumb--more on that in a minute--but we also want to see one of the best sides of Italy--unspoiled, less touristy, with narrow cobblestone streets, and raw balconies, the old intermingled with the new. 

We walk the streets, take in the sea views, and enjoy the sights, ever aware that Theo is not a happy camper. 

"Where is the thumb?" he wants to know.

We enter the Cathedral of St. Bartholomew, and Bart is everywhere.

 

One source says the thumb rests within a silver arm container for holy relics in the cathedral. It is only exposed for veneration during the feast days of the saint. What? We don't dare tell Theo that.

Another source says St. Bart's thumb rests within the red porphyry basin (a reddish purple rock, very rare, considered the royal rock) that supports the main altar of the Cathedral di San Bartolomeo. So that's where we're headed (with trepidation) to the main altar of the Cathedral.

"There it is," we say, keenly aware that Theo actually wants to see the thumb. Up close and personal. Maybe even sniff it. He doesn't want to imagine that the thumb is encased in some container that he can't see. He doesn't want to know there is a rope that prevents visitors from getting too close.

"First, you have to hear the story of St. Bartholomew so you'll have some appreciation of why his thumb is so important."

Theo gives us the stink eye.

We persevere: "Bartholomew was a preacher in Asia who converted many people to the Christian faith. That's why he was killed by the pagans in Armenia in the most horrific way. While he was still alive, they removed his skin. Then they beheaded him."

Theo is slightly interested. This is a story that he can appreciate--the sheer ghoulishness of it. 

"The local people prayed to him and reported that there were miracles in his name. So the locals became more devoted which angered the pagans who then put Bartholomew's remains in a marble chest and threw it out to sea to get rid of him once and for all."

Theo yawns, but he's still listening.

"The chest didn't sink but instead floated on the top of the water and was carried by a current to Lipari. The local bishop, who was warned by an angel in a dream of Bartholomew's arrival, welcomed his remains. The local population, honored, decided to make St. Bartholomew the patron saint of the Aeolian Island."

Theo has closed his eyes. Is he asleep? Dan motions me to keep on talking. Maybe this is our way out. We'll just tell him he missed the thumb when he wakes up.

"So," I continue, "over the centuries, the people called on their patron saint to save them from earthquakes, plagues, and barbarian attacks. Then the remains were stolen and sent to Rome. But still the people believed. They took up a collection and built a silver statue in his honor in 1728 which is on the main altar of the Cathedral of St. Bartholomew. Today his thumb is the only relic that remains."

There is no one else in the Cathedral. We are standing in front of the altar. I feel bad for what we're about to do. Dan slowly lifts up a sleeping Theo and we leave.

As we are on our way back to our ship, Theo opens one eye.

"It's such a shame you missed the thumb, Theo."

Theo looks at me with a great deal of skepticism. I feel guilty.

"It wasn't that great. We hardly saw anything. In fact, come to think of it, I might have blinked and missed the thumb completely."

The poor boy looks disappointed.

And then a partial miracle happens. We pass by a bowl filled with stones, but not ordinary stones--pumice, which is what the island is also known for. "Look, Theo, pumice."

Yeah, it's not a thumb, but the kid has a chance to sniff the pumice, and we feel vindicated. Well, sort of.