Pssst. There's a rumour Fleetwood Mac's playing Basingstoke...

An old friend of my husband's (who shall remain nameless, for reasons soon to become evident) got in touch a few months ago.  "Fleetwood Mac is playing at your local theatre in March.  Shall I arrange tickets?"

Sure, we replied.

I couldn't figure out why a band that big ... even one 20 years past its prime ... would be playing in the 1,400-seat Anvil auditorium.  My husband and his friend figured it was a warm up for their much publicised reunion tour later this year.  I didn't think much about it.  If someone else was organising, and it was only happening 15 minutes from my house, I was happy to go along.  I wasn't a huge Fleetwood Mac fan but, like most teens in the late '70s, I owned a copy of Rumours and liked the songs.  Why not see it live?

Two nights before the gig, my feminine need for organisation emerged.  The boys had done nothing, and I at least wanted to sort details and pick a spot for pre-gig dining.  So I checked the website.  To see that we were attending Rumours of Fleetwood Mac, a tribute band.  I was highly amused.  The prime organiser slightly embarrassed.

In hindsight, I have to say that I probably enjoyed the tribute band more than I would have the real thing, had we procured tickets for the sold-out run at the 02 and trekked up to London and back.  The nature of a tribute band is to only play the most popular stuff.  Ergo, as only a casual fan, I didn't have to sit through anything I didn't know.  It was more of a theatrical experience than a rock concert, with everyone sitting down and actually paying attention to the show.  More my speed these days, as my experience at last summer's Blur concert proved.  They were fine musicians and, though several voices were clearly different from the originals, they were close enough overall to be impressive.

I walked away with three conclusions.

One:  Tribute bands are nothing to sneer at.  These people are serious musicians, bringing life to fine music.  In many cases they're probably in better voice than those they're honouring.  Who are not only ageing but, let's face it, have often destroyed themselves with the over-indulgence of their primes.

Two:  Fleetwood Mac was an amazing band.  The 13-year-old Ellen, a pop-saturated lightweight who would have been been playing her Shaun Cassidy debut album a lot more than Rumours in its debut year, never gave Fleetwood Mac the attention they deserved.  I clearly need to raid my husband's collection and get the top tunes onto my iPod.

Three:  Will there be 20th century bands that stand the test of time, attracting crowds to concert halls in two or three hundred years to give serious attention to their works the way we go to symphony or opera today?  The spectacle of 1,400 people taking Fleetwood Mac seriously, listening with the attention usually given to classical music rather than with the whooping, clapping and dance-along vibe of a pop concert had me thinking "yes".  And, I suspect, Rumours and a few other Fleetwood Mac hits may stand that test of time.

I might not have had the most sophisticated taste in 1977, but I like to think I'm getting better.

New York's Met makes 5.5 hours of Wagner positively enjoyable

When approaching a difficult opera for the first time, it helps to be presented with a performance for the ages.  This, all the professional reviewers tell me, is the verdict on the Metropolitan Opera of New York's new production of Parsifal.

While I lack the experience to tell you whether or not I agree with them, I can say that I enjoyed this 5.5 hour Wagnerian behemoth a lot more than expected, and that it stimulated not only my eyes and ears but my brain.  No, we did not nip to New York for the weekend.  I've finally made it to my first Live in HD from The Met cinema screening. 

This is a great way to see opera.  Sure, you miss the sense of occasion of a real performance. The Odeon Guildford is a far cry from the Royal Opera House.  But you get big, comfy seats, a great sound system, and all the action on a jumbo screen with excellent camera work.  This lets you see facial expressions and subtle movements, revealing that there's marvellous acting to go with those big voices. With two, 40-minute intermissions we were even able to bring in a nice picnic and some wine.

The comfortable environment was helpful, because Parsifal is challenging.  It's long, generally moves at a glacial pace and deals with complicated themes (including some disturbing anti-semitism that modern directors do their best to minimise).

The opera starts with a nearly two-hour first act that is mostly one character, the old Grail Knight Gurnemanz, filling us in on the backstory.  A wannabe hero, rejected by the grail knights, turns into an evil sorcerer hell-bent on destroying the guys who rejected him.  He does this by luring Grail Knights to his castle, filled with temptresses who seduce them and then turn them into sex-enslaved zombies who fight against their former colleagues.  The current chief kight barely escaped, but not before giving in to his carnal desires once, and getting wounded with his chain mail down.  That wound now refuses to heal and, basically, the order of knights and all of civilisation is going to hell in a handbasket because of his mistake.  This is sexy stuff, and would be amazing delivered in a Lord of the Rings style flashback by Peter Jackson.  But Wagner gives it to us in stately, dramatic 19th century aria with magical strings and lots of repetition.  It's beautiful, but ... even though Rene Pape's voice is powerful, rich and absoluely beguiling, my record of napping through at least a bit of every Wagner opera I've seen remains unbroken.

Act 2 is a blockbuster and, frankly, worth sitting through the rest of it for.  You can view a sample here.  Our young hero Parsifal has decided to save the day by taking out the sorcerer Klingsor.  He gets distracted by the army of seductresses, and almost gets seduced by the mysterious Kundry, who does all sorts of Freudian manipulation exploiting Parsifal's maternal issues.  (The director really plays this up; you could build a whole university psych class around it.)  But Parsifal resists, kills the evil sorcerer and gets back the holy spear that's going to cure the chief knight. 

This is good stuff, which fascinates, interests and repels you in equal measure.  The Met's production drove the spooky horror home, doing the whole scene in a pool of blood with those seductresses all in innocent white, getting progressively blood-spattered and sexual as the act went on.  Evgeny Nikitin's Klingsor was one of the most frighteningly evil characters I've ever seen on a stage, with sticky blood dripping through his hair and a voice that raises menace in your soul.

In Act 3 an exhausted Parsifal, Kaufmann's every muscle sagging with weariness, finally makes it back to the Grail Knights after years of wandering.  Thank God Wagner didn't decide to dramatise those, or we'd have been there all weekend.  He cures the king, takes his place, redeems the temptress Kundry and generally saves the day.  Again, we could accomplished all this in half the time that Wagner takes, but the combined quality of singing and acting holds your attention.

Much as I love the intimate setting of the Longborough Festival, where we've seen our Wagner live, it does make a difference when you throw all the Met's money at it.  Kauffman is an operatic superstar who combines his exquisite voice with great acting.  Katarina Dalayman is, according to the New York reviewers, the definitive Kundry these days, and she presented a compellingly believeable bad girl wanting to be good.  Peter Mattei's Amfortas, the chief knight, had you feeling the pain of that un-healing wound, half believing he was going to actually die on stage.

That cash also funds blockbuster sets, particularly Klingsor's castle with its oppressive cliffs and blood-soaked floors.  The Grail Knights' home was a bit too modern for me, with cracked earth rising to a horizon, a stream (sometimes water, sometimes blood) down the middle and striking images of sky, planets and landscapes projected on the massive screen that formed the back of the stage.  But it certainly did get across the idea of a land withering and dying along with Amfortas.  Nor was I particularly captivated by the choice of costuming the knights in modern business trousers and white shirts.  Though I understand the attempt to relate eternal themes to the modern age, I like my knights in chain mail.  These modern touches, however, stayed on the right side of challenging, being striking and interesting without becoming ugly, or eclipsing the drama.

Parsifal did nothing to change my usual opinions about Wagner:  The man needed editing, and I want to see staging by Peter Jackson.  But I can see the appeal, and I was delighted to be able to experience such an amazing performance, with such a starry cast.  It leaves me very, very excited that I hold tickets to see Jonas Kauffman in Don Carlo at the Royal Opera House in May.

L'Ortolan, Barbecoa prove their worth through consistency

Amongst the many advantages of our recent house move comes the fact that we're just 10 miles from an excellent Michelin-starred restaurant.  Dangerous, too.  We've been in the house five months, and I've been to L'Ortolan three times.  Is it a sign of good taste, or of severe fiscal irresponsibility, when the sommelier of one of the county's most expensive restaurants knows your name?

The excuse this time was a girls' weekend.  Cheaper than our traditional winter weekend away, we thought.  We'll stay at my place (Piers was scheduled to be away) and do one of those "staycations". 

We started with me whipping up dinner based around those ridiculously expensive dried morels the girls witnessed me buying in Madrid.  Slow-roasted caponata to start, followed by veal-stuffed ravioli in a morel and marsala cream sauce.  Hillary and Lisa bringing some particularly fine wines, of course.  Followed by lemon souffle and a tasty little bottle of Tokai.  My simple nights in have certainly evolved over the years.

Off to Nirvana Spa the next morning to soak out all the toxins.  And then on to L'Ortolan to convince the girls that there is fine dining in Reading.  Shocking, but true.

Executive Chef Alan Murchison clearly runs a tight ship, as this experience was just as good as the first three.  No chefs dropping by the table to chat, as in Malta, sadly, though the sommelier made up for that with amusing commentary through the dazzling wine flight.  We opted for the seven course menu, plus cheese course, rather than the 10 (there is no a la carte on weekend evenings).  Highlights included some delicate ham hock paired with passion fruit and pineapple (proving that the much-reviled Hawaiian pizza might have some redeeming qualities); the confit duck bon bon served with the duck liver rolled in pistachio (Murchison could make a fortune selling these as party food at Waitrose); and the rabbit with black pudding and a carrot jus.  Special praise goes to the team for assembling an all-British cheese board that rivals anything in France, with several options sourced from less than 20 miles away.  Expensive?  Yes.  But I'll keep going because the consistent excellence shows me I get what I pay for, and I can depend upon them for a delightful and memorable night.

Back in London, Barbecoa demonstrates the same talent for getting it right.  Backed by the starry trans-Atlantic team of UK superchef Jamie Oliver and American counterpart Adam Perry Lang, this upscale BBQ joint happens to be across the street from my office, so I'm probably here once every couple of months..  It's all sleek design and massive windows overlooking St. Paul's cathedral with a dining room looking in to the open pits.  All very trendy city of London.  But close your eyes and any Midwestern American will smell home.  This place knows how to combine flame, smoke and grill.

We had issues with the service the first time we ate here, but that, happily, has been an aberration.  I've worked my way through pulled pork (delightful, although far less authentic since they substituted the original cornbread with a gourmet waffle), the burger, ribs, fillet steak and most recently a grilled chicken breast on top of a well-crafted smoked corn salsa.  It's all been on par with the best BBQ places in Chicago, St. Louis or Memphis.  Which is about the highest praise I can deliver.

My only criticism?  Value for money.  This is simple food.  But it's served up in a posh setting with one hell of a view, under the aegis of famous chefs.  Which means that the bill for three courses here, plus some bread and olives and a side of veg (which you'll need, because there's not much besides the meat on that plate) will easily come in at £60.  For less than £20 more, you're at L'Ortolan's tasting menu. 

My search is still on for a place that's just as good, just as reliable, but cheaper.  Meanwhile, both L'Ortolan and Barbecoa will see as much of me as circumstance, lunch meetings and finances allow.

Malta's Westin teaches me why boutique hotels are on the rise

My husband did a very logical thing in his effort to impress me with his Valentine's Day treat.  (Of course, still making a big deal of the day now that we've been married 18 months is enough to impress. But shhhhh, don't tell him.)

He selected an executive suite in a resort with a big brand name, at the luxury end of the corporate hotel market.  And even with a discount, the rate came in at more than £300 a night.  Wow.  Should be a safe choice, eh?

Nope.  In fact, it left us spending the whole weekend thinking this wasn't worth the money, and wondering what amazing delights we could have gotten for the same price, or less, at some undiscovered little boutique hotel had we done a bit more research.  We thought of the obscene luxury and the magnificent service at Durham's Arrowhead Inn.  The stunningly appointed little corner room with the killer views and the gourmet chef at South Africa's Birkenhead House.  Our favourite weekend retreat in the Cotswolds, Windy Ridge.  Every one offered a better night's sleep, with more luxurious appointments, for less money.  Lesson learned.

Now don't get me wrong, this was far from a bad stay.  Let's look at the positives.  The room was huge.  A kitchenette, sitting room and guest bathroom, with a bedroom with a super king bed, off that another bathroom with a jacuzzi tub.  Both rooms had sliding glass doors leading out to a patio, a bit of lawn and an inlet, with views of the sea to the right.  The decor was the standard, high end mix of camel, white and black, chrome, wood and leather that's currently the accepted international norm for posh interiors.  The lobby is massive and impressive, with 100 meters of windows overlooking a lovely pool deck, the sea, and the 19th-century-palace-turned-casino on the point.  The staff is helpful and remarkably friendly, particularly the concierges who went the extra mile for every request.  The included breakfast buffet was diverse and generous, the attached restaurant was very good (see last entry.)

But...

First off, two rotten nights of sleep.  If a hotel can't get this right, little can compensate.  The mattress was uncomfortable, the sheets of dubious thread count, the foam pillows only moderately comfortable.  Thin walls meant seeping conversations waking us up on both nights, the poor sleep made even worse by our neighbour's 4:50 am alarm on Sunday, followed by conversation so loud and long we did the old university dorm thing and banged on the wall to get them to shut up.

Down in the recreation area, the whirlpool was only lukewarm.  There were cracks in the tiles on the pool deck and patches rubbed clear of paint on the bottom of the pool.  At breakfast, the coffee was uniformly horrible.  One morning, so cold we had to send it back, another clearly over-stewed and seeping out of the cracks in my mug.  There were cracked plates in the stacks on the buffet both mornings, too.

Then there were the things that weren't necessarily wrong, just irritating.  The huge hike down characterless hallways between lobby and our room. The impersonal experience of the whole place.  The absence of an iPod dock or any music capabilities in the room.  The oddly echoing empty spaces of the unused conference facilities.

Had I been at a conference in those facilities, I would have shrugged a lot of this stuff off, distracted by business.  On my husband's cash, however, I was hyper-sensitive, and feeling drastically overcharged.  With a recent track record of boutique hotels behind me, I had a benchmark.  And a new understanding.  This is why the experienced traveler is turning his back on the big chains, and luxury boutiques are on the rise.

Chains are fine for business travel, but they won't be seeing us again soon for a special weekend.

Forget the sightseeing, and you'll still have a fine time on Malta. Just eat.

We were expecting great food from Malta, and it didn't let us down.

Its mid-Mediterranean location means it's ringed by some of my favourite cuisines, well supplied with fish, vines and olive oil.  That's a fine start, and the relative prosperity of Malta's tourism scene creates fertile opportunity for some high-end chefs.  Particularly noteworthy:  Marvin Gauci at Tarragon on St. Paul's Bay.

A Maltese friend living in London asked her cousins for their pick for the best place on the island.  This was it.  The decor is simple and unpretentious.  Fish tank beside the front door, long wooden bar, plank floors, undraped wooden tables, big windows overlooking the sea.  It could be one of a million beach restaurants anywhere in the world.

The differentiation starts immediately with the service.  A polyglot gang of waiters is eager to get you settled, get drinks in your hands, discover your preferences, explain the menu.  And then comes Chef Marvin himself to give a bit of personal consultation.  Piers' tomato allergy?  No problem.  Couldn't decide between the starters?  I'll make you sample plates so you can have more.  Perfect.

Tarragon is creeping in to haut cuisine territory with its culinary show: "pearls" of different flavours decorating plates, dry ice making after dinner drinks smoke, salt-baked sea bass flamed and chiseled out of its case at the table, smokers imbuing flavour to fish right in front of you.  They stay just on the right side of going overboard and, fortunately, those touches enhance the local fare rather than make up for any shortcomings in the kitchen.

Being indecisive (or, honestly, just being too greedy to pass up the offer of multiple starters), we sampled a range.  There was a reconstructed olive; one of those chemically engineered spheres made to look just like an olive, but it's actually a thin, gelatinous membrane enclosing a liquid that bursts when your teeth hit it, and out explodes pure essence of olive.  I had an enormous oyster dressed with a "pearl" of smoked water and lime, made with the same process.  Rabbit is a local favourite and we had a creamy fricassee presented in a filo pastry basket.  (This would have been a fine main course all on its own.)  Add a plate of mushrooms given a sesame tempura treatment. The starting star was, however, a plate of beautifully cut slices of raw, locally caught tuna, smoked at the table (see photo) and dressed with a balsamic reduction, olive oil and lemon.  Some of the best tuna I've ever had, and a testimony to the basic truth that when you have exquisite ingredients, you don't need to do much with them.

Our mains were more locally-caught fish.  Though the sea bass is Marvin's signature, he steered us towards the barracuda, which was a seasonal catch that's far rarer.  I've been a fan of this fish in the Caribbean, except for the time I dove off a snorkel boat and ended up face-to-face with a big one; they have alarmingly large teeth.  I have to admit I like the West Indian preparations better than the simple grill here.  It's a thick, white, slightly oily fish that takes to spice and fruit well.  Unlike the tuna, I think this more robust flesh needs stronger flavours to help it shine.  Tasty, but I'd have the sea bass next time.

For dessert I moved on to a cassata Siciliana that was about as far removed from my peasant version of this dish as my great grandfather no doubt was from the Sicilian noble who owned his village.  A more formal version in a pastry tart crust with a delicate film of pistachio over the top.  Piers had a perception-busting mango panna cotta; the mango had been distilled into a sphere (Marvin does like his spheres) in the centre of the white custard, looking more like a fried egg than a sweet.  I wrapped things up with the local prickly pear liqueur, given added oomph by the dry ice that made it smoke like a witch's brew as it came to the table.

We complemented all this with some good local wines offered at very reasonable prices.  Overall, an experience on par with Michelin star aspirants in London, but with a far more laid back and fun atmosphere.  And cheaper, too.  Add the view of the sea on a lingering summer's night, and it might be worth a weekend on Malta just to eat here.

The night before we'd eaten at Quadro, the restaurant linked to our hotel (The Westin).  Almost as good on the food front, more traditional in presentation and atmosphere, an equally lovely staff but far steeper wine prices.  Local wines here were 30% more than at Tarragon, meaning our bills for the two meals were almost exactly the same, even though we had much more at Marvin's.

Quadro did a chocolate brioche with foie gras that blew us away as a starter.  What innovation, we thought.  We were less impressed when we found the same brioche on the standard hotel buffet menu the next morning.  Still, I might steal the idea for a future dinner party.  I started with artichoke-filled pasta done with langoustine before we both moved on to a local fish called maegre, also known as ombrina.  Very much like sea bass but with a thicker, larger fillet.   Dessert was a crowd-pleasing chocolate fondant.  Other than the introduction to maegre, the best bits of this meal were the highly informative staff, who were happy to give us all sorts of sightseeing tips, and our introduction to the Isis Chardonnay from local Meridiana wineries.  Slightly floral but dry and with a mineral edge, it tasted nothing like a typical chardonnay, was great with fish and prompted me to load up on Meridiana whites at duty free on the way home.  So overall, Quadro was far better than your average hotel restaurant fare, but nowhere near as good as Tarragon.

A nod goes to Sharma in Mdina, into which we stumbled for a late lunch on Saturday.  They have a great concept, tracing the spice route from India through the Middle East to the Med, providing a fusion menu with some real logic.  The exotic Arab interior is a nice touch for the part of the island that retains the most Arabic heritage.  The waiters, however, were the only people we encountered on Malta who didn't understand English.  Poor Piers' request for one of the pasta sauces without tomato got him a plate of absolutely plain penne just out of boiling water.  Fortunately a manager turned up to whisk it back into the kitchen for the addition of butter and cheese.  I, happily tucking in to a chicken shawarma skewer and a lovely salad, definitely got the better end of that deal.

Three meals, three great experiences.  No doubt about it, the food ranks on par with the sightseeing in a weekend on Malta.

Glorious palaces, lavish cathedrals ... but 10 minutes in an old boat top the weekend

Even if it IS one of the smallest countries in the world, two days isn't enough to do Malta justice.  In hindsight, the best sightseeing strategy would have been to stay near the origin point of the hop-on-hop-off bus tour and make the most of the ticket.  It's a great deal; with £20 per person getting us two days of bus privileges plus a harbour tour.


Three complications.  There are three different bus routes around the island, each one way, each converging at Sliema.  The buses are slow, and they end early.  By the time we finally stopped for a late lunch in Mdina at 3:15, we realised we were going to miss the 3:40 last bus and had to catch a taxi home.  Good value only on their timetable.  Second, City Sightseeing has industrialised their approach a lot since the last time I rode with them (in Edinburgh).  Pre-recorded info, rather than the live guides they once had, is interspersed with quite a lot of paid advertising.  Enough to make me pass on tours anywhere you can do yourself on foot.  Third, we wanted to make it to a special event at 11 on Sunday that blew our chances of using the bus again.  Still cheaper than taking taxis to everything we saw on Saturday ... but only just.

If you saw nothing at all, but merely walked around Valetta, you'd still be impressed.  The architecture of the palaces and churches, surrounded by the golden fortifications plunging into the sea, with more walls and towers framing the water across harbours on two sides, offers enough visual stimulation to keep you going.  But if you want to dip into more culture, here's our pick for the top things to pack into two days, listed in order of my appreciation.

1.  A journey across the harbour in a traditional luzzu.  We spoke to an old fisherman lamenting the decline of these traditional wooden boats.  A real shame, because they're just as charming as a Venetian gondola at a fraction of the price.  Eight euro ferried the two of us across the harbour.  Gentle putt-putt of the motor, sun on the water, golden walls towering up over our little boat ... absolutely magical.  And by far the quickest way to get from Birgu to the Valetta waterfront.  (And from there, courtesy a 1-euro-a-ride lift, up into the main town.)

2.  "In Guardia" at St. John's Cavalier (fort) in Birgu.  Malta tourism lays this historic spectacular on a few times a year.  Costumed reenactors present the inspection of the garrison by the Grand Bailiff of the Knights of Malta.  Our show featured musketeers, halberd-bearers, pikemen, flag bearers and a band, all doing their 17th century stuff in front of the fort commander and the senior knights.  Not to be missed if the show is on.

3.  St. John's Co-Cathedral in Valetta.  One of the few details I knew about Malta before this trip was that the Cathedral held a couple of famous Caravaggios.  They were as stunning as expected, especially as they've just been restored.  Even without them, the cathedral would be a blockbuster.  A poster child of Baroque excess, it features ornately carved, painted and gilded walls, frescoed ceilings and a floor made up of magnificent pietra dura tombstones the like of which I've only ever seen in the Franciscan mother church in Rome.

4.  Mdina.  The original capital city of the island, topping a hill at its centre.  It's a cross between an Italian walled borgo and a North African town, reflecting the mix of cultures on the island.  A warren of narrow streets twisting and turning to aid Medieval defence, given charm by countless architectural touches like ornate balconies, interesting towers and wrought iron gates offering views into sub-tropical gardens.

5.  The Grandmaster's Palace and Armoury.  Starting as the residence of the chief knight, this became the British governor's palace and is now the president's palace, used for state occasions.  There's a range of ornate state rooms fairly typical of any grand European house; the star sight is the fresco series on the ceilings of the main hallways.  The adjoining armoury does not live up to its "one of the best in the world" advertising ... it's a pale shadow of the museum in Vienna ... but it's worth a wander if you're interested in the topic, and has a clear and simple audio tour.

6.  The Experiences.  The Maltese tourism industry is big into "experiences" ... which is basically a grand description for a video about some aspect of the island, shown in a theatre inside a historic building.  We did three.  "The Malta Experience" in Valetta is an excellent 45-minute introduction to the island, its history and culture.  But it's essentially a well-cut montage of still photography with a good script over the top.  20 euro per person was an incredible rip-off, even if we'd had the time to take a look at the hospital that was included with the ticket.  We found better value in Mdina when 12 euro per person got us into both "the Mdina Experience" and "the Knights of Malta Experience."  The last was actually my favourite, as it followed the video with a walk through a series of life-sized dioramas of historic scenes ... sort of a basic, do-it-yourself Disney ride.  Because we hadn't done much reading before the trip, these were worthwhile.  In hindsight, however, I'd have read up more, skipped these and saved the time and money.

I've excluded dining from this experience list, because it would make my prioritisation list far too difficult.  Eating was certainly just as good as sightseeing.  No surprise for an island that sits at the crossroads of so many stunning cuisines.  Next entry, it's on to food and wine.

Little Malta provides a feast for eyes and stomach in two packed days

Malta ticks all the boxes for a great short break destination.  There's loads of culture, great cuisine, everything's close together, and you have a good chance of sun if you just want to kick back on beach or pool deck.  At three hours the flight is just edging over the line to excessive, but the complete change of scenery, culture and weather justifies the travel time.

We arrived at 4pm Friday and left about the same time on Sunday and managed to pack an enormous amount into the two days, without exhausting ourselves.  The first night we took it easy, wandered about the hotel and had a nice dinner there.  On Saturday, a full day of sightseeing facilitated by a hop-on-hop-off bus tour.  A bit of late afternoon R&R, followed by a remarkable dinner on one of the island's top restaurants.  On Sunday, a bit of local colour with an historical re-enactment at an old fort, a  boat ride, a wander about a palace and an armoury, and then home. It felt like more than two days, and left us wanting to return.  Which, I figure, is probably what you want out of any long weekend break.

This is helped by the fact that the place is tiny.  Before going I knew that Malta was a country comprised of an archipelago of islands, dead in the centre of the Mediterranean, and that the largest island ... the eponymous Malta ... had a whole bunch of different cities upon it.  All of which can distract you from the fact that the main island is just 122 square miles.  To help you get an idea of how little that is:  there are 609 square miles of greater metropolitan London inside the M25.  Yes, you squeeze just about FIVE Maltas into London.  No wonder we could get just about anywhere in 20 minutes, for 20 euro.

The aforementioned cities, of course, turn out to be more like urban neighbourhoods these days, all linked in a continuous buildup along the coast.  From what we saw, there's not much green space on Malta; a patchwork of small vineyards or olive groves in the centre, dotted with a couple more "cities", completely ringed by building.

But what building it is.  If there's one reason to come to Malta, I'd say it's the Baroque architecture.  Much of the island felt like a stage set, and it's no wonder that so many historical films have been made here.  The Knights of Malta, one of the great crusader orders who ended up owning the place from the 16th through 19th centuries, poured money into some of the most impressive defensive fortifications in the world to show off their strength, and outrageously lavish palaces and churches to show off their good taste.  The architectural unity of the place is helped by the fact that just about everything is made of the same golden limestone.  It means that even when there are ugly, modern buildings (and there are), they manage to fade behind their showier neighbours.  A particularly Maltese feature are projecting balconies of wood and glass that add individual character.  And provide the entertaining show of natives leaning out to talk to each other, hang laundry, or generally watch the world go by.

That's the overview.  Tomorrow, the top sites.