Tag Archives: Sunday

Maltese Margherita

Courthouse, Valletta, Malta

Courthouse, Valletta, Malta (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In Mediterranean warmth, it is easy to get carried away with yourself. I wasn’t. I was stuck in Sliema, Malta, with no Euros. Plenty of money if you counted the Pounds Sterling. This happened for a simple reason.

After being deterred from transferring my money into Euros three days later, I had decided to wait too long. Now I was there with no money.

This wasn’t going to be solved easily either. It was a Sunday, when businesses are closed, and I had arrived on the day, of all days, when the Labour Party won over the Nationalist party for the first time in twenty-five years.

That meant that the following day was a bank holiday. Great. This meant that I would have a hard time finding a place to transfer money the next day.

But, for now, all I needed was to eat. Eventually, I found a pizza hut where I ate a Margherita and was able to have another customer put the meal on their tab, later transferring the pounds sterling they received. That was really nice of them!

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Buses Don’t Run On Sundays

Copenhagen Central Station

Copenhagen Central Station (Photo credit: Airelle.info)

So, as I stand there, in Copenhagen’s central square, looking at the bus timetable, I realise, while supressing the rising panic in me, that the “Sunday” column is empty. Oh dear. That’s not good. Especially when your flight is that evening. I had to be at Malmo airport by nine fifteen that night. I was in it deep. So I call my mother and leave a message of the trouble that I am in.

I decide to head for the train station and see if there is a train to Malmo. There is. I can breathe again. I hop on the next possible one. As I recall, it left around six in the evening and the journey lasted about an hour. So I get to Malmo central station and glance briefly, while hurrying to the bus stop, at the city around me. Quite a pretty centre.

Malmo Central Station

Malmo Central Station (Photo credit: khoogheem)

Eventually, I catch a bus headed for the airport around eight o’clock. It got in at eight fifty. Jut under an hour before my flight. No time to lose. Check in. Then head for the gate. Walk. Quickly, now! Ok, we’ve made it. That was a close one.

Ryanair

Ryanair (Photo credit: Sean MacEntee)

My mother was furious with me for having sent a message like that and not calling back to say I was alright. “No”, I told everyone when I got back, “I wasn’t arrested”.