I first visited Malta in 2010. A new job. New people. A new chapter. I briefly contemplated moving there full time but I had done my share of island living in small-town Alaska. I’d have gone stir-crazy.

I visited regularly while I was in post and always made it my business to see someplace new.

One of my colleagues, Martin, picked up on this quest for new experiences. In the ensuing years, when I was no longer working with the organisation,  but still lecturing on the MA in Contemporary Diplomacy course, he would make it his business to take me somewhere I hadn’t been before.

I like to ask people to name the three most memorable meals they’ve had. Mine change over time, but the takeaway pizza from Maxokk Bakery that we ate overlooking San Blas Bay is a firm fixture. Martin wasn’t about extravagance; he had a great appreciation for simplicity.

Malta is a small island. That he could find something new year after year marked him as a true explorer. He was particularly fascinated with my fascination for cemeteries. He took me to see the Msida Bastion Garden of Rest, a cemetery with one of the best views a body could have. I never did make it back when the caretakers were serving strawberries and cream.

Sometimes himself would be with me. Sometimes Martin’s wife, Mary, could come along.

Martin and the two Marys. He liked that.

As we drove around the island, they’d talk about their recent travels – they were both avid travellers. They’d share stories about life in Malta, about growing up on the island. He had a wealth of information stored in his brain. And he loved to talk.

He talked. A lot. But for all his talking, Martin listened, too. He’d pick on something I’d say and then next time, he have found something to see/do that related.

He once got wind of a bat cave and while doing his reconnaissance (Martin was a planner), he found another one we visited, one without a story, and then it was on to Hasan’s Cave.

He arranged for me to meet Consiglia Azzopardi who teaches lacemaking at the University of Malta on Gozo. A fascinating experience.

He tried to convince me that carob would eventually replace chocolate and took me to see the 1000-year-old carob tree in Xemxija. Given the exorbitant price of cocoa these days, he might be proved right.

He introduced me to troglodytism (cave-dwelling) and showed me the caves on Ximxia Hill. When he heard Boss kept bees, we had to visit the Roman beehives in Roman apiaries at Xemxija.

One of his coolest finds was the old graffiti he found at the old fort in Birżebbuġa.

Martin wasn’t at all backward about coming forward. He had no compunction whatsoever about inviting himself in. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. One early morning, walking in Birgu, we bumped into a couple of workers who invited us into their workshop to see what they were doing with the statues. At his suggestion.

During the year, we kept in touch via WhatsApp. He’d send me photos of things he’d seen or places they’d been. I’d do the same. He’d send links to articles he thought would be of interest. Our last photo swap was of sunflowers.

In 2021, when COVID put paid to my regular February trip, he wrote to say he’d missed our annual adventure and sent me photos of trips we’d taken and places we’d explored.

Then the course went online and I didn’t go back.

And now he’s dead.

Life is like that. Things happen. People die. And I’m of an age when people around me are popping off to greater things.

I have a brass plaque of praying hands that I bought at a market in Malta. It’s on the door to my kapolna. Every day I pass it, I give silent thanks for having known him and for everything he taught me.

Happy travels, my friend. Explore the bright hereafter. Pave the way. I will see you again one of these days.