The rulers of ancient Rome kept their citizens docile by presenting them with spectacular events, including the gladiatorial games.

On Sunday, together with 33,000 others, I set off to discover fake Rome erected in Fort Ricasoli for the filming of Gladiator 2. The set is spectacular and perhaps worth the reported amount paid by Maltese taxpayers to the production company.

Sunday morning is the best time for me to walk through the streets of Valletta – no delivery trucks and no crowds and loud music. If I avoid the side streets and Merchants Street, I can pretend that the tents, the stacked commercial paraphernalia and the discards of a crowded Saturday night do not exist.

I arrived early at the designated stop for the scheduled 9.45am bus to Kalkara. I was the only one there and the electronic sign promised a number 3 bus. As the minutes ticked by, the crowd grew. I had arrived with time to spare and my Sunday newspaper in hand. I was at the front of the queue. The bus bay remained empty.

A few minutes before the allotted time, a bus drew in but did not put up a number and the driver kept the front door closed and escaped through the back door. 9.45am came and went – no driver and no comforting number 3 appeared on the bus sign. We waited. A driver climbed on and opened the doors. We followed.

“This is not number 3 – this is number 2,” said the driver.

“What happened to the 9.45,” I was foolish enough to ask. A shrug from the driver and a vague wave towards the office across the other side of the bus depot. We all piled off just as a bus that had pulled into the adjacent bay put up a 3. All the people who had joined the crowd last were elevated to saintly status at the front of the queue.

I lost my Sunday morning wisdom and used my elbows to squeeze halfway through the crowd, alienating my fellow travellers. But I made it onto an already crowded bus where a kind woman took pity on me, took her teenage daughter onto her lap so I could have a seat. The bus filled beyond capacity.

The driver stood to prevent the remaining hopefuls from forcing themselves in. We set off very late and perhaps Tallinja would lay on extra buses for the angry crowd left behind?

The uncomfortable ride worsened as we approached the Three Cities and the next challenge facing Malta – huge numbers of cars queuing to get to Kalkara and cars parked along both sides of the road. At least, on Sunday, the cars held groups of people rather than the single occupancy of weekday rush hours.

The bus became unbearable. People opened windows. Approaching the misnamed SmartCity, I observed another of Malta’s overwhelming challenges – the erasure of our unique landscapes. The roads are completely lined by high metal fences and cranes dominate the sky. Parked cars packed any remaining spaces and people scurried between.

I began to panic in the overcrowded bus and was determined to get out. I had lost all sense of where we were in the fence- and car-lined environment and could not wait until an unidentified stop to dismount the bus together with such a huge crowd. 

Approaching the misnamed SmartCity, I observed another overwhelming challenge – the erasure of our unique landscapes- Josephine Burden

I tried to squeeze through the throng of people standing. I missed out on one stop but managed to get to an open door at the second. Now I simply had to follow the groups of people dodging parked cars to get to the entrance of Fort Ricasoli.

Crowd control was clear at the entrance where we were invited to get our mobile phones ready to be sealed in plastic bags. As I waited, I observed with dismay the small, grey plastic bags already littering the exit.

But the real tragedy of my Sunday tour of splendour lay inside the fort. The set is magnificent but my main interest was the fort itself. I followed the barricades that marked the edges of crumbling chaos. On the seaward side, I caught glimpses of ruins and whole chasms where the fort is crumbling into the sea.

Apart from some of the neo-classical British era barracks that have been incorporated into the set, the rest is a jumble of decay and junk. My eyes were wet as I walked around the perimeter of a magnificent set that hid a crumbling heritage.

I took my sadness with me into the film studios next door and watched the wild sea battering the foreshore that has been denied to us. I was dazed and did not linger.

Outside, the confusion was such that I decided not to try and find a bus back to Valletta, I would walk to the ferry in Vittoriosa. The walk was calming even though the route was lined with cars. The ferry wasn’t operating because of the swell in the harbour and when I tried to cross the endless queue of traffic to wait at the bus stop, I decided it was hopeless and buses couldn’t get through.

I set off to walk to Marsa. I knew from experience that this is not a pleasant walk because the pedestrian has to circumnavigate the dockyards and industrial estate but, at least, once I got through the Cottonera tunnel, where cars were still queueing, I could turn off the main road and be almost car-free until Corradino where I managed to cross the busy road and catch a bus home.

I am still recovering. The problems that Malta has lined up for itself because of bad planning, inadequate regulation and unjust policies appear insurmountable. The spectacle of huge events may mollify some but, unless an effort is made to resolve the underlying issues, Malta’s heritage will continue to crumble beneath our feet. A simple start might be to prioritise pedestrians who tread lightly.

Josephine Burden is a former academic in community cultural development. She is now a citizen of Malta, a writer and a resident of Valletta.