In the 1980s, there was a resurgence of the prehistoric cult of the Mother Goddess among European scholars and North American feminists.

At that time, various books on this topic were published, including The Language of the Goddess by Marija Gimbutas and The Chalice and the Blade by Rianne Eisler.

Since I was interested in the subject, I made it a point, during my trip to Malta from Canada in the spring of 1988, to visit the neolithic temples at Tarxien, Ħaġar Qim and Mnajdra as well as the prehistoric cave at Għar Dalam.

Balluta Bay villa, June 1991

After exploring these sites and visiting the National Museum of Archaeology at Valletta, I learnt to appreciate Malta’s prehistory and its neolithic culture, in which the cult of the Mother Goddess featured prominently.

One afternoon during my holiday, as I drove through the outskirts of Mġarr, I gave a lift to an American archaeologist who was visiting Malta. It was through him that I learnt that there were ancient Roman baths in the area.

We visited the site together and he showed me the communal latrine, presumably used by ancient Romans who were stationed in Malta.

During my visit to Valletta in May 1988, I relaxed at the cafés in Piazza Regina and planned my sightseeing from a new Malta map − divided into sections in a tall, folding handbook − that I had purchased at Sapienza’s bookstore.

I also enjoyed having lunch at Anni Venti and breakfast at The Magic Kiosk, in Sliema. Café Giorgio, at the Ferries had just opened. 

Spinola Bay, June 1991

Spring in Malta was in full bloom. As the month progressed, the weather became warmer and I returned to Canada from sunny Malta rather reluctantly. 

I visited Malta again in June 1991. At that time, several sites in the Sliema-St Julian’s area that are now ruined or spoiled could still be enjoyed by local residents and tourists alike. 

When I arrived at Spinola Bay, there was no phallic-shaped Portomaso Tower towering over a conglomeration of office buildings and apartment blocks

On a bright, sunny Sunday morning, I walked from my hotel near the Independence Gardens to Spinola Bay and back to Sliema in time for lunch.

As I walked along the promenade, I took photos of the sights along the way.

At Balluta, I admired the still unspoiled valley behind Balluta square. For somebody like me who had just arrived from Toronto, such a natural Mediterranean setting could not fail to make an impression.

There, I took photos of two elegant villas next to each other which, at that time, had no massive Meridian or Marriott hotels casting long shadows over them. 

When I arrived at Spinola Bay, there was no phallic-shaped Portomaso Tower towering over a conglomeration of office buildings and apartment blocks. 

Nor was there that monstrosity called Mercury Tower, looming over the bay to spoil the view. On the left side of the bay, the concrete block known as Pendergardens was not built yet.

On a couple of occasions during my holiday in 1991, I enjoyed having lunch al fresco at the charming, old Hilton Hotel, with its swimming pool surrounded by extensive gardens, before the natural landscape was engulfed by the gargantuan Portomaso complex.

The swimming pool and gardens at the old Hilton Hotel, June 1991.

One fine morning, while driving in the Dragonara area, I suddenly found myself on the road overlooking St George’s Bay. 

As I drove down to the beach, I was charmed by the seclusion and picturesqueness of the bay. It was a weekday morning and the only people I could see at the beach were a few British tourists sunbathing in the noonday sun. An air of calm and relaxation pervaded the summer scene. 

This was the way St George’s Bay used to be before it was spoiled with overbuilding and with a crowded, artificial sandy beach. 

Much has been lost that was once unique and picturesque and for which tourists visited Malta in the first place.