Hold tight, stranger!

by Irene Chirita (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

A leap into the unknown Malta

For the first time that day, I could feel a crisp breeze tickling my spine. The sun, which turned my flesh pink and my hair cherry blonde, was now setting, giving the Marsaxlokk harbour a calmer atmosphere than the one we had witnessed that morning. Only the scent of the market’s freshly caught fish was still persistent. Guided towards the shore by the watchful Eye of Osiris painted on our ‘luzzu’ boat, we were surrounded by a fleet of other bright blue, red and yellow traditional Maltese fishing vessels, following the gentle course of the golden waves. The scenery’s stillness took me by surprise. I wasn’t the only one returning a different person to shore; my surroundings were too. Just a few hours before, Marsaxlokk was flamboyant. Fishermen were busy mending their fishing nets while the open-air market was in full swing under the heat. The stalls, stuffed with aromatic local foods and handcrafted souvenirs, were lined up against the waterfront. Tan sweaty vendors screamed out offers at the top of their lungs. But we weren’t there to haggle. Our plan was to reach St. Peter’s Pool, a secluded natural lido, right at the tip of Delimara Point in the south-west part of Malta, away from infrastructure and civilization. As soon as I showed her the video I had found online, my friend Lela decided she would jump off the cliff. And right before I did, I decided I wouldn’t. The idea of purposefully letting myself fall from meters above terrified me. I was ready for a day of snorkelling and sunbathing, as my friend would take an adventurous leap into the unknown. “Water taxi! Water taxi to St. Peter’s Pool! 5€,” I heard in the background as we were strolling around the stalls, now trying to trace the source of the voice. We were already afloat when the bells of the town’s parish church announced it was the middle of the day. There was no trace of vegetation around us. It looked as if we had landed on the moon: the surface was dump, covered with small craters carved by strong waves. On top of the cliff, the air was dry, mixed with the scent of burning rocks and the aroma of my coconut sun cream. Stitched by a soft line, the horizon’s pale tint blended with the sea’s strong turquoise colour. Adventurers, just like the freckled teenager in the red swimsuit I noticed when I got there, would back flip into the abyss, while others would wait on the side lines for the courage to kick in. An occasional scream filled with fear and excitement would echo as they jumped. We stood on the cliff for about 20 minutes before Lela gave up. But as she made her way down, I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Instead, my adrenaline raised and took me closer to the edge. Trying to ignore how my knees were shaking with every step I took, and how my body was shivering at the thought of letting it fall, I looked down. The bottom of the sea was indistinguishable from its surface. And then I noticed that someone else was looking too. Her long brown-golden hair was glued to her freckled shoulders as the water was dripping down her back. Her face was full of character. The word ‘FIERCE’ was written on the front of her red swimsuit. I smiled at her as I stepped aside. “Are you not jumping?” she curiously asked. “I don’t think I can bring myself to,” I confessed. And with a rapid move, she grabs my hand. “We can jump together,” she says without hesitation. So there I was, holding tight to a stranger’s hand with my eyes closed and my feet back on the edge. And all I could hear was her counting: “3…2…1” before I let myself go. “The wallet of the timid man neither increases nor decreases,” says a Maltese expression, teaching you that being afraid of taking risks will take you nowhere. Yet, there, large at sea, on our way back to the harbour, I knew nothing about the saying. But looking back now, it feels as if I’ve been learning from it all along.