Even if you've never been to Malta or its sibling islands, chances are you’ll know the Mediterranean archipelago well. That’s because you’ll have doubtless seen it on the big screen – and your TV – too many times before. As far back as 1967 it famously backdropped the Bond movie Casino Royale, and a decade later lent its glorious blue sea to The Spy Who Loved Me (remember the final scene featuring Roger Moore and Barbara Bach canoodling in an escape pod floating on the ripples after fleeing the infamous Jaws and his ghastly metal grin?).
From Russell Crowe in Gladiator (2000) to 2022’s Jurassic World Dominion, the streets, squares and sands of Malta have done a terrific job of evoking various parts of the world. And believe it or not, it’s now posing as Greece, as is its next-door neighbour, the island of Gozo. “A holiday you won’t envy” is how BBC One’s new eight-part drama Two Weeks in August, starring Jessica Raine (The Devil’s Hour), Damien Molony (Bergerac), Hugh Skinner (Twenty Twenty Six) and Laila Farzad (I Hate Suzie) has been described – and while they’re keeping the full details under wraps, it does sound rather unsettling.
A group of old friends decide to head south to a Med villa for some sun and fun. But things turn darker after an illicit snog at a party, and t he pals, who refuse to grow up, end up disturbingly out of their depth, faced with a series of scary life-ordeath moments. Malta took me out of my depth, too, when I learnt to dive there (around Crocodile Rock, off the Gozitan coast, many years ago), and saw the seabed fall away dramatically to infinity. But I’ve been back many times since, and can safely say I’ve never found the place remotely sinister. My now brother-in-law married into a Maltese family in 1997, with an elegant wedding at the honey-stone baroque church in the sweet village of Naxxar, followed by a rollicking reception at the Phoenicia Hotel in Valletta (phoeniciamalta.com), the photogenic capital. Far from villa-holiday hell, even at Yuletide the visits have been sweetly memorable since.
I THINK IT’S IMPORTANT to see Malta less as an island idyll than as a city break with sea – it’s busy and urban, with an indelible British footprint from colonial rule until 1964 (everyone speaks fluent English). I wouldn’t necessarily do it for two weeks in August, but Valletta, all gingery limestone, is a treat of a town laid out by the Knights of the Order of St John in the mid-16th century. With its street grid and ornate facades, it’s Manhattan cut with a dollop of Naples, and its jewel-box Manoel Theatre, just off the main thoroughfare, is a delight: pop in and crane your neck to locate the perfect Instagram image.
A hire car helps – particularly if you’re having your own holiday with friends – but the bus system is efficient, too, allowing leisurely exploration of the arid and stony rolling landscapes that sprout Aleppo pines and thistles. If I could, I’d hop aboard one now for the half-hour ride south-east from Valletta to Marsaxlokk (Mar-sah-shlock). Even in mid-winter it can be deliciously warm and bright in this vibrant harbour town, with the multi-coloured luzzu fishing boats tied up along the quay and the sun reflected on the hulls, oscillating, as you catch rays and await your seabass lunch.
At the other end of the island, Mellieha village turns up trumps with its strand of yellow sand; and nearby Golden Bay is just the ticket thanks to its transparent shallows, dunes and the smart Radisson Blu Resort and Spa (radissonhotels.com/en-us/hotels/ radisson-blu-resort-malta-spa) on the headland, with a lagoon-like pool, just right for a meditative long weekend. Something more boutique? Few places stun quite like Mdina, the fortified ‘Silent City’ immortalised in season one of Game of Thrones. High on its perch in the heart of the island, it’s quite a sight, still radiating the authority it commanded as an Arab citadel, as the road twists upwards towards its postcard-popular arching entrance portal. Within, it’s pedestrian-only (unless you’re one of the 300 or so residents, who may gain a special permit). But it’s a beautifully walkable, compact place, magical when lit orange by street lights at night. And as bases to lay one’s head go, the landmark five-star Xara Palace (relaischateaux.com) takes some beating. Check in to one of the panoramic-view suites, wander the property ogling the antique tapestries, then do dinner in the piazza at the hotel’s atmospheric Trattoria AD1530. A couple of Cisk lagers – Malta’s favourite – and you may end up in a romantic clinch. Just try to make sure it’s with your other half – after all, who knows where an illicit kiss might lead?
Even if you've never been to Malta or its sibling islands, chances are you’ll know the Mediterranean archipelago well. That’s because you’ll have doubtless seen it on the big screen – and your TV – too many times before. As far back as 1967 it famously backdropped the Bond movie Casino Royale, and a decade later lent its glorious blue sea to The Spy Who Loved Me (remember the final scene featuring Roger Moore and Barbara Bach canoodling in an escape pod floating on the ripples after fleeing the infamous Jaws and his ghastly metal grin?).
From Russell Crowe in Gladiator (2000) to 2022’s Jurassic World Dominion, the streets, squares and sands of Malta have done a terrific job of evoking various parts of the world. And believe it or not, it’s now posing as Greece, as is its next-door neighbour, the island of Gozo. “A holiday you won’t envy” is how BBC One’s new eight-part drama Two Weeks in August, starring Jessica Raine (The Devil’s Hour), Damien Molony (Bergerac), Hugh Skinner (Twenty Twenty Six) and Laila Farzad (I Hate Suzie) has been described – and while they’re keeping the full details under wraps, it does sound rather unsettling.
A group of old friends decide to head south to a Med villa for some sun and fun. But things turn darker after an illicit snog at a party, and t he pals, who refuse to grow up, end up disturbingly out of their depth, faced with a series of scary life-ordeath moments. Malta took me out of my depth, too, when I learnt to dive there (around Crocodile Rock, off the Gozitan coast, many years ago), and saw the seabed fall away dramatically to infinity. But I’ve been back many times since, and can safely say I’ve never found the place remotely sinister. My now brother-in-law married into a Maltese family in 1997, with an elegant wedding at the honey-stone baroque church in the sweet village of Naxxar, followed by a rollicking reception at the Phoenicia Hotel in Valletta (phoeniciamalta.com), the photogenic capital. Far from villa-holiday hell, even at Yuletide the visits have been sweetly memorable since.
I THINK IT’S IMPORTANT to see Malta less as an island idyll than as a city break with sea – it’s busy and urban, with an indelible British footprint from colonial rule until 1964 (everyone speaks fluent English). I wouldn’t necessarily do it for two weeks in August, but Valletta, all gingery limestone, is a treat of a town laid out by the Knights of the Order of St John in the mid-16th century. With its street grid and ornate facades, it’s Manhattan cut with a dollop of Naples, and its jewel-box Manoel Theatre, just off the main thoroughfare, is a delight: pop in and crane your neck to locate the perfect Instagram image.
A hire car helps – particularly if you’re having your own holiday with friends – but the bus system is efficient, too, allowing leisurely exploration of the arid and stony rolling landscapes that sprout Aleppo pines and thistles. If I could, I’d hop aboard one now for the half-hour ride south-east from Valletta to Marsaxlokk (Mar-sah-shlock). Even in mid-winter it can be deliciously warm and bright in this vibrant harbour town, with the multi-coloured luzzu fishing boats tied up along the quay and the sun reflected on the hulls, oscillating, as you catch rays and await your seabass lunch.
At the other end of the island, Mellieha village turns up trumps with its strand of yellow sand; and nearby Golden Bay is just the ticket thanks to its transparent shallows, dunes and the smart Radisson Blu Resort and Spa (radissonhotels.com/en-us/hotels/ radisson-blu-resort-malta-spa) on the headland, with a lagoon-like pool, just right for a meditative long weekend. Something more boutique? Few places stun quite like Mdina, the fortified ‘Silent City’ immortalised in season one of Game of Thrones. High on its perch in the heart of the island, it’s quite a sight, still radiating the authority it commanded as an Arab citadel, as the road twists upwards towards its postcard-popular arching entrance portal. Within, it’s pedestrian-only (unless you’re one of the 300 or so residents, who may gain a special permit). But it’s a beautifully walkable, compact place, magical when lit orange by street lights at night. And as bases to lay one’s head go, the landmark five-star Xara Palace (relaischateaux.com) takes some beating. Check in to one of the panoramic-view suites, wander the property ogling the antique tapestries, then do dinner in the piazza at the hotel’s atmospheric Trattoria AD1530. A couple of Cisk lagers – Malta’s favourite – and you may end up in a romantic clinch. Just try to make sure it’s with your other half – after all, who knows where an illicit kiss might lead?
NICK REDMAN