Being Local

Today we strolled along the Xlendi waterfront, then through the village, its streets almost empty now that the tourists have fled. I paused to talk with Phillip who has an art gallery and runs an English language book exchange while ML went on to Buddy’s for a coffee and ice cream float and to chat with Valda, Tom and Julie.

On the sidewalk next to Phillip’s I ran into to Ben and Deborah – dive instructors getting out of their wetsuits-  and we talked about the changing weather and sea conditions. Then I saw Denis – a dive instructor who told me he was about to head for the Alps and winter skiing. Peter, who owns the building next to ours, waved as he drove up the hill.

Antonio and Alex, a handsome, sensitive and articulate Portuguese couple who own The Village Inn called out, “Ola, bom dia.” Antonio and Alex have an intriguing background they only hint at. This is their first restaurant and they say the only background in food is home cooking. They serve some of the best food on the island, so their home cooking must be exceptional. ML asked Antonio if he was a healer. He said no, but ML thinks he is, whether he acknowledges it or not. Being something of a curandera herself, she has sensitive antenna for such matters.

Late one night Tom invited us to join him and other friends at The Village Inn for a special event. Antonio and Alex closed and locked their doors to the public, giving our crowd the run of the place and creating an all night party for us locals. Wait a minute. Our crowd? Us locals? What am I saying? I’m not a local. Or, am I?

I’ve lived a nomad’s life, working, living or sojourning in or drifting through forty or so countries. It’s a life I chose. At fifteen I hopped a fast freight train out the small town Mid-west and never looked back. The result of this kind of life is that you come to feel at home anywhere – and nowhere.

Last week at a social gathering Nicola, a quietly beautiful North Country lass here for Steve and Kathy’s wedding, told me about her connection to her land, her horses, her home, how she felt deeply rooted there and couldn’t imagine living elsewhere. For a moment I envied her. But then I realized that I could never be like her, just not made that way.

And yet, and yet… Here in Gozo, I’m beginning to feel like a local, or at least as I imagine a local would feel. It started at Buddy’s, a pub where the local community hangs out. ML and I happened by one day with our friend from Italy, Pauline, who came to Gozo first, scouting out the land. We sat at an outdoor table. Pauline introduced us to Julie, co-owner of Buddy’s. Then we met Mike, her partner and husband.

It was at Buddy’s that we met Tom and Valda, newlyweds who enveloped us with expansive good cheer. Tom is a compact tightly muscled man with that uniquely English air of competence, kind of like Graham Hill the Formula One racer, the kind of guy you know can fix any problem, deal with whatever life brings. He’s a world traveler who worked for an American company in a dozen countries, including the U.S., and decided to make his home here. Valda is a pretty lady who dances Tom off his feet and greets life with a smile. She opened her home to us and invited us to a surprise birthday party for Anne, another new friend. Tom and Valda introduced us to others, including Antonio and Alex. They also introduced us to Pimms, an English refreshment perfect for a summer evening.

At Buddy’s we also met smiling and buff Dave and his wife Jennie, an English woman from Cornwall who looks like a Spanish countess and has a tongue sharp as Toledo steel. Then it was serious Norman and his wife Pat, a light-footed girl with a lovely smile; and Pauline, a doll sized woman whose deadpan humor puts people on the floor laughing. Then it was Tom and Emmy, Jeff and Anne, Richard and his Anne, and…so many others.

One sunny afternoon Emmanuel, a Gozitan with the face and eyes of a saint in a Medieval painting, and wise, lovely, soft spoken Honor invited us to attend a performance by Steve Elvis Allan and Georgia Rose at The Captain’s Table. I’ve written about that night, (Shining The Light) a night when our new acquaintances welcomed us and made us feel like we were part of the crowd, more than casual passersby.

At The Captain’s Table we met Maryella, Mark’s laughing and dancing wife, Mattius, an Italian photographer, John, a Maltese fellow with an Everly Brothers ‘waterfall’ haircut who dances like it’s still the sixties, and, like at Buddy’s, others, too many to name.

At Valda and Tom’s party I met Ian, a painter, and his wife Lois, and Tim, and big Colin and Janet, and, well, I was wine taken that night. There were probably others I can’t remember. Anne invited us to lunch, at Val d’ Orr with the whole mob. Steve and Kathy invited us to dinner in their home. We’ve watched movies at Jeff and Anne’s home. In short, we’ve been made to feel welcome and part of this community.

Everyone has a story. Some of our new friends had been world travelers before settling here, others divide their time between here and another home, some lost much loved wives or husbands and have found strength to go on with life, others have experienced financial disaster and rose above it, still others simply came here to live in the sunshine. In the middle that all night party Antonio and I were standing behind his bar talking about something that had happened to him and he said, “We can love the morning better when we have gone through the night.”

Day by day we became part, a small part, perhaps a temporary part, of the ongoing life of this community. And day by day we realized that we didn’t want to leave when our work was complete and our visas expired. Is that how it feels to be a local? Am I a local? Probably not. It’s just that the big hearted people here have made me feel like one.