As I write, I sit on the public bus at the Valletta Rotunda, awaiting my way "home" for the night. Car shopping again, not fun when relying on public transportation to get you there and back. This one may be successful, better than earlier in the week. (update... not successful, still shopping)
The embassy has a car guru, who they say can "feel" a car and tell you good or bad from standing near it. He referred us to a great mechanic, a quiet and broad man, who declined my handshake the first night due to his grease, but was friendly tonight. He doesn't say much, a nod here or there, but kind eyes. Saviour is his name, so far it's held true in guiding us to safety of passing on some lemons. It's difficult when there are so many imported cars here. As Forrest would say, "neva know whatcha gonna get".
As we sit on the bus at the rotunda, a pretty spot surrounding a lovely fountain, the bus is idle, slowing filling to capacity. I was lucky to board early, as now it's standing room only. An older gentleman, short as most Maltese, glasses and a button down shirt, offers his seat to a woman standing before him. I think she hesitates, knowing he is more than 20 years her senior, but realizes she'll offend, so accepts his kind gesture. He is pleased and stands proudly. It warms my heart and brings a smile that I'm unable to stifle.
In this and many things, I see so much potential here for a lovely 2 years. And call it misfortune or fortune, learning to use the bus helps me feel empowered to keep venturing out onto this small rock we now call home.
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