Several years ago hubby and I decided that as Christmas was approaching we should get some sun in foreign parts. We chose Marsascala in
The hotel was in the sea, well not exactly IN the sea but on what appeared to be a peninsula. Apart from having brown drinking water the hotel was very nice, the accommodation was spacious and the food was good. There was just one thing wrong … there were too many hit men with guns sprawled out in the lounge.
It transpired that Colonel Gaddafi owned the hotel. His private apartment was actually what we call the basement. We didn’t see him the whole time we were there. We weren’t even sure if he was in residence but with an armed male mob we took no chances. Guy said ‘Keep walking, don’t breathe a word, don’t even look at them when we pass.’ As if I would, those guns terrified me and I didn’t much care for the men’s fierce facial expressions.
Several times, as if on a given cue, the gang would leave their couches and stand in menacing positions, legs wide, hands on guns ready to fire. We thought Gaddafi must have shown up but we were wrong. Perhaps the men were performing some kind of drill to put the fear of god into the holidaymakers. Or perhaps they were merely bored! We’ll never know!
The nearest I got to being injured was when I took a bath in that awful water. I decided that whilst there I would wash my hair because the only hair spraying implement was attached to the bath. But
It was when I got home that I noticed the blister forming on the eyeball. The local optician treated it and subsequent blisters which he said were caused by something in the Maltese water. It took a couple of years for the problem to clear up.
So now whenever we think of
We’d found the hotel in the holiday brochures but shortly after our visit it was taken out and never heard of again. I wonder if Col. Gaddafi wishes he was there now.
