My Last EU Country
Published October 18, 2024
Malta, my last EU country.
A few weeks before in Merzouga the blonde German girl asked me where I was heading next.
“Where will you go next?”
“I'm going to Malta, my last EU country and then South America.”
She didn't understand initially.
“Lassst?”
“Yeah, after Malta I will have visited every EU country.”
She rested her head on her hand and stroked her chin. And looked at me with alive eyes.
I liked that look.
And I liked that feeling.
To be honest, as I always am. I didn't want to go through all the bullshit, I didn't want to do all that shit again right now. I wanted to be at my desk. With my animals. In my bathtub.
Oh my love, Oh my bathtub
Fuck Sake!
Planes and Trains and Buses and People
arghhhh
But of course I did. You just gotta do it. Then you can say cool shit and have it be REAL!
I have now visited every EU country.
Cool Shit. REAL!
After I landed in Malta, I went through immigration, had a fast food meal in the airport food court and then headed outside for the bus to St Julian's.
I paid the three euros, took a seat and looked out the window.
I wasn't expecting emotion. I was surprised when it happened. I was on the bus from the airport and I was in tears.
The thought kept hitting and my eyes kept filling with water. Every EU country. All of that done.
There was a feeling of completion.
And this wasn't even a goal, just a mile marker along the way. I did this. I did this thing.
All the memories of all those places. All the beautiful people. The art, the streets, the buildings.
All my photographs and videos, all the mementos.
All the Brad Nicholls in the EU
and all the EU in the Brad Nicholls
Completion. That was the feeling as the bus drove towards the eastern coast of the island of Malta.
That thought and truth kept returning, ‘this is my last EU country.’
I don't have many countries left in the rest of Europe either, I've visited all the microstates, all of the Balkans, Norway, Switzerland.
Ukraine, Moldova, Iceland, Belarus and Russia. That's it.
The next day I decided to go get groceries and stay inside my hotel room. I just didn't feel like going out. Didn't feel like doing anything but being in bed with my phone. These are happy times too. Don't think of it as anything other than fucking magical.
You can have the world out there and you can have the world inside the black rectangle.
Don't compromise. Take it all. Always.
I drank coffee on the balcony.
Listened to K-pop, scrolled through TikTok, watched YouTube and porn.
I ate barbecue sauce sandwiches and crisps.
Sucked on lollipops in the air conditioned room.
I read dozens of Wikipedia articles and talked for hours with ChatGPT.
I would have one full day in Malta, tomorrow, not today.
The sun fell from the sky. Teeth brushed and face washed. I entered Dream City.
I woke at six instead of the nine I set my alarm for.
My next bed would be my own, 35 hours from now.
I turned my attention to how I wanted to spend my day, and what I wanted from Malta.
I had read about all the sights and landmarks and read a few of those always infuriating lists of ‘must-dos’ … after going through the same things over and over I just wasn't interested.
I decided a long walk in the sun from my hotel in St Julian's to Sliema and then on to Valletta was the best move.
From St Julian's I would head south along the coast and then north, around the peninsula of Sliema, south again, north again, and up through the capital Valletta.
I smeared a layer of sun lotion on, packed up my bag and headed out.
I walked to the rocky beach down the street from my hotel and went for a look at the ocean.
Deep. Blue. Mediterranean.
Well done.
Britain could have easily kept Malta. A beautiful thing, a strategic position. The people even voted overwhelmingly to stay. Ha. The UK abandoned it instead. A suicidal country. Stupider and stupider by the decade. Disgusting. Shameful.
I left the rocky beach and uncomfortable looking sunbathers behind and headed towards Sliema.
It was forty degrees or it felt like forty degrees.
The clouds were catching the sunshine, cooking it and then throwing it at me.
As I rounded the jagged coast, beaches and natural baths popped out around every corner.
Malta was a nice little island.
Hours later on the opposite side of Sliema I hoped the sun lotion was still at work. I had reached the point of reasonable concern.
I got my blue baseball hat out my bag and fastened it to my head.
This is where things get hard.
I kept walking.
Warm ice tea. Children. British red phone boxes. Fat flies. Boats. Burnt arms.
Here I was, Here I am
I arrived at the city gate of Valletta. Day now night. The long tourist street, Republic Street filled with a trillion floaty humans.
My hair rang with sweat. My neck was drenched in salty liquid. Me Juice dripping all over the hot stone.
From the gate through the crowd I walked to the top of Valletta and then along the cliff-side trail to St Elmo Bridge.
At the end I found a broken bridge that looked minutes from collapse. Large chunks missing. Rusted to the core. Barricaded shut.
It could have been a sunstroke hallucination. But it wasn't. I saw a piece of the dead bridge break off and drop into the ocean below.
I later found articles about the bridge's demise, it's long been abandoned with empty promises of renewal. Sad. And. Stupid.
I went to the edge of the concrete platform and took in the sea.
Ahead of me was many hours, overnight in the airport, security, boarding, people and people and more people, only half with the ability to think. The skies, the wings, the engines, sleep attempts. Tickets and trains and stations. A bus. A walk.
Does travel build me up or wear me down?
Probably both.
Special Mission Every Country in the World continues…
Rock And Roll
on to the next one
see you soon
South America
!