When the Mdina Silent City Got Way Too Silent

It was a blistering Tuesday afternoon in Mdina, the kind of heat where you could fry an egg on the pavement, not that anyone would waste a perfectly good egg in these pricey days. Lately, the Silent City had taken its title a bit too seriously. Instead of the usual chatter and laughter of tourists getting lost in the narrow streets while hunting for the best pastizzi, there was quiet… too quiet.

The Curious Case of the Missing Foreigners

Local tour guide Bonnici Zammit was the first to raise the alarm. The only souls following him around were echoes of his own footsteps, his “Uwejja, come this way!” bouncing off the centuries-old limestone walls unheard by the usual, snapping-camera audience.

“It was supernatural, I tell you!” Bonnici protested in a fictional interview. “I kept turning around, expecting to see a horde of flip-flops and sunhats, but all I got was a facefull of silence.”

Meanwhile, in Valletta, street vendor Tarcisio Borg pondered his untouched pile of ħobż biż-żejt, usually snatched up by hungry expats and wandering visitors seeking an authentic bite. “Kollox was ready, but they just vaporized!” he mused, peeking under his cart as if tourists might be hiding there.

An Unusual Suspect

The strange disappearance of tourists had everyone scratching their heads. Accusations flew like pastizzi in a food fight. Was it a ploy by rival Sicilian attractions to hijack Malta’s tourism? Or perhaps a secret conspiracy to force locals to eat all the extra rabbit stew that was now piling up in restaurant kitchens?

Enter Murġu Cassar, the eccentric Gozitan conspiracy theorist, usually found declaring that the Ġgantija temples were built by alien influencers. He had a different take:

“Fellow Maltese, the foreigners didn’t leave us. They’ve been… abducted, yes, abducted by our very own beloved buses! Go check the bus terminus if you don’t believe me; they’re bigger on the inside, like a fortress of solitude for foreigners!”

A Discovery in Gozo

As Murġu instructed, a band of curious (and bored) locals formed a search party, headed to Gozo‘s bus terminus. Inside the last bus, tucked away in the back row, was a scene that defied belief: a huddle of tourists with forks in their hands, feasting on a mountain of abandoned pastizzi and rabbit stew. The air-con was so heavenly they’d decided to set camp and make the most of the free feast, an authentic experience indeed.

The Plot Twists Again

While locals heaved sighs of relief – mixed with laughter – at the rediscovery of the lovable bunch of foreigners, another plot twist unfurled itself like a beach towel on Ramla Bay: Tarcisio’s ħobż biż-żejt had mysteriously vanished. Many pointed fingers, but the true culprits, a group of stealthy seagulls with a taste for olives, remained at large, their caws mocking the sun-drenched confusion below.

A New Day Dawns

News of the mysterious disappearance and even stranger reappearance of the tourists spread like wildfire, or rather, like gossip at a village festa. The Times of Mela readers mocked up their own theories, ranging from a mass game of hide-and-seek to an impromptu cultural immersion course: ‘Get Lost in Maltese History (Literally)’.

The tourists, once they emerged sunburnt but satisfied from their bus-turned-dining-hall, were greeted with cheers and paparazzi-like photography sessions. They promised to return to their homelands as unofficial Maltese ambassadors, spreading tales of the islands’ hospitality—and the unparalleled delight of a well-cooled bus on a sweltering summer day.

Bonnici Zammit, now with a following thrice as large as before, led his tour with renewed vigor, regaling the story of The Day The Tourists Vanished, becoming as much a part of the local lore as the Silent City itself. And as peace — and noise — returned to the Maltese archipelago, life went on, with tales of the great disappearance weave into the tapestry of everyday banter, one ‘Mela’ at a time.