The Fabled Traffic Jam of Triq il-Kbira: Where No Car Moves and Everyone’s a Critic

The Legend of the Immovable Fiat

It was a sweltering Tuesday afternoon in Ħamrun, the sun was beating down like an overenthusiastic drummer at a village festa, and the locals were exhibiting their usual mix of perspiration and perseverance. Among them, one man, with sweat pooling in places he didn’t know could pool, stood out. This man was Toni, a fresh-faced octogenarian with enough spunk to rival any rebellious teenager, and he was about to become a local legend.

Loading up his Fiat from the ’80s – a vehicle that embraced rust as a design feature – Toni set off for what should have been a fleeting trip to Valletta. Little did he know, he was about to enter the annals of Maltese folklore.

Triq il-Kbira: A Modern Odyssey

Our dear Toni got stuck in traffic, a plight as Maltese as pastizzi and festa fireworks. Yet this was no ordinary jam. On Triq il-Kbira, the cars were stationary as if participating in an automotive Mannequin Challenge. Toni, after an hour of motionlessness, ventured out of his Fiat and wandered towards a nearby pastizzeria, the aroma of peas and ricotta luring him in like a siren’s song.

With a handful of pastizzi ħelwin (sweet ones) – because heart issues aside, pastizzi are life – Toni returned to observe the spectacle. Not a single car had moved, and the drivers, now out of their vehicles, had commenced a heated debate over who was the better traffic controller: the local tal-lampieri (traffic warden) or the newly installed, perpetually blinking traffic light.

The Unsung Heroes of Mdina

As time meandered on like a leisurely Sunday stroll through Mdina’s silent streets, news arrived from the ancient city, bringing with it a story so preposterous that it could only be true. A group of tourists trapped within the labyrinthine alleys had been heroically saved by a team of elderly nanniet (grandmothers), who knew the city better than anyone, having chased grandchildren through it for years.

“We just followed the smell of their ħobż biż-żejt, it was better than any map,” proclaimed Darren, one of the rescued tourists, sweat and tears mingling on his cheeks.

Meanwhile, back at the traffic standoff in Ħamrun, a suggestion was made. “What if we get the nanniet from Mdina to navigate us through the streets? They might just solve this crisis,” shouted a desperate driver, his suggestion met with nods of agreement and raised pastizzi in salute.

The Invasion of Gozo

In an unexpected twist, word of the traffic jam’s inertia had reached the idyllic island of Gozo. The Gozitans, seeing an opportunity for a bit of one-upmanship, decided to launch a full-scale boast about their lack of traffic issues. Rampant rumors claimed they were organizing a festival to celebrate their perpetually clear roads.

However, their jubilation was cut short. A surprised Gozitan farmer, Piju, discovered that his prize-winning rabbit – destined for a traditional rabbit stew – had mysteriously given birth to a kaleidoscope of vibrantly colored bunnies, each donning patterns resembling the Maltese cross. It seemed even nature was joining in the ludicrousness of the day.

A Fortuitous Fluke or a Taste of the Future?

The jeers and arguments in Ħamrun were getting out of hand, tensions rising higher than the local church’s festa fireworks. Then, the unbelievable occurred: a malfunctioning pastizz vending machine, installed nearby for overly nostalgic expats, began dispensing free pastries at an alarming rate, hitting a nearby power box.

With a spark and a crackle, everything powered down – including the contentious traffic light. Almost immediately, the tal-lampieri stepped in with a fluid grace that made ballerinas envious, his hands conducting the traffic like a maestro leading the Philharmonic. Cars began to move; the jam was clearing!

“Uwejja, it’s a miracle!” cried out Toni, his arms raised high, pastizzi still clenched tightly in his fists.

The people of Ħamrun smiled as they drove on, realizing that sometimes, the solution to a problem is just a simple human touch… or a serendipitous barrage of pastizzi. As for Toni’s Fiat, it turned out to be a transformer – no, not the alien robot kind, but the kind that transforms one adult’s smile into a child’s glee when it finally, mercifully started.

The Aftermath

The “Great Traffic Jam of Triq il-Kbira” would go down in Maltese history, spoken of in hushed tones alongside tales of Knights and sieges. As for the brightly-hued rabbits of Gozo, they became the island’s newest tourist attraction, drawing crowds from far and wide, eager to witness Piju’s polychromatic marvels.

Toni’s Fiat? Well, Mela, it became something of an urban legend, a symbol of resilience and the embodiment of the saying: “jeżisti, imma ma jimxiex” (It exists, but it doesn’t move). A true Maltese icon. Ejjew alla, you can’t make this stuff up!