A German in Malta: An Easter Journal

This is not a tourist guide, but a trip into my mind. I am inviting you to follow me on my journey I made 20 years ago. I am sharing my journal, world view and philosophy with you during a two-week stay on Malta.

How good was the English class I received at night school in Berlin? What would happen if I could apply my little English every day, to learn without pressure, play-like, and the sun is watching? What about authentic learning, educational travel and host family living? How would they treat a German in Malta? Was there real hospitality? For a change, it would be me who spoke English and not my smug English teacher in front of the class of the torture chamber called school. The day will come when a callous education system based on psychological pressure and exams must show its true face. How much creativity and innovation is left in us ones we have survived it? Is its psycho terror a sign of a social, ethical and cultural decline?

The travel agent was astonished how stubbornly a Berlin city neurotic insisted on a room with a desk and chair and Malta itself. He recommended Ireland, the green island, to learn the perfect English. Maltese English, he explained, would be slurred and the higher price paid for Ireland would be justified. Surprisingly, this was not the case, and it paid off not to give up at the first no. Life is too short to be unfree. English is one of the official languages in Malta and it was an inexpensive trip. The Maltese I met spoke first-class English. And even love showed itself to me in different faces.

Instead of the green, the yellow island was waiting for me. Well then!

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