Valletta: From Fear of Flying to Finding Warmth and Presence
Every journey begins long before the destination appears on the horizon.
For me, this one started days earlier — with a quiet mix of excitement and unease, the kind that always accompanies travel when you are someone who loves movement, but fears flying.
I have never been fully comfortable with airplanes. No matter how many times I remind myself of statistics, logic, or previous successful flights, the moment I know I’ll be leaving the ground, my body reacts before my mind has time to intervene. Still, the desire to see new places always wins. It always has.
This time, Malta was calling.
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From Rijeka to Venice: the journey begins
The trip began in Rijeka, my home, a city that knows winter in its own peculiar way. Winters in Rijeka are usually mild compared to continental parts of Croatia — rarely extreme, often rainy, occasionally windy, and wrapped in a constant grey that settles somewhere between the sea and the sky. This year, however, the days leading up to my departure were colder than usual. Temperatures dipped below zero, something that always feels slightly unnatural by the sea.
So when the opportunity to escape appeared, I didn’t hesitate.
I packed my bags knowing I was leaving behind –5°C and heading toward +15°C, and that thought alone felt like a small victory.
Instead of flying directly, I first traveled by car from Rijeka to Venice Marco Polo Airport. There is something grounding about road travel — the gradual shift of landscapes, the familiar rhythm of movement, the sense of control. It helped calm my nerves before the part of the journey I was dreading the most.
By the time I reached the airport, excitement had begun to outweigh fear. Airports have a strange energy — people coming and going, lives intersecting briefly, countless stories unfolding at once. Standing there, ticket in hand, I felt that familiar mixture of anxiety and anticipation. Another flight. Another country. Another chance to step outside routine.
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Facing the sky
Boarding the plane is always the hardest moment for me. The hum of the engines, the confined space, the awareness of distance from solid ground — it all intensifies at once. But as the plane began to move, I reminded myself why I was doing this.
I wasn’t just flying to another destination.
I was flying toward warmth, light, and a pause from the grey winter days back home. I was flying toward curiosity.
As the plane lifted off, fear slowly gave way to wonder. There is something undeniably beautiful about seeing the world from above — clouds stretching endlessly, land dissolving into abstract shapes, borders losing meaning. Somewhere between takeoff and landing, I found calm.
And then, Malta appeared beneath us.
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First impressions of Malta
The moment I stepped outside, the difference was undeniable. The air felt softer, warmer, almost welcoming. After days of cold winds and winter coats, +15°C felt like a quiet gift. Not summer, not heat — just enough warmth to relax your shoulders and slow your breath.
I stayed in St Julian’s, a lively area by the sea, full of movement, cafés, and light. From there, Malta began to unfold gently, without pressure or expectation.
The first real exploration led me to Valletta.
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Valletta: a city that asks you to slow down
Valletta doesn’t demand attention — it earns it.
Walking through the city felt like stepping into a place where time behaves differently. The limestone buildings glow softly under the sun, their warm tones changing throughout the day. Narrow streets open unexpectedly toward the sea, offering moments of quiet surprise. Everything feels solid, grounded, and intentional.
I didn’t rush. I didn’t follow a strict route or checklist. Instead, I allowed myself to wander — turning corners simply because they felt inviting, stopping when something caught my eye, sitting when the moment asked for rest.
What struck me most was the balance Valletta holds so naturally. History is everywhere, yet it doesn’t feel heavy. The city is alive, but never overwhelming. There is space to breathe, to observe, to simply be.
Compared to Rijeka’s winter — often rainy, moody, wrapped in shades of grey — Valletta felt like light distilled into stone. Even on cooler days, the sun seemed more present, more generous. These were not hot summer days, but gentle winter ones — the kind that remind you that seasons don’t have to be harsh to be real.
For two days, Malta was really windy and somewhat cold — but still warmer than home.
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Weather, contrast, and gratitude
Back home, winter often feels endless. Even when temperatures are mild, the rain and clouds can weigh on your mood. These days, however, had been colder than usual, and that made the contrast even stronger.
Leaving behind frost-covered mornings and arriving to soft Mediterranean air felt like stepping into a different rhythm of life. I found myself walking slower, breathing deeper, noticing small details more carefully.
Sometimes, all it takes is a change of temperature to remind you how much environment affects the way you move through the world.
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Upper and Lower Barrakka Gardens: Where Valletta Opens to the Sea
One of the places that stayed with me the most in Valletta were the Upper Barrakka Gardens. From there, the city opens up completely. The view over the Grand Harbour is wide and calm, almost meditative — historic fortifications, the sea stretching into the distance, and boats moving slowly below. It’s a place that naturally invites you to stop, sit down, and simply look.
From that perspective, Valletta reveals another layer of its beauty. The buildings feel even more impressive, their limestone façades glowing softly in the light. I found myself drawn to the details — especially the balconies. Some are colourful, some weathered, some modest, others ornate, but all of them feel deeply connected to everyday life. They don’t exist to impress, only to belong — and that makes them even more beautiful.
I also made my way to the Lower Barrakka Gardens, although this visit came with a small sense of incompleteness. At the time, the gardens were under renovation, so I couldn’t experience them in their full form. Still, even partially hidden and in transition, the atmosphere was there. I imagine how they must look when fully restored — open, green, and quietly overlooking the sea — and it feels like a good reason to return someday.
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A quiet return to writing
This trip wasn’t only about travel.
It was also about returning — to myself, and to writing.
After a short absence, I’m slowly finding my way back to being more active on Hive. Travel often helps me reconnect with creativity, with observation, with the need to translate experience into words. Being somewhere new sharpens attention. It reminds me why I started writing in the first place.
As the year turns and a new one begins, I carry with me a sense of gratitude — for movement, for courage despite fear, for warmth in the middle of winter, and for places that invite presence rather than rush.
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Looking ahead
This was only the beginning of my Maltese journey. Valletta opened the door gently, setting the tone for everything that followed. More places, colours, and stories are still waiting to be shared.
As I return to writing and engaging here again, I wish all of you a year filled with gentle courage — the kind that allows you to face fears, seek warmth when you need it, and say yes to new beginnings, even when they start with uncertainty.
Sometimes, the most meaningful journeys begin with trembling hands — and end with quiet gratitude.
If you enjoy my photos, you can also check my Instagram for more videos and photographs — I’ll be sharing more from Malta there soon.
