I’m here in my diasporic homeland Malta — the small and rocky island between Sicily and Libya. This evening I went to a “holistic living” festival held at a native-tree nursery full of cedars and olive saplings on the south coast of the island (the whole country could fit into Toronto nearly twice). When I’m introduced to people I say I’m from Toronto rather than Canada because everybody here knows Toronto. They ask where in Toronto I live, and I say “Downtown” and they say “ah” or “oh” because they know places like Etobicoke or Milton or Mississauga or Brampton, where most of the diaspora lives. They aren’t against downtown — they know Casa Loma, the CN Tower and La Paloma Gelato up on St. Clair — but they have slept in the guest rooms of these satellite cities. For what it’s worth, the GTA does live in the Maltese imagination (as does Sydney, Australia).
The holistic event was nice. I talked to an anthropologist who does “human” environmental assessments for proposed developments and was saying that here Maltese developers will offer X amount of Lira (Euros coming in January) for a public amenity in order to build higher or bigger. Sounds like Toronto.
The tree-nusery was located on the cliffs above Golden Bay, a fine and perfect beach where I have floated and been pummeled into the sand by waves on various trips since 1990 — though I had heard stories of its mythic beauty for years in my relatives’ wood-paneled basements in suburban Windsor long before we made our first trip. At dusk when we arrived, the last stragglers of the day-at-the-beach were leaving.
An hour later I went back and looked, and the beach was full of people. Some groups were cooking on portable Bar BQ’s, others playing ball, some were dancing, while others were scuba diving in the surf with underwater lights. The kiosks were also open, serving food and drinks (that you can take onto the beach). I was told sometimes the beach becomes a giant dance party.
When I asked “when will the police come to clear everybody out” I was laughed at. That would never happen here, I was told. I felt very complicit in Toronto the Good just then.
(Editor’s Note: Spacing Associate Editor Shawn Micallef will be in various European locales for the next month and will post various European observations here on the Wire. He is also trying to figure out how to take pictures with a new camera.)
4 comments
Are you sure about that? I thought that Dundas West, west of Keele was where many from Malta lived or had lived in Toronto. It became the center of the Maltese community after the downtown Maltese community, at Dundas and McCaul moved to the west Junction area in the 1930’s.
I would imagine that many have passed on, or moved away to take advantage of rising home prices but I have a few friends whose parents are from Malta and they consider the Junction to still be where the Maltese comunity lives. You can still see Maltese signs in some store windows.
Scott> It’s still Little Malta, and you are indeed right they moved from Dun/McC out to the Junction — but they’ve kept moving, like all the groups. So not many Maltese live there anymore, most live in the suburbs — though a few stores stay on. And the Church.
I wrote about it in Eye last year — the Junction is still an important symbol for the Maltese.
“…Shawn Micallef will be in various European locals for the next month…”
Unless he’s heading out on a continental pub crawl, you mean “locales,” not “locals.”
Those nasty misplaced “e”‘s. As it would happen, both could apply to this trip.