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The catamaran is delayed two hours (and counting) due to high winds -- I note with premonition that some stewards are wearing scopolamine patches for motion sickness.  (I took my meclozini HCl tab already, but I know from experience that mere vomit reflex suppression doesn't make you feel much better.)  After the delay announcement everybody stampeded to the bar and stripped it dry, fortunately I'd already stocked up at the supermarket.  I only hope the hostel will let me in when (if?) I arrive at 1 AM...

I may not have even reached the island yet, but I already feel qualified to make two observations.

One: Malti (the language) is bizarre.  An old Semitic language with heavy importing from Arabic and Italian, the spoken language sounds like "Arabic lite", but the written language looks like Klingon.  A few examples from Lonely Planet:
 

Entrance	DHUL
Exit	DHRUG
Closed	MAGHLUQ
No entry	TIDHOLX

With place names like Mgarr ix-Xini and Ta' Xbiex     and a former prime minister called Dr. Lawrence Borg Olivier, the resemblance can't be a mere coincidence.  While written in the Latin alphabet, Malti adds a number of weird letters: G and C with a single dot above them (corresponding to English "j" and "ch") plus H with an additional strike through it, which indicates that the letter is actually pronounced, unless in the silent combination GH.  Confused yet?  Since absolutely nobody has the required ISO 8859-3 fonts installed, I'll represent the letters as G/g, C/c, and H/h respectively.  Whee!

Two: Maltese women are beautiful.  Italians are cute enough, but throw in a dash of Arabic features and all I can say is bongu bongu!  A shame they're all Catholic (at least in theory...).

Dateline:	Wednesday 23.6.1999 10:07
Location:	Tigne beachfront, Sliema, Malta

And here I am in Malta!  Whoo!  First a few words about last night: the ferry finally did leave, some 3 hours late, and there was a whole lotta shakin' goin' on but I slept merrily(?) through most of it, managing to ignore even the poor kid who spent the entire trip crying and dry-heaving after puking his guts out.

I had planned on attempting to crash with the Maltese bunch I'd been talking with, but they disappeared before I could get through passport control.  So there I was at 3 AM in Valletta port without a cent of local money and no idea where to go -- I had booked a room at a guesthouse but ti was probably way too late to go there.  There was another backpacker standing around, turned out he was going to Hibernia House, the place I almost went to but decided against because of the ferry's late arrival after the buses stopped running.  After a few ineffectual attempts at hitching...

- Need a ride?
- Yes!  You going to Sliema?
- Yeah, but if you want a ride, take a taxi!  Ha-ha!

...we started the long walk to Sliema, several kilometers up and down hills with loaded backpacks.  Fortunately along the way we were picked up by an illegal taxi (3 Maltese lira versus the official 8.2 Lm), driven by a veritable Klingon, a bald old fellow with a head like a skull, tiny bloodshot eyes deep in their sockets and about two teeth left.  No matter, he got us there in one piece and Hibernia House turned out to be wonderful -- beds just 2 Lm a night (~ $5!).  The place was brand new with spring mattresses, a fully equipped kitchen with fridge, range, oven, microwave, pots and pans, cutlery, and the management of the place was quite laid-back and friendly.
 

Sweet like chocolate...  -- no idea!
Dateline:	Thursday 24.6.1999 9:41
Location:	Hibernia House, Sliema, Malta

Ah, this place is such a lovely little bundle of contradictions.  An independent Mediterranean island that speaks both English and a variant of Arabic; the people look Italian with English rounded cheeks and Arabic dark complexion and eyes thrown in but are devout Roman Catholics; the infrastructure is modern except for a public transport system based on 50's buses straight out of Jamaica...  and it's amazingly cheap: I would have no problem at all surviving on £5 (70 FIM) a day here!  Always sunny, never humid and usually not too hot thanks to the constant small breeze.

Snork snork!  After acquiring a brand new pair of Cressi-Sub Clio fins ("incorporating some features found in our professional range", smirks the brochure) and some local info it was time to hit the beach -- if you can call the rocky coast of Sliema (yes, right next to my hostel) one.  Due to nasty-looking wave action it took me a while to pick my spot and gather my courage, but I plunged in... and was almost disappointed.  Gray seabed, brown seaweed, this is like (gasp) Finland!  But then I started noting the details.  First, there's a lot more visibility, you can actually see more than one meter ahead of you.  Second, there were a lot more fish; most were dull, brown and small but some were much more colorful, and the more I looked and the stranger the place I looked the more "tropical" the fish, culminating in some dazzling neon-flourescent wonders.  Likewise, while the brown billowing fern-type seaweed is certainly the dominant feature, embedded in the limestone were thousands of black sea urchins à la Sproing, tons of a peculiar sea plant that looks like it's woven out of sea shells, the occasional green barrel sponge...  marvelous.  I frolicked about all day, mischievously noting that next to no-one else was actually diving instead of just paddling about, and getting a non-trivial upper back sunburn as my reward.  No pain, no gain...  and remember to wear those T-shirts, kiddies.

Way back in Japan, after an exhaustive search I bought a digital watch that fulfilled some exacting criteria: it had to be cheap, have an alarm and have an illuminated display -- everything else, including looks, was extra.  The cheapness was important primarily so that if (when) it breaks or disappears it won't matter much, but so far, it's still hanging around and the "< ILLUMINATOR >" has been of great use in a many a dark night club, train, bus stop, etc.  Watch depth ratings are an arcane science: "water resist", the lowest rating means there's a 50% chance of it surviving a few drops of rain.  You might think that "water resistant: 50m" means 50m of depth  -- plenty for diving, right? -- but those 50m are static pressure, so it's barely sufficient for a shower.  You need a 100m watch for swimming or snorkeling and no less than 200m for SCUBA!

So there I was, underwater and heading for the bottom, when the straightjacket of civilization intruded and I thought: "Gee, what time is it?"  By reflex I glanced at my wrist and read, "Oh, 16:37.  No hurry yet."  I thought about this for a moment, then looked again.  Yes, I was wearing my watch underwater.  Yes, my watch is labeled "water resist" and I always leave it in my bag when swimming -- except this time.  Oops!  I expected to see water leaking into the LCD or an underwater explosion or something, but no, those digits kept on marching upward as immutably as ever.  Three cheers to Casio for over-engineering their watches, but the next one I buy will be rated for SCUBA.

I've yet to write about all the people I've met on this trip, so I'd better do so before I forget.

Helsinki to Geneva: Nobody at all, except one Finn at København H who never even told me his name.  Not much of a surprise, my couchettemates were quiet types and I had few other opportunities to meet people.  In Geneva I of course met the CERN crew, but they don't count.  =)

Geneva to Malta: Hjøldir (excuse horrible misspellings) the tanned Icelander, Whatshisnameous the garrulous Greek and Brett the Stetson-wearing Texan at Rome YH, nice fellows all...  ah, and John the Taiwanese, to whom I taught English at dinner and with whom I discovered the utter futility of my 1 year of Chinese lessons.  It took me three tries before he understood my attempt at "I don't speak Chinese" (Wô bù shûo Hànyû).  <sigh>.  I also met Chris the Argentinian world-traveler on the train from Catania to Siracusa, the lucky bastard was traveling for 6 months (!) in Europe and doing it all for peanuts as a travel agent himself!

Malta: Brandon the Aussie, the fellow hitchhiker mentioned earlier, and his two "mates".  And my other roommates at Hibernia House, André the Swiss fellow diver and Aurelian the French rastamon.  But the real reason for writing this list is the trip's most bizarre encounter so far, with a Mr. Momo L., née Spanish, now French but residing in Malta and hating it so much he can't wait to move to Canada next year.   I was about to leave the beach when he "without provocation" came up to bum a light and ask the usual litany (where you from, how long you staying, you like it).  I diplomatically refrained from noting that "Momo" means "peach" in Japanese, or that I used to have a stuffed monkey by that name, so he launched into an extended largely monologous diatribe on spearfishing (good), immigrants (bad), gays (ok as long as they don't adopt), Catholicism (bad), unemployment (bad)...  turns out he's working as an engineer at Malta Airport and getting quite well paid for his troubles.  He ended up giving me his phone number and address and pretty much pledging to assist me in any way possible, and of course he'd be glad to arrange a cheap flight to Tunis for me.  So how about a drink?

While I may be innocent enough to hope this guy really is just bored and glad to to a favor to someone who speaks a little French and agrees with almost everything, living in this day and age I was also forced to consider the very real possibility that the guy really just wanted to bugger my wallet, my pretty ass, or both; not prices I'm willing to pay for a plane ticket.  So I carefully avoided disclosing my own contact info and waffled on my plans for the next few days -- but he'll try to find out about the ticket by tomorrow and I'll him then.  Hmm...
 

?!?
Dateline:	Friday 25.6.1999 21:44
Location:	Hibernia House, Sliema, Malta

A surprisingly frustrating day, although I did get the next few days' program straightened out: two dives tomorrow (whee! £20) and a big party Sunday (whehee! £9.50).  Still, my sunburned back was an annoyance (especially the neck, left bare by my T-shirt) and I spent the whole day tramping around Sliema/St. Julian only to find out that the net café doesn't accept peripherals (read: digicam), I left my fins at the hostel and only realized this at the beach, the dive shop was closed, all the postcards suck, etc.  The sole bright note was scoring half an hour of free time at the aforementioned net café, enough to finally ping my fanclub and read my mail (Serbia in August? Whoo...)

Snorkeling notes:

• Balluta Bay: Steep dropoff, some bizarre manmade holes in the sea floor, lots of trash.  Not very good
• St. Julian's Point: Toward point itself wacky scenery, deep grottoes/cliffs, but difficult access (entry only).  Away from point gets "flatter", but still very nice.  Lots of fish schools and action. Good.
• Tigne (north): Relatively steep dropoffs and flat scenery, but quite a lot of action on the bottom and little trash.  Not bad.

Today is a good day to dive
Dateline:	Saturday 26.6.1999 16:57
Location:	Hibernia House, Sliema, Malta

I woke up not-nice and pathologically early in the morning at 7:30 so I could boot my operating system and truck over to the dive shop by 8:30, which in turn ferried me to Scubatech in St. Paul's Bay (tel. 580617).  There I met my divemaster, blonde English surfer dude James, and an older lady named Carol who was my buddy for all of 5 minutes, as it turned out.  I was outfitted with some fairly grotty but functional gear and we set off to Cirkewwa...

• Dive log entry #5
• Dive log entry #6

For future generations: insist on a full suit to save you from scrapes & getting cold, as well as real open-heel flippers (the rubber fins I was given rubbed a toe raw).  Also, by being referred through another shop (Chris Sealine, Sliema, tel. 311220 -- which does, however, have low prices on quality gear), I was screwed out of £2 commission.  All in all, though, Scubatech is cheap, ten dives for just £70 (+ £4/day for full kit rental if needed).  And the experience was good, I wasn't quite expecting one-on-one guidance!  I'll probably do another couple of dives on Malta and consider getting my feet wet in Tunisia as well.

For now, though, I'm just tired.  After getting back and whipping up a tasty and nutritious instant-noodles-and-bread (20¢) lunch, I climbed into bed and crashed, in the end sleeping for several hours.  This is highly unusual for me, but diving is surprisingly tiring and so is waking up too early.
 

Dateline:	Saturday 26.6.1999 21:33
Location:	Writing by moonlight, the roof of Hibernia House, Sliema, Malta

Summer is festa season in Malta, with every little (and big) village holding massive feasts that inevitably culminate in fireworks.  As I write, faint booms, sparkles and puffs of smoke are coming from the direction of Qormi, a village too obscure to visit.  But today also marks the start of Sliema's festa, kicked off by the ceremonial opening of the parish church, all decked out in an astonishingly gaudy cyberpunk-Russian Orthodox display: the outside of the church covered in multicolored lights, the inside with almost flourescent figures of saints and mutilated Gesús.  Meanwhile, at the other end of the sky, searchlights sweep the sky above Paceville and teen-filled cars blasting techno respond to the beacon.  As will I at tomorrow's party...
 

That don't impress me much... -- Shania Twain
Dateline:	Sunday 27.6.1999 11:19
Location:	Hagar Qim & Mnejdra temples, Malta

[Ed. I really loathe that song, but it was one of the hits of the summer and on that particular day I heard both when departing from and returning to Valletta.  And, as you'll see, the refrain is appropriate...]

But before partying it was time for the daily dose of history at these prehistoric temples; built in 3500-2700 BC, they're the oldest free-standing structures in the world, and they look like it, despite quite a few repairs (or did they really have concrete in the Stone Age?).  Hagar Qim, the older and more famous of the two, is quite underwhelming; Mnejdra is at least intact enough to give some idea of what it must have looked like and been used for.  Entrance is free for students, but there is no information whatsoever available on the site -- unless you fork out a quid for a booklet.  And in the midday sun the place is amazingly hot...  Hagar Qim was fed by a continuous stream of tour buses but few bothered to make the hike to Mnejdra, where my sole company was a couple of New Age hippy lesbians.  "Isn't it marvelous?", gushed one of them, "I've been here six times already!"  Well, good for them.
 

And the music keeps on playing on and on... -- "Red Alert", Basement Jaxx
Dateline:	Monday 28.6.1999 12:58
Location:	On the city walls, Café Città Vecchia, Mdina, Malta

First off, the party review: "Progress Project B", Sunday 27.6. 14-02, at Mediterranean Film Studios (Rinella).

Security bordered on ridiculous!  Between the entrance and the floor I was checked 3 times by police and patted down twice.  Bring your ID!  I didn't, but by some strange premonition I took a copy of my passport's first page along, and it was sufficient.  There were also cops with dogs patrolling the perimeter, plainclothes cops, hired security people, dozens of organizers helping them out and half a dozen Red Cross people on duty.  What on earth were they expecting, a riot?

Aside from two very baffled-looking beer-guzzling Brits I seemed to be the only foreign non-tanned natural-blonde in the place; maybe I'm just paranoid, but on a few occasions I thought I saw goon groups pointing towards me and gesturing...?  The party started at 2 PM, but when I arrived around 5 there was nothing happening; people started to move around 7 (which is also when the first overdose case was moved onto a stretcher and rushed off by ambulance) and only around 8 PM, when the sun went down, did it start to look like an actual party.  I was told that this is a recent development, parties used to be all-night but a new law bans permits past 2 AM and locations near residential areas.  The party was held in the water tank (!) of a film studio, reportedly Europe's largest, so the two concrete floors (within the tank) were separated by a little water-filled "bay" and nothing else -- fortunately the sound systems were powerful enough to make the setup work better than I would have expected.  Decoration and lighting, on the other hand, was a joke: no decos whatsoever aside from tarpaulins suspended over the center of each floor and a few alien sponge disco balls attached to them; lighting was just spots and some cheapo scanners.  That's it, the rest was just concrete.  To compensate most people evidently brought their own decorations, as pretty much everybody (else) was on drugs.  The music was mostly dubious old stuff with the techno floor playing stuff like "Brainworm" (2x!) and Wink's "Higher State of Consciousness", while the house floor played the top of the pops with Phats & Small's "Turn Around" twice, Basement Jaxx's "Red Alert" no less than three times and to top it off -- you guessed it -- the 1998 disco anthem "Music Sounds Better With You".  The highlight of the night was star DJ Ronaldo's two-hour set, which was pretty eclectic at the beginning but great, massive, pounding monotrax towards the end.  I was wearing sandals so my feet got tired around 12 (the party lasted 'till 2), at which point I shared a taxi with some locals and forked out £3 for a roller-coaster taxi ride through deserted roads, with the taxi driver tipping himself off an extra 20¢.  With another £3 spent on food & non-alcoholic drink, the total bill for the night came to over £16 -- yipe!  A bit too expensive to make a habit of, I'd say...

And oh, I ran into the hostel's head honcho Abner at the party; or, more accurately, he ran into me with a great big hug.  Then again, your average hostel owner isn't a twentysomething rasta...

Clothing trends for women: Bikinis.  'Nuff said.  (Booyaa!)  "Sparkle" makeup has recently become quite popular even in Finland, but Maltese girls had figured out a novel location for it -- in the cleavage gap.  Hmm...

Clothing trend for men: Minimalist shirts ranging from cut below the nipples to nothing but shoulder pads held together by string.  Weird-looking but handy enough for hard partying, I suppose, although I found a warm Maltese summer night quite optimal for a plain old T-shirt.

---

Enough about last night, as again it's time for a daily culture dose, this time in the form of a visit to the surprisingly attractive (if sterile) medieval city of Mdina, sitting at the same spot for some 3000 years and by turns a Roman, Arab, French and British city, as well as the former capital of independent Malta.  All this and quite a bit more was related in the "multivisual" (huh?) Mdina Experience, a slide show on steroids which wasn't half bad (at least for the student price of 80¢).  The city itself is kept well in shape, and true to the form of a medieval city, all cars, neon signs and the like are banned.  I ate an excellent, if low-calories, "Ploughman's Lunch" of salad, bread and wine here at the Città Vecchia, on top of the walls overlooking the countryside.  In all, a nice relaxing day trip from the coast.

But it looks like the usual story has happened again: I have 3 days and all of £4.70 left, of which £1 is earmarked for the 'Net, £1.50 for a T-shirt, ...  but I did just stock up on (almost) enough food, so I hope to be able to avoid starvation.  And there's always Visa!  My credit card bill will look almost as interesting as the one for my mobile phone.
 

Boiled sweet red bean paste -- today's breakfast
Dateline:	Tuesday 29.6.1999 12:??
Location:	Wied iz-Zurrieq (The Blue Grotto), Malta

Bloody FUCK it's hot, 32°C now and the mercury's still going up.  Do I really want to go even deeper south to Tunisia in this weather?  (Which isn't even bad, or so they tell me, as it gets up to 45° later on...)

Anyway, today was again dive day, although I wasn't quite as impressed as at Cirkewwa and decided to leave out the 2nd dive after some kit problems.

• Dive log entry #7

Of the many weird things I brought with me all the way from Finland (and this list included such things as a Koosh ball, a snorkel and toenail clippers) surely none is more bizarre than the 250g can of yude azuki, ie. Japanese boiled sweet red bean paste.  The day before I left, my father visited Finland and brought me the can (and its friends) from Japan via Israel, so I figured it would make an excellent emergency snack.  But as no emergencies materialized (this time -- in 1996 a can of tuna saved me from an excruciating death by starvation at Holesovice station in Prague), the ceremonial uncorking had to wait 'till this morning in Malta.  With yogurt or on bread, nothing beats yude azuki!
 

Dateline:	Tuesday 29.6.1999 19:47
Location:	Writing by moonlight, the roof of Hibernia House, Sliema, Malta

Twilight in Malta is magical.  After the sun has set, the searing heat of day disappears and is replaced by a cool (but never cold) refreshing feel.  Daylight lingers on, in gradients of color, but slowly fades as twinkling lights are slowly lit here and there all over the city.  It's quiet, the only faint sounds being crickets, humming air conditioners and the occasional far-off car.

Why do I have to leave this place?  Do I have to leave this place?
 

One of those days
Dateline:	Wednesday 30.6.1999 12:14
Location:	Hibernia House, Sliema, Malta

After a full week of painstaking repairs, the Corporal Emergency Management Agency has completed the construction of a new layer of epidermis.  The old burned skin is now being sloughed off, leaving my back looking like the construction zone it is and very ticklish.  Just goes to show you that getting a sunburn is not a good way of getting a tan...

Today has definitely been one of Those Days.  Actually, it started yesterday, when I managed to leave my credit card at the dive shop.  No problem, they'll mail it, it'll be here today noon...  right?  So I wake up, wash my laundry (adding the detergent to the wrong slot so it was never used), discover that my map of Malta has disappeared, but consult one downstairs and go to meet Mr. Momo at 10.  Ring, ring, ring -- nobody home, so that enigma still remains unsolved.  Noon comes and goes, and no sign of the credit card.  I trudge off to the travel shop -- yes, there is still space on tomorrow's flight, yes, just the credit card number (from my emergency info pack) is enough -- but nope, the machine says "BAD ACC'T #".  I cajole them into booking the flight for me anyway, but as the card should come at 12, the shop closes at 13 and the flight leaves at 16 there may be a bit of a problem if a single link in the chain fails.  I have £1.25 left and nothing in the fridge except a few mL of tomato sauce, and as I start to write this my pen breaks.  Whee!  I'm off to the beach, where I fully expect someone to top off the day and steal my stuff...

---

But, in the end, it was also one of Those Days in the positive sense.  Snorkeling around St. Julians, spending an hour in a cybercafé discussing Berlin plans with friends in Switzerland, basking in the warm Maltese sunshine working on my all-too-patchy tan, chatting with people at the hostel...  "You can turn around!", as that overplayed house tune sang out as I walked past a clothing shop.  And no, nobody stole my bag, although the dual padlock I employed to attach it to an garbage can may have had an effect.  If my credit card materializes in the mail I will celebrate with a big lunch and go to Tunis -- if not, I'll stay here a few extra days and return to Sicily.  Win-win!

From the snorkeling file...

• NSTS Aquacentre, Tigne: Free entry and free showers if you have an ISIC card, but that's about it.  Scenery is uninspiring, lots of junk both floating and junk, visibility poor due to hordes of swimmers and jet skis.  One cute lil' boy caught a fish in his hands, then bashed its brains in with a rock and slipped it down the neck of a pal.  Aww!  Additional underwater excitement was provided by a spearfisher with bad aim.
• St. Julian's, Dragonara Point: Most of the point is restricted to hotels, but there is a "free" chunk on the east side before the Hilton.  Tons of glass on the rocks due to Paceville's (the night club district) proximity, so sandals are a must.  Underwater there's a laaaaarge very shallow (<1m) area full of funky neon fish, plus some grottoes, valleys, etc, especially as you near the Hilton.  Watch out for the boats, and don't step on the sea cucumbers...
• St. George's Point: This place was recommended by a dive shop but, as far as I could see, it was entirely occupied by resorts and a mysterious outfit surrounded by barbed wire and guarded by barking dogs.  There seemed to be some available rocks on the "far" (west) side, but getting there on foot would have required a major detour, and the place is enough of a walk from Sliema as it is.

I ended my first full day on Malta sitting on the roof sipping a cool Kinnie, the Maltese "natural refreshment made from bitter oranges and aromatic herbs" (and amazingly hideous it is too), so I thought it poetic to end my (probably) last day here in the same way.  Besides, 15¢ of Kinnie will obliterate my appetite much better than £1.50 of food.  Come and think of it, this stuff probably makes a great mixer for vodka...

Oddly enough, there's a strong wind blowing tonight, it's actually cold up here.  Brr.  Back down I go...
 

Gnawing frustration
Dateline:	Thursday 1.7.1999 11:28
Location:	Hibernia House, Sliema, Malta

I may have called the situation "win-win" yesterday, but sitting here awaiting the outcome of the match between Chaos and the Post Office is annoying -- another half an hour to go before the mail comes...  everything is packed and ready to go, and I even have another appointment with the Mysterious Mr. Momo at noon.  All I can do now is twiddle my thumbs and wait.

I did spend last night in a somewhat unusual fashion, at least for me.  Our hostel room has been almost entirely emptied in the last few days, with the Czech crew and the Aussie leaving yesterday, and both me and Aurelian flying out today (knock, knock), so together with the Swiss semi-permanent resident André we started the evening by topping off a bottle of execrable Maltese red wine (70¢ and tastes like it too -- the local white is better) and then heading to Simon's Pub for a frenzied match of miniature football (my first game since the age of 12, while the others were clearly pros), and a few mugs of Cisk, the local brew, with heavy metal playing in the background and the Maltese night as clear and warm as ever.  Sigh...

One thing I found surprising about Malta is its level of self-sufficiency.  Absolutely everything from pasta to industrial gases to elevators and toilet bowls is manufactured here, and in the shops the local version is always cheaper than the import.  Why?  Import taxes -- the government gets money from them and local industry is in effect subsidized, a cozy arrangement for everyone except the consumer.  This would explain why Malta is so ambivalent about joining the EU.  It's also a nationalist and proud country, as small ones are wont to be, flags waving everywhere and all those local products loudly proclaiming "Our Lager!", etc.  The gulf between tourists and locals is also evident, but unsurprising as this island of 300,000 people gets over 1 million visitors per year.

---

Joy of joys!  The credit card appeared and I now have a plane ticket to Tunis!  Mr. Momo again failed to make an appearance, and as my flight leaves in four hours, it looks like he will remain an enigma.  Ah well...  now a ceremonial last lunch and I'm outta here.  Win!

The lunch was, as planned, rather expensive but tasty (great apple pie!), but upon my return to the hostel I was greeted with an unpleasant surprise.  When leaving my stuff, I specifically asked whether I could come and pick it up in an hour or two -- "Yes, yes!".  So of course, when I come back, reception is closed and my bag is behind bars.  Panic!  I contemplated clobbering a passerby to take their phone card and call Abner, the manager (naturally, my cell phone was also trapped in the backpack), and rattled the bars in desperation...  and they moved.  Upwards!  They were unlocked!  So I hoisted myself over the counter, grabbed my bag, and set off for the airport -- only to find myself facing a random delay due to an "industrial dispute", with cops cordoning off mobs of angry British tourists whose flights were already several hours late.  I relaxed and spent my last 17¢ on candy.
 

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