Discovering a hidden gem: Malta's St. Paul's Cathedral
Heat scorching our skin and burning our backs, we arrive at the holiest setting in all of Malta: St Paul's Cathedral, known to be a hidden beauty nestled within the tiny island we are visiting on holiday. I draw up to the exterior with excitement in my stomach and my legs tingling - almost as if the dusty white pavement I walk on is faintly electrified. I am anticipating nothing short of extraordinary; as everyone has assured me, I am going to be rendered absolutely speechless by the must-see sight. I have heard the cathedral discussed all around the island: according to every glossy brochure we encountered, every friendly fellow hotel resident and the elderly shopkeeper where we bought our bread in the mornings, it topped every list of essential places to visit. ‘Aqwa’, they would tell us, swelling with pride as they boast of their home island's most prized possession. Translated: ‘Amazing’. This would doubtless be the highlight of the holiday.
I am disappointed. It most certainly is not the paradise I have anticipated or been promised by every island resident I have come across since our arrival on this island. It is plain. Two unimpressive sand coloured towers guard the beige wall stretched between them, which then only boast some stone pillars (also beige) and a large wooden door. The intricate carvings and statues, the bursts of colour and grandeur I eagerly awaited - all absent. Even the cross that topped the so-called holiest of buildings was distinctly underwhelming, simply a black wire bent roughly into shape and stuck on top like an afterthought.
My disappointment soon simmers to mild anger. We have been travelling since early that morning across the whole island to reach this apparently significant building, this pinnacle of the entirety of Maltese culture. I am damp with sweat and exhausted from hours of travelling and my lunch feels days ago. Right now, I don't want to be here. I want to be lazing by the poolside with a cold, cold glass of Fanta in my hand and a cool breeze blowing away my tiredness from my wasted day...
"Shall we go in?" my mum suggests with a smile, apparently completely undeterred by the insufferable heat of the sun beating down on us and the ache of the journey, let alone the disappointment of the exterior of the Cathedral. Before I can protest, she takes my unwilling, sticky hand and leads me through the wooden door.
What a fool I have been.
The exterior of the Cathedral is beige, beige, beige - but the inside was truly stunning. My eyes grow wider and dart around my beautiful surroundings, desperate to commit every inch of these walls to my memory forever. I want to absorb everything, every shade of colour, every crevice, every stone tile of this palace.
Oh, the colours! I can see pinks and reds that glow like the sun is setting inside this blessed building, golds and bronzes that brag of wealth and prestige and holy royalty, the ultimate status, greens in every shade and blue in every tint, and even then more colours I hadn’t even realised existed. More rainbows than I have the mathematical ability to count soar over my head. They climb the pillars and dance in the domed ceiling. They refract on every surface and fill this space with glory and colour. Sunlight floods into the room and spills onto the floor, a beautiful mess of white light tinted cobalt, crimson, emerald from the stained glass it pierces. The floor is shimmering like it is encrusted with every gemstone imaginable, a jeweller's heaven.
Everywhere I turn there are glorious paintings adorning the walls. Every biblical figure has found its home among these stone panels. They follow my journey through their settlement with their painted eyes and invite me further into their home with their pink lips painted into gentle smiles as their heads bow in prayer. Angels bless me with their kind smiles and eternal prayers as I walk past. They mime their stories like the ornate golden frames they reside in are windows into their lives long since gone. They show me how they triumphed over evil and relinquished death. These immobile painted figures are the epitome of goodness.
A strange feeling descends upon me in the breathtaking paradise. I feel a soothing peace wash over me and cleanse me with calmness. This place is truly holy, even to my atheist self. This is not the most beautiful place in Malta. This is the most beautiful place in the world. To me, this is what Heaven looks like.
Tinks Wilson, Year 12
I am disappointed. It most certainly is not the paradise I have anticipated or been promised by every island resident I have come across since our arrival on this island. It is plain. Two unimpressive sand coloured towers guard the beige wall stretched between them, which then only boast some stone pillars (also beige) and a large wooden door. The intricate carvings and statues, the bursts of colour and grandeur I eagerly awaited - all absent. Even the cross that topped the so-called holiest of buildings was distinctly underwhelming, simply a black wire bent roughly into shape and stuck on top like an afterthought.
My disappointment soon simmers to mild anger. We have been travelling since early that morning across the whole island to reach this apparently significant building, this pinnacle of the entirety of Maltese culture. I am damp with sweat and exhausted from hours of travelling and my lunch feels days ago. Right now, I don't want to be here. I want to be lazing by the poolside with a cold, cold glass of Fanta in my hand and a cool breeze blowing away my tiredness from my wasted day...
"Shall we go in?" my mum suggests with a smile, apparently completely undeterred by the insufferable heat of the sun beating down on us and the ache of the journey, let alone the disappointment of the exterior of the Cathedral. Before I can protest, she takes my unwilling, sticky hand and leads me through the wooden door.
What a fool I have been.
The exterior of the Cathedral is beige, beige, beige - but the inside was truly stunning. My eyes grow wider and dart around my beautiful surroundings, desperate to commit every inch of these walls to my memory forever. I want to absorb everything, every shade of colour, every crevice, every stone tile of this palace.
Oh, the colours! I can see pinks and reds that glow like the sun is setting inside this blessed building, golds and bronzes that brag of wealth and prestige and holy royalty, the ultimate status, greens in every shade and blue in every tint, and even then more colours I hadn’t even realised existed. More rainbows than I have the mathematical ability to count soar over my head. They climb the pillars and dance in the domed ceiling. They refract on every surface and fill this space with glory and colour. Sunlight floods into the room and spills onto the floor, a beautiful mess of white light tinted cobalt, crimson, emerald from the stained glass it pierces. The floor is shimmering like it is encrusted with every gemstone imaginable, a jeweller's heaven.
Everywhere I turn there are glorious paintings adorning the walls. Every biblical figure has found its home among these stone panels. They follow my journey through their settlement with their painted eyes and invite me further into their home with their pink lips painted into gentle smiles as their heads bow in prayer. Angels bless me with their kind smiles and eternal prayers as I walk past. They mime their stories like the ornate golden frames they reside in are windows into their lives long since gone. They show me how they triumphed over evil and relinquished death. These immobile painted figures are the epitome of goodness.
A strange feeling descends upon me in the breathtaking paradise. I feel a soothing peace wash over me and cleanse me with calmness. This place is truly holy, even to my atheist self. This is not the most beautiful place in Malta. This is the most beautiful place in the world. To me, this is what Heaven looks like.
Tinks Wilson, Year 12