Since I now live on the outskirts of a village and have given up my four wheels, I brace myself to spend hours on the bus routes when my destination is not within reasonable walking distance. True oodles of precious time are lost. Yet riding buses on my upbeat days used to give me time to sort out plans and thoughts in my head, dream impossible dreams, lose myself to a nodding siesta and occasionally come across someone bizarre character. Nowadays, my equanimity is wearing thin.
Setting out early is crucial to catch the buses at my end since this is when they are normally punctual though no longer seat guaranteed. Once 7.30am strikes, it is a very different matter. Experience has also taught me that stopping at Porte des Bombes to catch a Sliema, St Julian’s or Attard bus is a big mistake for here a swarm of aggressive, elbowing miscreants from all quarters of the globe, with no intention of ever learning to queue, will shove you and leave you by the wayside smeared with body odour if you are not ready to step back and wait for another bus. Much better to make it all the way to Valletta, let getting to St James Ditch put a spring in your step and ensure a sit-down once you are on board. Besides, this precludes any buses driving past despite your frantic signalling.
Admittedly, waiting time for the Sliema or St Julian’s line from Valletta is not excessive, in total contrast to getting back to the village. To begin with, it takes more than an hour to reach the capital – the kind of waste of time that axes any good mood. Given the tidal waves of tourists and TEFL students, summer used to be the pits. Today, the influx of foreign workers makes it worse than a nightmare all the year round. Having arrived as a bundle of nerves and desperate for some fresh air, a few strides along the unmentionably ugly container kiosks totally marring the spruce Triton fountain gets me to the required bay. With a bit of luck, my take-me-home bus would not have just rolled away.
Yet if lady luck is not smiling at me, I am in for a long wait since the connection runs every 30 minutes which would be bearable if I could sit down and catch up with some reading or simply stare. But the seating at the Valletta terminus has been designed to have commuters roast in the sizzling sun, sodden to the skin in a downpour, or risking a guano shower simply because there are no canopies. In fact, the latter only extend from the various kiosks (not the brown container ones), so most commuters have no choice but to stand up and encourage their varicose veins.
The same illogical design mars the newish bus shelters whose flat panels offer no protection from rain or shine. Actually, water will trickle on your head or nose when it rains since the roof consists of ‘seamful’ rather than seamless panels. You could also be unfortunate to find yourself getting wet by a leaking AC unit during your commute or sitting down on a wet seat which you did not notice in time, but which will make you look incontinent throughout and after the trip.
Nevertheless, this is not as bad as getting soaked by two pairs of screeching tyres deliberately splashing the puddles and streams of rainwater as you vainly crouch against the wall. (Anyone who is still new to the island will eventually find out that in Malta you are more likely to get drenched by sadistic, speeding vehicles rather than by pelting rain.)
On a hapless day, you might even find yourself squashed by an obese passenger with one of his/her extra pounds of flesh plonked on your lap plus full thigh contact of the most undesirable kind. Just the thing to leap up in a second and hope that Transport Malta will do a Ryan Air and charge seriously obese passengers (Gender M, F or X) for two seats which believe me they do take up.
Another stroke of tough luck could be a bus driver who parks ‘his’ bus en route, disappears to get a coffee or whatever, totally unconcerned with the trail of honking and blaspheming he has caused and subsequently reappears with a cheeky grin and his own blasphemous retort. Yet another downer is a bell malfunction or a distracted bus driver who does not stop at the requested bus stop.
As unpleasant as they are, these are ‘minor’ inconveniences which are not worth huffing and puffing over for very long. The real gripe is about:
1. Buses that routinely do not stick to their schedule especially at lunchtime and early afternoon. Complaining to the supervisors at the Valletta Terminus is met with either a condescending comment or shoulders shrugging off all responsibility. Wonder of wonders it is always at that very moment of complaint that supervisors would have arrived on the scene, so according to them the change of roster automatically makes them unaccountable. As for emailing complaints to Transport Malta, perish the thought.
2. Foreign drivers who cannot communicate in English or Maltese except for a couple of monosyllables. It does not get any better when they do not know the routes. It is no rarity for passengers to guide them or end up touring an unscheduled part of Malta. Worse still, these foreign drives do not know the landmarks along the way, meaning you cannot ensure getting it right if you are unfamiliar with the locality of your destination. So doing your homework beforehand is a must.
3. A roster change that doubles up into a 15-minute break at the Park and Ride sites, kissing goodbye to any hope of punctuality.
4. A bus that runs out of fuel while you are on the way because the driver/s cannot be bothered to check the fuel gauge. While passengers will hopefully not take long to board another bus when this happens on a busy main road such as in Birkirkara or the Msida Front, it is another matter altogether when such a disaster strikes in the backwoods. This is falling victim to sheer carelessness because an empty petrol tank is not an engine failure or an accident. Any Malta Transport official reading this piece should take note that such negligence is unacceptable, never occurred in our bone-shaking, stifling bus days and should never occur.
The first three are part and parcel of the public transport system in Malta, the fourth an infrequent though still deplorable occurrence. Nor have I gone anywhere near routes which can be easily curtailed (Bus No 21 on its way to Valletta tops the list for urgent cropping since it does not need to go along the Sliema promenade). The result is more cars on the road generating millions for the government through registration tax and the fuel monopoly which it relishes to the full. Spare me any debate about the feverish widening of roads, which would be commendable had it been: 1) planned to ensure free flows everywhere; 2) not used as an excuse to fell any tree in sight; 3) not intended to encourage more cars on the road; and 4) gobble up precious arable land in total disregard to alternative efficient public transport systems.
Consequently, talk to improve the Public Transport service is all blah. Factor in the surge of foreign residents and the one million target population that the Prime Minister is rumoured to be aiming for. And get ready for mayhem. For we are a nation of couch potatoes who have brought up our children demanding to be chauffeured anywhere, anytime and that getting a car on turning 18 is now a right.
Our visibly spiking pollution levels are soon going to rival hellholes like Mumbai and Mexico City. This is what the government should delve into before it blurts out another word re upgrading our Third World roads and taking our health care system to another level.
Volvo’s announcement last year that it will only produce fully electric or hybrid cars as from next year plus the EU’s target to ban the sale of petrol and diesel cars in 20 years’ time should be an inspiring point of take-off. Having enough charging points and the alternative energy to generate massive amounts of electricity is another challenge. But the government’s declarations to embrace electric cars soon till now have proved a preamble to give the green light to several ‘petrol stations’ in ODZ areas. Perhaps this would solve the problem of a journeying public bus running out of fuel. Somehow, I still would not bet on it.
Noemi Zarb