January 10th, 2009, 4 Comments »
Back in October, 2007, I was messing around with Google’s then-new ‘My Maps’ feature. I made a map of all my favourite spots on Gozo (here’s the related blog post), the Maltese island where we lived for nine months. I added a bunch of Flickr photos and a couple of links to this site.
Today I was making a quick map using the same feature, and browsed through some of my older maps. I was surprised to discover that my Gozo memory map has received 13984 views. That seems like a lot. I just made it on a lark on a slow day in Malta.
I wasn’t sure where all those map views were coming from. I looked around, and wasn’t able to find a way to search all of Google’s publicly-accessible custom maps. Assuming they’re including them in Google Maps search results, I searched Google Maps for ‘Gozo’ (and variations), and noticed that my map is the only one listed under ‘User-Created Maps’.
I suppose, under certain circumstances, this would be a useful SEO strategy. You could embed links in placemark descriptions and, assuming they looked useful, Google Maps users might click them. I might add some relevant links to some more markers to test if it drives any traffic.
Browsing through my other custom maps, I see that our Sahara trip map has about 6000 views, and our zone-we-want-to-live-in map has about 4700 views. It’s not obvious what differentiates a popular map from an unpopular one. Any ideas?
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May 20th, 2008, 29 Comments »
Ever since I lived in Ireland, I’ve hung up my clothes to dry. In Dublin we had this ridiculous combination washer-dryer in one machine. The washing part worked okay, but the drying cycle only seemed to warm up my wet clothes. I’d have had better luck trying to dry them in the microwave.
I brought the habit back to Canada. Since a pre-teen growth spurt, I’ve also had a pathological fear of trousers and sleeves that are too short. Not using the dryer also means my clothes rarely shrink. Clothes dryers use a lot of power, so I get some bonus eco-smugness out of the deal.
However, we’ve always had crappy drying racks. They’ve been spindly, fragile affairs that are prone to finger-squeezing collapses. They’ve been awkward to set up, and so dainty that they can blow over in a stiff wind. Our drying rack in Malta ended up in the pool on more than one occasion.
I want a robust drying rack that will last a decade. It should be collapsible and ideally made of wood (though I’ll take plastic or aluminum).
Do you own such a rack? Where’d you get it? This is a long shot, but maybe somebody out there among you, my dear readers, has a drying rack that they love and can recommend
UPDATE – May, 2010: I was recently at a sustainability expo and spotted the drying rack I eventually purchased (it’s the Fold-away dryer on this page). It, among others, was being sold by Sundog Clothines Company. They may be able to fulfill your clothes drying needs.
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May 8th, 2008, No Comments »
My friend Gwendolyn recently started a food blog entitled Patent and the Pantry. She’s combining recipes with great photos of her concoctions. She brought a bunch of rosemary cashews when she came to visit us, and they were very tasty:
Rosemary Cashews have rapidly become my go-to hostess gift since I began making them a few years ago. They have been to book club and video nights, served as work snacks and traveled all the way to Malta as a small, homemade gift for friends hosting me there. (They were such a hit, we made a bastardized version for Canadian Thanksgiving, in which my friends invited 10 for turkey dinner by the pool.)
I love the play of salty and sweet and the hit of heat, combined with the herby woodiness of the rosemary. Plus they’re ridiculously easy to make.
My only tip for Gwen is that she ought to host (and tag and add to groups) her photos on Flickr, and include links back to the appropriate blog posts in the description field. That will likely drive some traffic, given how attractive they are.
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December 29th, 2007, 1 Comment »
As I’ve mentioned, during our nine-month stay in Gharb, we ate at Rangers at least once a week. Named after the local football club (not quite as accomplished as their Scottish namesake), it’s a little bar/restaurant run just off the main square.
Tony handles the bar and takes orders out front, and his wife Carmen cooks the meals in the back. I tried most of the menu, but I eventually narrowed my preference down to Carmen’s excellent funghi pizza. All the pizzas are excellent–thin crusts, the ideal ratio of toppings to sauce to cheese, and just the right size to fill you up (those stacked North American pizzas look ridiculous by comparison).
We can’t recommend Rangers enough. It’s run by great people, and is an ideal spot for casual dining when you don’t feel like cooking at home (or at your holiday home, as the case may be). They also have a kick-ass rooftop patio, with a great view of Ta Pinu. It’s lovely to sit up there, have a drink and watch the bats dip and dive as the sun goes down.
This is the first in a short series of blog posts in praise of some businesses we used and enjoyed on Gozo. These don’t currently have much of an online presence, so I wanted give them some online, uh, props.
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December 28th, 2007, 1 Comment »
Another Fowleresque list. We’re leaving Gozo on Monday, and Malta for Morocco on Wednesday. I’ve got a few more posts about Malta in the hopper (meaning my head), but here’s one on things I’ll miss. It’s not comprehensive, but really more gestural:
- The awesome retro Coke bottles. The kind they drank from at the drive-in in American Graffiti. I actually just made it to the island on time for this one.
- The locals’ ambivalence toward their pets. Shortly after we arrived, I was talking to a neighbour about one of her cats:
ME: How many do you have?
HER: I’m not sure. Three or four.
ME: What’s this one’s name?
HER: I don’t know. Cat?
- The subsequent names we manufactured for the local cats: Dine ‘n’ Dash, Kitten (lovely, but afflicted with shocking flatulence and halitosis), Bread-Eating Cat (it would sneak into our house at night to raid our bread stash), Cairo (it looked particularly Egyptian), Bell Cat (it wore a bell) and Fat Albert.
- The bath tub temperature of the ocean in late summer.
- The fantastic (at least to me–I’m a noobie) snorkeling in that water.
- The fruit. I’ll never look at, well, nearly every fruit back in Canada, the same way.
- The temperature outside. On the day of Christmas Eve, I went for a walk in a long-sleeve t-shirt.
- Dwejra Bay, with its extraordinary settings and killer swimming holes.
- How everybody knows everybody.
- The resulting extraordinary trust. I had an item to ship back to Canada, and the courier came by to pick it up this morning. I opened the door, he said “are you Darren?” I said “yep, here it is”. He picked it up and left. No invoice, no waivers, no receipt, no nothing. And yet I have faith that it’ll make it back to the homeland.
- The peculiar array of cars. Due to some import taxes based on engine size, there are many, many tiny cars from all over the planet. I got a lift in a Skoda today, for example.
- The remarkable and intense Catholicism, which has been quite educational. More on this in an upcoming post.
- How everything is so close. You can walk across the whole island in under three hours.
- How Gozo busted some of my stereotypes about Mediterraneans. They drive very sedately, they’re not particularly fiery and they’re very prompt.
- The church bells, and their unusual patterns.
- Starting work at 13:00. Though maybe that habit will stick.
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December 15th, 2007, 4 Comments »
Walking back from town yesterday, I found our village square to be abuzz with activity. There were no less than eight police officers consulting in front of our church. The only other time I’d seen that kind of police presence was when the President dropped by for a visit.
As I turned into our little lane, I noticed a blood trail. It must have been 100 meters in length–happily it veered right where our alley forks, and not down to where we live. You could see where the victim staggered at one point and leaned against the wall for a bit. I took a photo:
Julie got the gossip from the local shop, and I confirmed today in the paper that there’d been a shooting in Gharb. Apparently there a woman got pushed, and an argument ensued. Somebody went to get a gun, and kerblammo. Nobody died.
Inner city violence in a village of 900. Cool!
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December 5th, 2007, 2 Comments »
From our farmhouse, we can hear the bells of three different churches. The closest church, in our village of Gharb, needs to get some work done on their bells–they sound decidedly flat and clanky.
At first they kept me up at night, but I’ve developed a real affection for them. There’s a little symbolic power to something that the whole community hears.
Early on, we noticed that the ringing of the bells didn’t follow the usual nine-bells-for-nine-o’clock model that I was familiar with. It was actually an interesting puzzle, though I don’t think I ever thought particularly seriously about the odd combination of bells.
Eventually I asked someone, and they explained how the bells work. There are two sets of tones. The first set applies to the minutes, and the second set to the hours. The bells toll at fifteen minute intervals, with the minutes bell tolling one to four times, and the hours bell tolling one to six times. Here are a few examples:
1:15 – bing, bong
15:45 – bing, bing, bing, bong, bong, bong
18:00 – bing, bing, bing, bing, bong, bong, bong, bong, bong, bong (the maximum possible notes)
Because the bells work on a six-hour rotation, it’s up to you to determine if it’s 3:45, 9:45, 15:45 or 21:45.
Do other parts of the world use this system? Malta is the only place I’ve heard it.
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December 4th, 2007, 5 Comments »
Our bedroom is on the top floor of our limestone farmhouse. There’s kind of an outdoor landing outside our bedroom door, which you cross to descend stairs into the rest of the house. We’ve occasionally seen cats on this landing, as they cross rooftops and balconies and lick their tongues into the corners of the evening.
Last week, on three separate occasions, we’ve found, well, piles of crap in various corners of this landing. Large piles of crap for a cat. If the location wasn’t accessible only to cats, you’d think a dog was responsible (some of the cats around here are big, muscular beasts). And, without getting too graphic, these cats were not getting enough fibre in their diets.
What to do? The cats come and do their business in the middle of the night. There was no way to fence off the landing, or access to it from the roof. There was only one solution.
I made like Farley Mowat, and marked my territory. We figured a little human urine might turn off the fickle felines.
And we were right. It’s been four nights now, and there’s no cat poo in sight. Darren 1, Feral Cats 0.
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