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Boutique hotel with private spa bath on the ramparts of a walled medieval city makes historic island a perfect sunny short break

 

It started badly. I tried in vain to joke about the dockyard cranes and factory chimneys dominating Malta’s tree-less horizon. But she was already beginning to bristle.

We were being taxied from Valetta airport through the dusty industrial outskirts of the island’s sprawling capital. And I was fearing the worst - an outbreak of Maltese cross-ness.

It would all be my fault. It was me who suggested a romantic weekend at the newly-opened Xara Palace Hotel.

Romance

Five-star mansion it may be - but it is unfortunately sited in the middle of the island which is currently bottom of the romance league tables way below East Germany, North Korea and Gibraltar.

For Malta is the Morris Marina of the Med. Its golden era was the early eighties when 500,000 of us went each year attracted by its cosy Britishness and cheap, modern hotels.

Nowadays the island seems more like a drab slab that’s famous for being bombed a lot in the second world war. The attractions include loads of old forts but hardly any beaches.

Malta’s tourist chiefs’ highest expectation is to get 50,000 UK visitors this year, a tenth of what they once had. But the rest of the world could be wrong. I reckoned a great hotel may make all difference - especially on a short break.

Ambience

It was a big risk to take because we’re a couple of frighteningly tough test pilots for anything claiming to be ‘romantic’. I’m a spoilt travel journalist while Joanna writes for homes and gardens magazines. She tends to get rather, err, unsettled if service, decor and ambience aren’t completely up to scratch.

Regular readers may recall our experience of a shabby hotel on Cotswold’s ‘Romantic Road’ earlier this year left us not speaking to each other for the whole trip.

This month I’d stumbled on a new entry in the winter’s brochures. Surely it was a printing error. They’d accidentally put an elegant Italian hotel in with Malta’s concrete blockhouses.

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No, it was right: Xara Palace is a classy, stylish and downright sexy hotel right in the heart of Malta. It was so romantic I started holding my own hand just looking at the photographs. I’d arranged to go before Joanna could say “but it’s in Malta!”

 

In fact I think about taking her away for saucy weekends about five times a minute. And in my fantasy romantic break Joanna turns to me as our black Mercedes taxi rolls away from the hotel, grabs my hand and blubbers: “Oh, thank you for such a brilliant weekend.”

Roadworks

Unfortunately, in reality our cab was stuck in a particularly dour section of roadworks surrounded by flat-roofed houses and forests of TV aerials. Joanna wasn’t speaking. Clouds of dust billowed from the lorry in front so we had to shut the windows. Romance appeared to be quickly slipping from the weekend’s agenda.

Eventually the taxi started leaving the suburbs and winding towards a rocky ridge in the centre of the island. On the crest was the medieval walled town of Mdina.

The cab swept right past the “no traffic allowed” signs, across the narrow bridge over the moat, through the ancient gatehouse to pull up in a grand Norman courtyard in front of the hotel.

The dreaded “is THIS it?” was replaced by a silent gulp of approval.

The hotel is a converted Sicilian mansion built into Mdina’s walls. It dates back to the days when Malta’s crusading knights demonstrated their Christian principles by chopping the heads off Turkish prisoners and using them as cannon balls.

Ancient

A local family bought the derelict building and spent three years renovating and moving in their collection of local antiques and paintings. They’ve done an expert job, from planting gnarled olive trees in the atrium to sticking an authentic wind-up gramophone on the ancient sideboard on the landing.

There’s just 17 rooms but two restaurants, a bar and a gym. The stylish big-plate-small-portions restaurant on the roof has panoramic views to the coast that attract diners from all over the island.

And the romantic clincher was our room - up a twisting stone staircase and complete with huge heated Jacuzzi on our private section of the battlements.

The Xara Palace is - everyone in Malta seemed to agree - the best thing that’s happened to the island for years.

 

Alleyways

Phew! The hotel passed Joanna’s Maltese cross-ness test with flying colours. And from this luxurious base camp, Malta suddenly seemed an interesting place to be.

Staying in Mdina is a good start. It’s an intact seventeenth century town, known as ‘The Silent City’ because traffic is normally banned, the alleyways are narrow, the walls high and thick... and it’s full of convents and churches.

For example, alongside Xara Palace is the “fully enclosed” St Benedict’s nunnery. Once entered, nuns may never leave. Until a few years ago they were even buried inside.

 

And there’s an ornate baroque cathedral 100 yards from the hotel built by a renowned architect called Lorenzo Gafa, doubtless called ‘The Gafa’ by his workmen.

After the trippers were coached back to their seaside hotels, the historic atmosphere was perfect for after-dinner strolls. And the lively neighbouring town of Rabat is a short walk away with catacombs, churches, craft shops and cafes to explore. There’s even a night club.

Sandy

On Sunday the hotel recommended a taxi to Mellieha Bay in the north of the island. It turned out to be a clean unspoilt sandy beach with a small town above. It’s a long way from the main tourist hotels in Paceville.

After a warm swim, an instant suntan and sea-food lunch at a family-run pavement cafe with cheap local white wine, we were happily crowing about our brilliant choice of romantic destination.

The sexiest, most unforgettable memory was sharing a tumbler of brandy wallowing in our private open-air heated Jacuzzi, watching the lights of Valetta twinkling in the distance at two in the morning.

It made Monday’s early morning wake-up call for a back-to-work flight all the more painful. I nearly spoiled it all with a grumpy outburst about waiting for Joanna to pack. Then a gleaming black Mercedes taxi pulled up and Joanna squeezed my arm and whispered: ”Thanks for a brilliant weekend.”

 

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