Grooving in Malta, a Mini paradise

"Visit Beautiful MALTA, Where Minis Live Forever."

That slogan is probably not the one to cause a stampede for the Air Malta ticket counter, but it would certainly have worked on me. I have a proud history with Mini Coopers, both the original funky model and the current adult BMW version that actually runs. That said, I am semi-ashamed to admit that what drew me to Malta was the accidental viewing of a '70s BBC detective series set there. Even though this program featured guys with unfortunate hair splattering bullets around the countryside and flinging themselves over cliffs, I got enough of a feel for the place to want to go. I launched my own personal stampede to Air Malta, sans gun but fully equipped with unfortunate hair.

Initially, I hadn't planned to rent a car, since Malta is very small and, judging from a sign advertising a nonstop bus to the Torture Museum, there was public transport. However, when I was having a restorative coffee after a disturbing hour among the racks and thumbscrews, I overheard someone mention a car to rent. The price was right, there weren't all those pesky forms to fill out and, best of all, the vehicle in question was a 1972 Mini Cooper.

I couldn't believe it. I CAMPED in a 1972 Mini Cooper in Scotland only a couple of years before and still had the corrugations in my back to prove it. I adored everything about that Cooper, from the aluminum foil lovingly folded over the grill to (not) prevent water from coming in, to the Magic Gearbox with the shift so loose it truly took a feat of prestidigitation to get out of first. Spurred by fond memories, I handed over money and pocketed the key.

The Mini and I achieved ignition and headed out, me relearning right-hand driving and it making a valiant effort to reach 25 mph without exploding. Within minutes I realized that almost every car on the road was also a vintage Mini Cooper. They were everywhere, beetling merrily if erratically along on their tiny tires like so many Hot Wheels in a kid's playroom. A few were a tad rusted, but most flaunted exciting '60s paint jobs exquisitely highlighted with primer. It was a motoring microcosm of the Age of Aquarius, flower power on wheels in the middle of the Mediterranean — groovy redux!

I joined the herd of happy little vehicles with their happy little (or scrunched) drivers (squashed or not, you can't help being happy when you're driving a Mini), and pondered possible explanations for this embarrassment of Minis. Maybe because of all that time the country was under British rule? Surely not — the Knights of Malta had run things for years, too, and no one was scanning about in leftover tunics and armor.

Then I got it. Malta was Florida for Mini Coopers. This was where they retire to hang out in the sun, reliving zany trips to (and at) long-ago music festivals and aimless wild-night drives on a teaspoon of gas. Here on this little island Minis owned the road despite miserable Lucent electrics and engines so gutless they would be hard put to power a mid-sized blender. It all made sense. Malta is Mini heaven.

Kathleen Vail-hayden lives in Lake Forest Park.

The Travel Essay, written by readers about an adventure or insight, runs each Sunday in The Seattle Times and also online at seattletimes.com. Essays, which are unpaid, must be no longer than 600 words and will be edited for content and length. E-mail to travel@seattletimes.com or send to Travel, The Essay, The Seattle Times, P.O. Box 70, Seattle, WA 98111. Individual replies are not always possible.