A stately sleepover at Xara Palace Relais & Châteaux is the best way to dodge Mdina’s day-trippers, finds Estella Shardlow…
My arrival in Mdina coincides with a mass exodus. As the cathedral’s bell tolls five, tourists are streaming through the Baroque gatehouse and across the arched moat bridge that Game of Thrones fans will recognise as the entrance to King’s Landing, towards the coaches and taxis idling outside the walled city. My wheelie-case and I are very much going against the grain.
Then, turning down the first cobbled lane, suddenly everything is golden: the silence, the stone, the hour. It seems Mdina (population: 250) is somewhere most people visit for a few hours, before returning to beachfront resorts or digs in lively Valletta, a 20-minute drive away. But it wasn’t always this way. The strategic positioning of this hilltop, inland plateau was favoured by the island’s earliest settlers as far back as 4000BC. Named Maleth by the Phoenicians, Melita to the Romans, the island capital stood here until the 1530s when the Order of St. John took over the island and shifted power to the coast. Even then, it remained a stronghold during Ottoman sieges.
Now the day’s tourist tide has ebbed, I’m happily marooned in this storied citadel with a few other lucky souls; there are only two hotels, both boutique in size, within Mdina’s medieval fortifications. The Xara Palace Relais & Châteaux is the most renowned, a 17-room retreat in what was once the noble Moscati Parisio family’s residence.
For anyone unfamiliar with Relais & Châteaux, here’s the cheat sheet: a global collection of independently owned and operated hotels and restaurants that must meet the five ‘C’s of charm, character, calm, cuisine and courtesy. The Xara Palace checks off each category with aplomb. Its wooden doors swing open for a gracious welcome of complimentary sparkling wine served in the hotel’s internal courtyard – a space that’s more serene sanctuary than buzzy lobby lounge. A ‘Maltese picnic’ board of gbejina (herb-rolled goat cheese), rustic bread, oil from the hotel’s own olive groves and kunserva (tomato paste) awaits upstairs in suite eight.
The count and baroness who once inhabited these rooms would surely approve of the elegant, soberly traditional décor – tapestries and oil paintings adorning 17th-century walls, Persian rugs spread over marble floors, antique mahogany furniture gleaming. Some details could do with smartening up or modernising, like the clunky air-conditioning unit above my bed. More pleasing is the decadently deep, freestanding silver bathtub, and the soul-stirring view that’s revealed when I fling open my window shutters: Maltese plains unfurling far below, towards the Mediterranean’s distant sapphire sparkle.
Some suites have hot tubs on the terraces and mezzanine layouts with spiral staircases. For the utmost privacy and smartest surroundings, two-bedroom private residence Palazzino Belvedere was recently added to the mix. If it’s heritage, hushed grandeur and after-hours access to an ancient city you’re after, this is the ideal inner sanctum.
Topping it all off is epicurean eyrie De Mondion, where nostalgic Maltese recipes and humble island ingredients – from snails and rabbit to salad leaves from the Xara gardens – are given an haute cuisine reimagining. Signature dishes on the Michelin-starred tasting menu include a ‘Tribute to the Mediterranean Sea’, a translucent medallion of raw red prawn sitting prettily on a scallop-edged, patterned plate; tender, slow-cooked suckling pig topped with seasonal truffles; and the ‘Childhood Memories’ dessert laced with popping candy and Mdina honey, inspired by ice-cream trucks of chef’s youth.
Defeated by some surprisingly hearty petit fours, including a full-size brioche, I decide to walk off dinner. Mdina really lives up to its ‘Silent City’ moniker after dark. A regally robed Madonna statue is one of the only figures I encounter, and my footsteps echo along traffic-free lanes. Beneath the amber lozenges of the streetlamps, the sleeping palazzi have a stage-set quality, with their Arabesque arched doorways, gallarija (painted balconies) and blooming bougainvillea. I recognise one quaint courtyard, Pjazza Mesquita, as Littlefinger’s brothel in Game of Thrones, and streets that Ridley Scott had his Napoleon ride along.
I run my hands over limestone facades, cool at this late hour and riven with rough crevices, as if feeling for messages left by citizens of centuries past. It’s the sort of whimsical behaviour I’d be too self-conscious to do with an audience, by daylight, and one of the joys of after-dark sightseeing. I’m reminded of my wonderfully lonely nights on the Venetian islands of Torcello and Burano, long-ago epicentres of the lagoon and day-trip favourites which transform into enigmatic ghost towns after the last vaporetto has left. ‘Noctourism’, it turns out, is becoming a bona fide global trend as travellers seek to avoid both crowds and rising temperatures.
Sleeping with the window shutters open, I’m stirred awake by the first rays of sun spreading over the countryside below. After an early, al fresco breakfast of ricotta and pea pastizzi (these crisp, stuffed pastries are a Maltese specialty) on the roof terrace, I’m first through the doors of St Paul’s Cathedral, which handily is only two streets away. It’s said the apostle was shipwrecked in Malta and Mattia Preti’s dramatic oil painting of this event fills the apse. Even more dazzling, though, is the marble inlay floor – dozens of commemorative slabs emblazoned with quirky coats of arms and scythe-wielding skeletons by way of memento mori.
My-short-but-sweet sleepover in the Silent City at an end, I once again tag team with day-trippers, heading to the airport just as they’re climbing off the tour buses. I pause to take one quick, highly unoriginal snap of Vilhena Gate to sate my inner Game of Thrones geek, then leave with the lingering smugness that I’ve seen a side to Mdina that many miss.
Rooms at The Xara Palace start from €236 (£196) per night per room. For more information, please visit www.xarapalace.com.mt.
Photos by Nolwenn Pernin
