Paying respects to Oliver Reed in Malta

By DAVID MAY

Never mind the Blue Grotto, the imposing Auberge de Castille or the megalithic monuments that are 1000 years older than the Pyramids - the first thing I want to do in Malta is pay my last respects to a drinking man's drinking man.

With a mounting thirst and a sense of purpose I set out to find the pub where renowned hellraiser, actor and bon vivant Oliver Reed finally drank himself to death.

Somewhere in the back streets of Valletta, the beautifully decayed old capital, was the watering hole called simply The Pub where Ollie became a regular during filming of Gladiator. Strangely few locals seem to know where it is.

Valletta, with its 16th-century buildings joined together so no gaps appear between them and no gardens in front, just a wondrous clutter of closed wooden balconies painted green, blue and brown, is a grand Baroque gem, guardian of one of the world's finest natural harbours and now a Unesco world heritage site.

The town was built in the late 16th century by the Knights of St John, an aristocratic order of European blue-blooded troubleshooters, "Soldiers of Christ" and scourge of Islam since the 11th century.

In retaliation Suleiman the Magnificent launched his Great Siege of the city in 1565 that lasted four months. But the Turks failed to dislodge the knights who went on to finance Malta's golden era of arts, culture and architecture.

Over time their authority crumbled and when Napoleon stopped off on his way to Egypt in 1798, he strolled into Valletta and took control. Two years later the Maltese booted out the French with a little help from Lord Nelson, paving the way for a lengthy British presence.

During the Second World War Malta was a giant Allied naval base and staging area for the invasion of Sicily, just to the north. Although the friendly, gentle Maltese people were bombed mercilessly by the Axis powers, suffering severe casualties and famine, they stubbornly refused to surrender. Their gallantry earned them the British George Cross. Malta won independence in 1964, becoming a republic 10 years later.

And it is now Republic St that bisects the city, where Vallettans meet to shop, to gossip over coffee and to argue over politics. Side streets drop steeply toward the magnificent Grand Harbour.

Outside St Barbara Church, five elderly men sit on stone steps worn smooth by centuries of worship in this deeply religious place and debate the latest political scandal near a sandy-haired old busker crooning 50s songs. I pass the President's Palace, begun in 1580, Great Siege Square and the King's Own Band Club that welcomes visitors for cheap, traditional Maltese meals. Today's specials are lampuki (fish) pie and garlic rabbit.

Down on Republic Square, waiters glide between tables beneath a forest of gaudy umbrellas while across the road the venerable Caffe Cordina still serves lunch as it has since 1837.

These days it is usually sandwiches, bruschetta, pastas or octopus salad, fine Maltese wines, and its specialties, honey rings and Maltese nougat made from 1748 recipes.

With still no sign of The Pub, I pass St John St, St Lucia St, turn into Old Theatre St and catch a glimpse of Marsamxett Harbour with its colourful old fishing boats (luzzus), million-dollar yachts and sparkling waters, reputed around Malta to be the cleanest in the Mediterranean.

All around in these ghostly streets are auberges or palaces of the knights, now mostly government offices and churches whose floors are vast flat tombs with beautifully inlaid marble covers.

Turning into Strait St in mid-afternoon, I'm confronted by a woman in her 60s with dyed red hair and a ludicrous mini-skirt. I ask her if she knows The Pub. She eyes me strangely and grabs my wrist like a vice. "Five pounds," she growls ($17). "And I'll make you some coffee."

I've stumbled into "The Gut," Valletta's crumbly red light street with its phalanx of defunct bars and low balconies where a few fading hookers still wink and beckon stray males.

Wrenching away from trouble, I double back to Merchants St where matrons with their heads wrapped in scarves and teenagers with their feet wrapped in killer platforms, riffle through bargains at the daily open air markets. There are lots of shops and churches and more balconies above but nothing that looks like The Pub.

With blisters forming underfoot, Archbishop St is my last hope. After two blocks I see a young nun emerge from Rupert's Restaurant, and limp toward her. "Excuse me, ah, I'm trying to find a place called The Pub. Have you ... ?"

Smiling, she points a finger to the sky. Over her shoulder I see the headline preserved in a glass case on the wall: "Ollie's Last Order."

The Pub is difficult to notice. A faded shingle and a small sign sit over a narrow door and bay window. It has the claustrophobia of a small cave with bench seats along the side walls adorned with British memorabilia and beer ads, four stools at the bar and three other customers.

The owner, Kathleen Cremona, is behind the bar as she was on the night of May 2, 1999, when Ollie turned up after a hard day's shoot and sank eight bottles of Lowenbrau for openers.

When a bunch of sailors from visiting frigate HMS Cumberland turned up, Ollie bought for the bar, and a rum-drinking, arm-wrestling contest ensued until he had downed his 12th double rum. The sailors couldn't keep up and moved on.

"After they left," she says, "he drank half a bottle of scotch and lay down on his favourite seat in the corner. When he turned a nasty shade of blue, we called the ambulance." Ollie, 61, died of a heart attack on the way to hospital.

"He was a lovely man," Kathleen recalls. "He was so sociable and just loved to be around people.

"My only regret," Ollie once said, "is that I didn't drink every pub dry and sleep with every woman on the planet."

Bottoms up, Ollie.

CASENOTES:


GETTING THERE: British Airways has three flights a week Auckland-London Heathrow with connecting flights to Malta. Contact (09) 356 8690.

MONEY: One Maltese Lira =$NZ5.20.

VISAS: No visas required for New Zealand passport holders.

MORE INFO: Contact local travel agent, the Maltese Tourism Authority or send an e-mail to Visit Malta.