The kind of bar you don’t take a child to
I opened the bar’s door, holding my little son’s hand, and walked straight in. The place was empty… except for a group of men at the bar, chatting with the bartender.
The moment I stepped closer, they all froze. Every single pair of eyes locked onto me. Not exactly the spot I’d pick for a cup of tea.
I’m not sure if it was my face screaming, “watch out, a foreigner,” or the fact that I was dragging a child with me that did not belong in that kind of place.
It felt like a scene from a cowboy movie: dead silence, dozens of eyes following every move. Five minutes later, I’d bet there’d be a fight with broken chairs and flying teeth. Honestly, I had already calculated three possible escape routes…
… just in case.
Confidence: my only survival skill
“Hi… can anyone lend me a phone? I need to call my husband. We’re lost, and I have no phone.” I announced, trying for a firm voice, because apparently, confidence is my only weapon.
A man in a checked shirt, with a scar above his left eye and a smirk that screamed trouble, hopped off the barstool. He came closer, towering over us. Two metres of pure intimidation was closing in on us. I noticed a tiny tattoo of a skull on his hand. That seemed relevant. Probably.
I yanked my son behind me, just in case. A mix of curiosity and confusion flashed across his face, as if he was trying to decide whether we’d accidentally stepped onto a movie set or if his mom was just being delightfully paranoid again.
Sometimes I feel I’m a magnet for trouble. Other times… maybe trouble is just stalking me. As Ross from Friends once said, “Why do bad things happen to good people?” Honestly, I think I just keep volunteering.
This was meant to be a family day out
Walking into a gritty bar with a child was definitely not on the itinerary for a Sunday family trip. St. Peter’s Pool, southern Malta, was.
We loved our little adventures. Malta is fun if you like playing the bus lottery. Owning a car is a curse: too many cars, impossible parking. No car? Even worse. Overcrowded buses stop every two minutes, and getting anywhere takes forever. Still, we liked the chaos.
Sometimes we’d arrive at the main bus station and take a random bus to somewhere. In Malta, that usually means a seaside spot or something unexpectedly interesting.
Getting back isn’t usually a problem. There are plenty of buses — or, in the worst-case scenario, Bolt will rescue you.
Provided you have money.
Or a phone.
The art of getting lost (without actually being lost)
Technically, my son and I didn’t get lost. While Daddy rescued our daughter, who needed to pee, we wandered off to admire a rock formation, a short detour from our original route.
When we came back to where we’d split up, they were gone. Oops… classic.
I briefly considered sending a search party, but then remembered I was the only adult in this scenario with no money or phone. So, new plan: survive until I can find them.
The man who was not what he seemed
“Here you go,” a thunderclap of a voice broke the silence and shoved a phone at me. I punched in the number. Thank God my husband’s number is almost identical to mine, or we’d still be stranded—but let’s not get too dramatic.
“Where are you?” I barked down the line.
“At the park, near the bus stop.”
“You went back?! Without us???”
“Yes… I thought you went back too.”
Why would I go back?! My god, his logic is a code designed to be cracked by no woman alive.
“Stay there! Don’t move!” I hung up.
I thanked the man — who turned out to be nothing like my first impression — and marched off, dragging my son behind me.
Cats, chaos, and selective survival instincts
Forty minutes later, on the long walk back, we were briefly distracted by a stray cat that looked like it had survived three wars.
My son wanted to pet it, and I didn’t have the energy for explanations.
Malta: land of chaos and millions of cats.
Finally, we found a calm man and a happy child on a swing, as if nothing had ever happened. My husband was casually eating a snack, as if our mini disappearance was a normal part of Sunday life.
While living abroad, I learned one thing: there’s no point in getting wound up. Things get resolved, one way or another.
The kids learned a lesson or two, too. Nowadays, whenever we go somewhere, even they are on high alert.
“Mum, wait, we will lose Daddy again.”
Everything Was Fine. Until It Wasn’t.
This story is part of Life in Translation — a collection of real-life moments that start harmlessly and unravel the second you’re living abroad without the right words, the right tools, or the right plan. If you enjoy stories where normal days quietly slide into chaos, misunderstandings multiply, and everything somehow still works out… you’re in the right place.