A trip to Gozo on the eve of the fateful implementation of new channel-crossing times had me realising one thing: I want one of Austin Camilleri’s babies. He’s got loads of them, so I’m sure he won’t mind, and I suppose quite a few people have acquired a some here and there too, and they don’t mind sharing.

If your life is as totally disconnected from the arts scene as that of most mere mortals (such as I, perchance?) you will have no idea what I’m talking about. Austin Camilleri is not a donor in the bank sense of the word, he is one of the best artists smoothly operating out of this tiny island. His installation of loads of little pink rubber babies climbing up walls at the St. James inauguration unleashed him on the unprepared public as one of the most innovative artists today.

Camilleri is Gozitan, and so it is almost a given that his work should find a home in the Barumbara arts café and restaurant at the Mgarr Hotel. Like all good ideas, turning a restaurant into an exhibition space is nothing new, and the Mgarr is making sure it showcases it. It’s not the Saatchi or the Tate, but it’s working within its confines, with the Gozo’s not so confined.

Unfortunatly, Austin’s blue and white ‘porcelain’ baby, juxtaposed wonderfully with a couple of wall plates, is not for sale. Unlike everything else in this place. And so it came about that apart from dishing out the largest steaks known to man outside of Argentina, the Barumbara is also showcasing Gozitan talent. It is also featuring regular live music of the intelligent kind and making the whole dining experience a total one.

Incidentally, if you want to just watch the queues forming and fuming on a Sunday afternoon, there’s no place better to do it than from the terraces of the lovely rooms at the Mgarr hotel. People plonking their cars in the never-ending lines, and stepping out for ice-creams or drinks, complaining to fellow hopeful passengers, back in the car to drive another little bit, then out again. It’s a saga for some, and an unravelling of a couple of days of relaxation for most.

I won’t go into the merits and demerits of this schedule. God knows no-one seems to like it, and adding my 2 cents worth to the gazillion words that have already been written is certainly not going to make any difference. Next time though, I’ll certainly think twice before going off to a place that just doesn’t want me to come back at the time I feel like.

Lunch in Gozo should be a relaxed affair. Either some place next to the sea, or somewhere with a view of it. Ta’ Rikkardu has none of this. It has the greatest thing on earth though: simple fare served in simple circumstances. Ok, you’ll be surrounded by horrendous displays of tourist tat juxtaposed with exquisite lace (which is, I suppose, where they make the money from), and a few Gozitan men discussing ‘ir-Russa’ that some guy or other has brought over, but it’s all a part of the experience.

There’s no menu at all: the choice one plate of tomatoes, bread, olives, sun-dried tomatoes and gbejniet, and boy were all of them fabulous. There’s also the house-wine which is exactly as home-made wine should be: not too heavy on the palate, easy to drink (which makes you ask for a second glass) and therefore, just right to make you overdo it. Two glasses seemed like a an easy-going affair until I stood up and had to be helped to the door.

I was just a little tipsy, so my brain could still function slightly. The whole thing led me to think: why do I have to go to Gozo for all this? Why don’t we have a couple of bars in Malta that stick to the simplest, most basic things in life? Why do we come up with the most complicated stuff, fifteen-page menus of frozen imported food, when the local stuff is just staring us in the face and mocking us like one of Camilleri’s babies.

Regardless of my subsequent involuntary inebriation, these are the most wonderful goat’s cheeses I’ve had in ages. You know the old adage: you tell you mates you’re going to Gozo and they all tell you to bring them a gbejna back with you. This time, you really should.

Of course, the only problem is that in the four hours it will take you to board the ferry, they will either go sour (to match your mood) or you’ll end up nibbling them for want of something better to do. If you’re lucky enough, the porcelain baby will be sitting there quietly in the back seat, staring away at all the other children screaming and fighting in the adjacent cars.