WATCH | Strait Street: Malta’s newest two-in-one club and outdoor latrine

As the sun rises on Thursday morning, a Valletta resident walks out of his home and steps right into a puddle of vomit on his doorstep.

As he makes his way down the 16th-century streets, the resident finds himself surrounded by half-filled plastic cups and lemons scattered across the pavements--headstones for the remains of yesterday’s martinis.

He walks past the local police station and down sleepy Republic Street, past parliament and traces of shit, piss, then Castille, before spotting his car parked overlooking the Grand Harbour. And with that, our resident heads to work.

“Strait Street and its environs are an outdoor latrine,” they’ll tell you. “Or an open-air club.”

Here’s the thing about Strait Street: It’s a 665-metre-long alley of outdoor bars. From the moment you turn the corner by Mohan’s to the minute you find yourself standing in front of the sea, one doorway after another opens onto a different bar. Isn’t that something?

The properties for the bars themselves typically consist of a small room the size of your kitchen, with a bathroom tucked in the basement underneath a narrow spiral staircase. However, no truly great businessman would let that stop them. There’s always Strait Street…

Tables, DJ booths and flatscreen TVs spill crowds of people out into the narrow street. Singing, dancing, spilling their martinis. Boy, is it ever a scene!

But another thing about Strait Street is that quite a decent number of people actually live there, or just around its corners. That’s right, people are actually trying to sleep behind those old Maltese balconies hovering above you as you sing Lady Gaga’s ‘Just Dance’ on karaoke.

They can also hear every piece of gossip about your cousin that you shout into your friend’s ear so she can hear you over the blasting music. In fact, I’d bet you a martini that gossip spreads around Strait Street faster than the STDs.

Speaking of STDs, do I have an anecdote for you!

One fateful night, just off one of Strait Street’s not-quite-so-hidden dark corners, a couple had one too many martinis and decided to get a little adventurous. There it was, the green door of Valletta’s police station, glowing under the soft light of its blue-glass lantern.

When a man and a woman love each other very much… Well, one thing led to another. Right against the station door.

Police officers made the executive decision to wait inside until the couple finished what they started, residents say. Potentially an understandable decision, but hilarious to picture nonetheless. I can see it! The officers, stunned, maybe even a little intrigued, by the pure expression of love taking place right outside their window.

Still catching their breath, the man buckles his belt, the woman brushes down her hair, and both are arrested. That’s how the local legend goes…

Another one of my favourites was when residents came across a pile of shit right outside a lawyer’s office. What an image! As a writer, it’s almost too good to be true.

Residents say the situation began gradually getting worse after the government introduced a post-COVID legal notice allowing establishments to play music outside until 1am rather than 11pm.

However, residents say bars often stay open, continue serving alcohol and flood the streets with “an earthquake of music” until 4am. You can turn your AC on turbo, stuff your ears with earplugs, or double-glaze your windows. None of it will get you a full night’s sleep. Get used to it!

And they do. Residents say they can’t fall asleep before 1am even when they’re sleeping somewhere else. Your body simply adapts to the routine, they explain.

Now, you may be wondering: why not call the police?

Normally, that would be a great idea. But Strait Street lives by rules of its own. Residents’ calls to police often go unanswered as music blares through the night and, if officers do answer their pleas for help, action tends to come hours later, after the establishment has already closed. Eventually, residents say, they simply stopped bothering to call.

Sometimes, though, calling the police brings residents a very different kind of response. While they cannot say who is responsible, residents say they have noticed a pattern of vandalism outside their homes, often appearing, coincidentally, the day after they make the call.

Whether it’s piss on their walls or chewing gum shoved into their keyholes, residents are often the ones who pay the price for turning to the authorities for help. And the noise blares on…

But it’s not entirely the police’s fault. Sometimes, residents are met with an officer who admits they are helpless.

Doesn’t it sound a lot like Swieqi? What about Sliema? St Julian’s? Or maybe Buġibba? One island, baby! One culture. Got any spare AFM soldiers for Valletta?