I've been digitizing my father's 8MM cine films. It starts on a southern German autobahn somewhere between “still in Bavaria” and “we’re definitely going south now”. The car is a proper 70s Ford Estate, the road is empty by modern standards, and everyone looks quietly thrilled to be escaping the grey.
Then the Brenner Pass. Mountains, hairpins, that peculiar Alpine light that makes everything look like a postcard someone left in the sun too long. Italy arrives without ceremony — just the sudden switch to autostrada, faster traffic, and the sense that the holiday has properly begun.
Malta. White light, dusty roads, the ferry, the first proper heat. And then, by pure accident of digitising these reels today, 7 August, we land slap in the middle of the San Gejtanu feast in Ħamrun which is today. Bunting, fireworks, the whole village out, the band, the statue, the noise. Fifty-three years later and the feast is still happening on the same date. Some things refuse to change.
After the noise and the crowds, the film cuts to Golden Sands. Proper beach day. Sea the colour of a 1970s travel brochure, kids running about, adults pretending they’re not knackered from the drive. Classic end-of-journey reset.
Whole thing is maybe fifteen minutes of silent 8mm memory. No commentary needed. The pictures do the talking, and they still talk perfectly well.
