In Memory Of The Old Maltese Clubs And Bars That Have Now Closed Down
Remembering the past lives of some of our favourite PV spots.
For those of us who grew up in a time where social media meant Hi5 and MSN My Space, weekends were what kept us up-to-date with who was friends with who, who was bored of what, and who was in a complicated relationship with whom.
Our only insight into what people “liked” was through stunted conversations over tequila shots and a shared feeling of discomfort in overly-crowded and syrupy-floored bars. All in all it was an awkward time, but there were some definite waterhole highlights. Here’s a list of our favourite hang-outs from the 00s.
Sabor - also known as the fiery pits of hell
Now: Gentlemens' Club
An eternal vortex of sweat and obnoxious hedonists, Sabor was the place where any form of conversation or intelligible communication went to die. Possibly the worst-laid out bar/club in the history of the world (bar space = 90% of the whole area, people space = 10% of the whole area – mostly play-dohed onto the cloudy glass doors which prevented any air at all from entering the two-foot wide ring around said bar space). Sabor can be credited with bringing back one local trend – playing in the streets. Only we weren’t so much playing as we were escaping the venomous human fog and waiting for the acceptable time to pavement-perch with a piping Amigos pizza slice in hand.
Montrose – where the misfits gathered and bonded over cheap rosé wine
Now: One of the Hugo's
With a balcony so narrow you could had no option but to stand within breath-smelling distance of your counterpart, Montrose was the place where the more sensitive of souls convened on the start of a night out to drink wine and people-watch from above. You wouldn’t dare to stay there beyond pre-drinks, even though secretly you kind of wanted to. Instead, you waltzed into the uncharted emotional terrain that lay ahead – in cooler bars.
BJs - alternative music and far less deodorant than was called for
Now: Business Centre
Where many a night was spent sat in affected melancholy as one of the countless singer-songwriter (minus the actual original songwriting), Cranberries sound-a-likes crooned across the poorly ventilated space. Mourning our physical inadequacies yet believing ourselves to be at our intellectual apex – BJs was a dimly-lit reverie that cuddled our collective sigh of desperation.
Hacienda - circumventing non-smoking legislation with two flights of stairs and no real ventilation or physical shield
Now: Some cafe/salsa bar/clothes shop in Baystreet
By this time Pacevillites had begun experimenting with social documentation. Stainless steel pocket cameras were whipped out to recorded the happenings of ‘Hacienda Nights’, providing an apt training ground for self-media of the future. Hacienda also gave rise to toilet make-or-break-your-face moments, where girls invariably either forged binding friendships or eternal feuds.
Pit Stop - the birth of crotch to crotch dancing
Now: Nordic Bar
Way before grinding was actually a thing, swarms of horny girls and boys were pelvic thrusting their way into oblivion – or the awkwardly sited bar on the steps, Pit Stop. Arguably, it can be said to have been the birthplace of the vodka red bull pitcher. Certainly, it gave rise to the ‘hyper-crowd’ – a trend of human saturation that would follow in many bars to come. Leaving with only three cigarette burns in one night was considered a triumph. As was getting to the bathroom before the three-inch cesspit had accumulated around clusters of hair-holding girlfriends.