Like it or not, when traveling long term, domestic tasks still need to be addressed.

There are fun ones like grocery shopping and ones that are less fun. Like where do I dispose of this stinking, rotting bag of trash?

And then there is cooking, sometimes fun, other times less than fun. And bill paying, never fun. And laundry, usually interesting in the least (See “Not Travelling”.).

Let’s start with grocery shopping.

I used to be the sort of cook who decided what meals to make (chicken pie today?) and then went to the store to find all the ingredients. Not any more.

Now I go to the store, find something that either looks fresh. Or, more simply, I can recognize what it is.

Packaged foods can be tricky. In many places, like Portugal, the only way I knew the identity of some packaged food was from the picture on the front. But I recently learned NOT to trust the pictures.

For instance, as a non-Italian speaker, I assumed that this was a package of sugar cubes thinking surely Suerte had something to do with sweet. And look, there’s a sugar cube right there on the front!

(Of course, using this logic, this might also be a box of cups…)

Today I opened the package only to learn that it was coffee. Which was fabulous because we ran out of coffee today. See how mistakes can end up becoming nice surprises?

Speaking of coffee, we have had a very interesting time travelling as devoted coffee drinkers. We have used many brewing devices. Including a French press, three different types of Italian stove-top espresso makers, a Kurig-y thing. And a percolator.

They all worked fine. Except the percolator. It tried to kill me.

The first morning here in Gozo I made a pot of coffee in the percolator. My parents always used one so I nostalgically enjoyed the familiar sound of the coffee bouncing in the lid, watching it gradually turn dark brown through that glass thingy.

But sadly, the dark brown color was a ruse. For folks who usually like their coffee to stand up and salute them before they take the first sip, this coffee was weak.

I must have said this out loud and offended the appliance. Because on our second morning in Gozo, the percolator tried to kill me.

I awoke early, made the coffee, and plugged the percolator in. Suddenly there was a pop, a current ran through my body (adding an extra lub and dub to my heart) and all the electricity in the house went out.

As any mature 60 year old woman would do, I ran upstairs and sobbed at Ron. And I mean AT him. He had been sleeping. But was awakened by my howling and whimpering. He suggested that I climb back into bed so that he could comfort me. But for some reason, I needed to remain standing.

Probably to show that percolator that it would take a lot more than a shock to knock me down.

I regained control of myself and remembered the most important thing. We have a gas stove. I could still make coffee. And that I was still alive.

So yesterday and today I made cowboy coffee. Delicious but ever so messy. Today I plan to go to Rabat to buy some sort of coffee maker. Or at least a filter.

The Duke is the big shopping center in Rabat, Gozo. I can handle shopping there since the second official language of Malta is English. I usually have some idea of what I am buying. (Except, apparently, coffee).

Last time we went to The Duke, I came away with gorgeous peppers to stuff, a ton of antipasto from the deli department, lovely English jams and Maltese cheese. And bath soap.

That last one was quite a coup. Bar soap is located internationally in the oddest places. Like next to the peanut butter or under the lemons or some other place that makes sense to Maltese or Portuguese but none whatsoever to me.

Here is one thing that I did NOT buy at The Duke.

I have tried fresh octopus several times and I am not a fan. Canned octopus does not appeal. At. All.

I did, however, buy some chilly powder.

And some integrated eggs.

I also bought lots of different salamis and sausages, olives, and pickled seafood (no, not the octopus).

Before shopping, Ron and I decided to have lunch. Saves a bit of money (the pictures on all the cookies look delicious!)

But it was a bit disconcerting to eat my sandwich at the second floor cafe while looking through the glass floor at the meat department below.

So we shopped, brought the stuff home and now are trying to eat at least a few meals at the house each week.

Our current kitchen in Gozo is large and reasonably well equipped. Not the one in Birgu.

Personally, I find it so much easier to cook when you can stand up straight in the kitchen. Maltese people are usually small, medieval ceilings are low and our house in Birgu required frequent performance of what we are calling “The Maltese Dip” while moving around. It was difficult to pay full attention to the task of cooking whilst banging your head on the ceiling/cabinets/light fixtures.

As I said, our kitchen is reasonably well equipped. But there is one item in the kitchen that baffles me.

   Here it is hanging on the wall.

   And here it is a close up.

I’m too scared to taste it. (Hey, I almost percolated to death yesterday.)

What do you think it is?

I’ll let you know the consensus in Domestic Issues, Part Two.