The Cognitive Dissonance of the International Traveler in the Age of Energy Crisis

As the minutes tick away, the folks at the bus stop are getting jittery. Laughter and banter amongst family and friends gradually give way to silence, occasionally broken by a nervous tapping of a foot on concrete and a dismayed sigh. Otherwise, everyone looked in the same direction, the narrow paved road leading to the stop, the line of sight broken by a sudden curve against the tall trees across the street. Unable to see vehicles incoming more than a few seconds before the stop, no one dared look away and miss the arrival; their eyes intent on peering through the spring foliage for any glimpse of a bus livery.

On a weekday without productive work, I took a casual trip to Mdina, the old hilltop fortress that is traditionally the seat of power in Malta. Now a premier sight for the island, its car-free, narrow lanes were packed with tourists whose cameras busily snapped away at the centuries-old beige stone buildings. But just outside the fortress's main gate, just beyond the tranquility of the moat-turned-park, sheer chaos unfolds. Every bus that arrives is mobbed, the urgency of everyone to get on and get to their next destination illustrated by the complete disappearance of the common decency of lining up.

And if the impatience of those who get left behind by the buses filled to the rim is any illustration, clearly the capacity is not enough, even in the supposed "shoulder season" before northern Europeans arrive en masse in Malta for their summer vacation. Mdina remains one of the best served by the Maltese transport network. Frequent buses to Valletta and other cities, complemented by fleets of readily available taxis and rideshare vehicles, ensure that plenty can get off the hilltop quickly if they are willing to pay or wait. But if chaos prevails here, what about more remote villages and sights?

My mind can't help but wonder about the unfolding global energy crisis already entrenched by the prolonged war in the Middle East. As countries around the world ration and conserve fuel to ride out the crisis, the Maltese tourism industry cannot remain oblivious. Normally, cheap flight tickets from major European cities are bound to rise alongside jet fuel prices. And the islands' aging fleet of gasoline- and diesel-powered buses, already overstretched, will find themselves halted before electric-powered ones can replace them. 

It is almost a dystopian choice for the tourism-dependent Maltese economy. Will the increasing cost of flying to Malta thin out the European crowds first, and buses become less crowded? Or will ground transport grind to a stop first, enlarging the tourist mobs that, by any objective definition, are already plenty large. While tour operators, restaurants, and hotel owners drown in the sorrow of empty seats and excess capacity, older Maltese may finally make the islands great again, as seen in the black-and-white photos of village streets lined with horse-drawn carriages that they so fondly share on social media.

Part of that dystopia is not just a ridiculously unrealistic belief that Malta can somehow return to a glorious past that is wholly unaligned with its present-day economic and demographic structures. More important is a continued cognitive dissonance that somehow Malta is wholly capable of being shielded from the wider issues highlighted by the energy crisis, whether it be through its island geography, a tradition of self-reliance, or some vaulted idea of the Maltese being culturally distinct, never mind the reliance on foreign workers and consumers.

Malta is certainly not alone in believing in its exceptionalism. As the war in the Middle East becomes entrenched, plenty of others have pointed to oil reserves, clean energy, domestic production, and sustainable credentials to project self-confidence for thriving in the new environment of energy shortage and high prices. Nothing proves the fragility of such arguments better than visuals of lost jobs, incomes, tempers, combined with crowds demanding answers for anger incited by their lowered quality of life and higher anxiety about their financial futures. 

If anything, those who have the luxury of being impatient at a Maltese bus stop are the lucky ones. One day, they may look back at the spring of 2026, reminiscing about how cheap and easy it was to travel to a remote island. The idea of pushing themselves into overcrowded bus stops seems almost quaint when the energy-starved alternative is unemployment, rising grocery bills, and worst yet, the threat of annihilation in World War III. By then, everyone will have much more to worry about than how frequently the buses should come.