Arriving in Valletta was like entering London just a little smaller and with more sun. Meaning there are the red double-decker busses (the old ones where you can hop on and off while driving), a wembley store, every restaurant offers fish and chips with vinegar, small shops and pubs look very British and everybody speaks english perfectly fine. And if you do not remember the fact that the traffic here is left handed (as I didn't) your life might be shortened very suddenly by some aggressive bus driver, but fortunately they honk until you're out of the way (or even if you're about to get in their way).
Valletta is one big beautiful castle and you should not be frightened of heights, because sometimes a gap, a hole or even a very large nothing pops up right in front of you.
Walking a little further into the castle-city people were demonstrating marching in a little parade with drums, wearing kilts and pink shirts with the AIDS-loop on their backs.
But as running around with heavy luggage sucks, we decided to search for our first stay for the night.