If there's one thing that I love to do when walking around Valletta with a camera, it's hunting out old, wooden shop-fronts. I have no idea what the Persian used to be when it was still in business; whether it was a restaurant, a store that sold exotic spices or a bar whose patrons guzzled their beer while ogling a bevy of beautiful belly dancers. I'm sure I could find out if I asked around but the mystery  makes it all the more alluring.

Here is the Persian in all its rosy glory.

Incidentally, it is the only old shop-front in Valletta that I have ever come across that is painted this particular shade of pink. So that's another thing that makes it unique.

In the coming weeks I will dedicate an entire post to Valletta's old shop-fronts but, in the meantime, I wanted to introduce you to one of my absolute favourites. I hope you like it as much as I do.

It's funny, the things I remember during quiet moments: the lilt of a voice, a scent, the slant of the light on the streets of an ancient city - it's all it takes for the memories to come flooding back. Even though many years have passed, they are indelible; a part of who I am, like my hair and my hands.