Malta

I Never Knew Their Name…

…but his ink is forever on my body. 

Young and reckless is how my grandfather views me now after learning I have tattoos. The first one didn’t go over so well with the parental figures, but I loved it. The second one came about from a drunken wine night in Valencia, Spain. 

It was spring break of my second year at University. One of my greatest friends is from Spain and tickets were cheap so I dragged a teammate along with the plan to spend a few days in Spain with friends and then go discover an entirely new country; Malta. 

My teammate had never been to Europe, and being under legal drinking age in the U.S, we did what all college students tend to do on spring break. We drank. Not in the “spring breakers” lets get trashed way, but mere hours after landing in Valencia and reconnecting with my friends, we headed out to the wine bars to experience a true Spanish night out. 

Three wine bars and ten glasses later we finally left the wine behind in order to search for a little cafe to grab dinner. It had been a night of laughs with old and new friends. My teammate and I were wearing rose-tinted glasses as wondered the streets looking for a bite to eat. 

It was then we began talking of tattoos. And when my teammate drunkenly agreed to a bet that we would get tattoos in Malta before coming back to Spain. If we didn’t return with freshly inked skin, we would have to take all my Spanish friends out to dinner. A simple, drunken bet, but one we all laughed and agreed upon. 

Four days later when on our way to the bus stop in Malta, we passed a tattoo shop with iron bars on the window and a black sign naming the place as Inkcredible. I found the name clever and on the spot decided that this was the place to go to. Two days later, on our last day in Malta, we were both sitting nervously in the waiting room ready to be inked for life. 

My teammate had decided on a wine glass to commemorate the moment (she is a firm believer in the idea that tattoos should have no sentimental meaning and just be cool to look at). My tattoo shall remain a secret. 

It was then that a tall, maltese man came out to ask us what and when we wanted to get our tattoos. With a look of surprise he agreed to do it right then and there for $40 a piece. We agreed instantly. After a quick sketch he was ready to go and back we went. 

I never learned his name. Or even his story. But for the rest of my life, I have his imprint on me. A compete stranger has marked my body for life. What a wild notion. 

The next morning my teammate and I returned to Spain with our new tattoos to the laughter of my friends. I love my tattoo and I will never forget the man that gave it to me. Even if I never knew his name.