Sliema on Guard: How a Burglary Spike is Uniting Malta’s Gold Coast

Police Step Up Patrols Amid Sliema Burglary Reports: Islanders Rally to Reclaim Their “Gentleman’s Promenade”

Sliema—The seafront promenade that locals still affectionately call “Il-Prom” was unusually quiet at 02:30 on Tuesday. Instead of the familiar clink of wine glasses from late-night cafés, the only sounds were the low hum of police quad bikes and the occasional scuff of rubber soles on limestone as plain-clothes officers fanned out between Balluta and Tigné. Their mission: curb a spate of burglaries that has rattled one of Malta’s most cosmopolitan neighbourhoods and sparked a wider conversation about who Sliema is becoming.

Over the past six weeks, at least 14 apartments—mostly short-let flats and Airbnbs—have been broken into along Triq ix-Xatt, Triq il-Qaliet, and the maze of side streets behind the Ferries. Thieves have slipped through rooftop hatches, levered louvred shutters, or simply walked in through unlocked balcony doors while residents slept metres away. Stolen items range from designer handbags to sentimental filigree jewellery that once belonged to Maltese grandmothers. One American couple lost both passports and their seven-month-old’s baby blanket—an object they begged officers to recover “because it smells like home.”

The timing is awkward. With summer season ramping up and cruise passengers already spilling out onto the revamped Tigné Point, the Malta Tourism Authority had banked on Sliema as a safe, walkable hub to offset Valletta’s full hotels. Instead, headlines in the foreign press scream “Crime Wave on Malta’s Gold Coast.” Cue urgent meetings at Police HQ in Floriana and a pledge for “high-visibility operations around the clock.”

Inspector Charmaine Gauci, speaking outside the new Sliema community police post—housed in a converted 19th-century kiosk once used by British sailors—confirmed that an extra 25 officers, including Rapid Intervention Unit personnel, have been redeployed from other districts. “We have motorbikes, bicycles, drones, and plain-clothes teams,” she said, gesturing toward officers distributing leaflets in Maltese, English, and Italian. “But we still need residents to lock up, report strangers, and—crucially—stop posting real-time travel plans on Instagram.”

The burglaries have exposed a cultural fault line. Long-time residents remember when Sliema’s biggest nuisance was a priest shooing teenagers off church steps. Today, the skyline is a Tetris of boutique blocks, and many flats sit empty for months, owned by offshore companies or rented out nightly. “We used to know every family on the staircase,” says 72-year-old Doris Borg, watering geraniums outside her ground-floor maisonette. “Now the upstairs flat changes hands every three days. How do you build neighbourhood watch when nobody knows anyone?”

Yet Maltese ingenuity is kicking in. The Sliema Local Council has re-activated the dormant “Qalbna fis-Sliema” WhatsApp group, swelling from 70 to 2,300 members in a week. Residents share CCTV clips, warn about suspicious doorbell rings, and swap tradesperson recommendations for better locks. Local band club Stella Maris is hosting a free “Ħarsa Lejn id-Dar” (Look After Your Home) seminar where locksmiths and cyber-security experts will explain everything from anti-snap cylinders to two-factor authentication on smart doorbells. Even the village festa committee has joined in: during next weekend’s fireworks, volunteers will patrol side streets distributing glow sticks branded with the slogan “Ejja, ftakar—lock it!” (“Come on, remember—lock it!”).

Tourism stakeholders are trying to reassure guests. The Sliema Business Improvement District has pooled funds for a 24-hour hotline printed on fridge magnets in every short-let. Meanwhile, hotels like The Phoenicia and AX The Palace are quietly offering “secure transfer” packages: guests arriving late can have an escort from the taxi rank to reception. “One negative TripAdvisor review can undo months of marketing,” admits hotelier Karl Imbroll. “We can’t afford to look like Naples in the ’90s.”

Back on the promenade, the extra patrols seem to be working. Last night passed without incident, and the only commotion was a German tourist asking an officer for directions to gelato. Inspector Gauci insists the operation is “not a blitz but a sustained shift,” promising continued presence through the October regatta. Whether the burglars have moved on or simply gone to ground remains to be seen, but for now Sliema’s residents are reclaiming their streets—one locked balcony door and neighbourly nod at a time.