New Malta-Italy undersea cable: Survey vessel arrives to secure island’s power future

Survey vessel deployed for second Malta – Italy undersea cable: A new lifeline beneath the waves

The azure channel between Malta and Sicily is more than a picturesque backdrop for sunset selfies; it is Malta’s umbilical cord to Europe. This week, the 85-metre survey vessel Ievoli Ivory dropped anchor off Marsaxlokk, her hull bristling with sonar arrays that will map the seabed for a second high-voltage power and data cable linking the archipelago to Italy. For islanders who still remember the 2019 blackout that plunged Gozo into candle-lit silence, the news feels like a collective exhale.

“We’re not just laying copper and glass,” Infrastructure Minister Miriam Dalli told reporters on the quay, flanked by fishermen mending colourful luzzu nets. “We’re laying resilience.” The €270 million project, co-financed by the EU’s Connecting Europe Facility, will run parallel to the existing 200-kilometre Malta-Sicily interconnector laid in 2015. When it goes live in 2027, the twin cable will double Malta’s import capacity to 400 megawatts—enough to power 250,000 homes—and shave €30 million a year off electricity bills, according to Enemalta projections.

But beneath the technical jargon lies a deeper Maltese story. Every family has a blackout anecdote: the 2008 carnival when the float lights died mid-parade, or the 2014 Eurovision semi-final that flickered out during Firelight’s performance. Our national grid is as temperamental as a Gozitan donkey, and the fear of isolation is woven into the island psyche. The new cable is therefore more than infrastructure; it is a cultural insurance policy against the existential dread of being cut off.

The route itself is a journey through memory. The cable will skirt the wrecks of HMS Maori and the Carolita barge, popular with Tech-24 divers, and pass over the submerged munitions dump left by British forces in 1946. Marine archaeologists aboard the Ievoli Ivory will catalogue artefacts before the trenching plough disturbs them, a nod to Malta’s layered past. “We’re threading fibre through history,” said Dr Timmy Gambin from the University of Malta, whose team has already identified three WWII-era aircraft wings.

Fishermen, however, view the venture with wary pragmatism. “More cables mean more exclusion zones,” warned Jesmond ‘Jesse’ Vella, skipper of the painted luzzu ‘Stella Maris’. Yet even he concedes the upside: the survey is mapping undocumented reefs that could replenish dentex and amberjack stocks. In Wied il-Għajn café, elders recall the 1959 cable-laying of the British military telephone line, when divers surfaced speaking Maltese-inflected Italian after weeks in decompression chambers. “Same sea, different voices,” shrugged 82-year-old Ċensu Zahra, sipping Kinnie.

For the younger generation, the project promises something sexier: cheaper gigabit internet. The cable’s 24 fibre pairs will slash latency for Valorant gamers in Msida and day-traders in Sliema alike. Start-up hub Malta Enterprise is already courting blockchain firms tempted by the rock-bottom ping times. Meanwhile, Gozitan eco-tour operators dream of marketing “zero-carbon island hops” once Malta can import surplus Sicilian solar power.

Environmentalists remain cautious. BirdLife Malta has negotiated a seasonal work moratorium during spring migration, when honey buzzards ride the same thermal corridors the cable will traverse. And the Fisheries Department has secured a €500,000 compensation fund for trawlers forced to relocate. “Development is inevitable, but mitigation is negotiable,” said spokesperson Claire Busuttil, watching shearwaters skim the wake of the Ievoli Ivory.

As dusk paints Marsaxlokk’s horizon the colour of ħobż biż-żejt tomatoes, the survey vessel’s deck glows with sonar screens that resemble a disco floor. Somewhere beneath, the new cable will lie buried under a metre of Posidonia seagrass, a silent witness to ferry horns, festa fireworks and the nightly chatter of TikTok teens. When the first electron races to Malta in 2027, few will ponder the 18-month ballet of bathymetry, permits and pasta-fuelled engineers. But every time a Gozitan grandmother switches on her kettle without hesitation, she’ll be sipping from a lifeline that stretches, invisible yet unbreakable, all the way to Catania.