Gozo Under Water: Flash Floods Drench Island, Test Community Spirit

Victoria’s narrow alleys became rushing rivers, farm-to-table fields turned into mirror-flat lakes, and the centuries-old stone balconies of the Citadel dripped like wet sponges as a violent cloudburst parked itself over Gozo on Tuesday afternoon. Within 90 minutes the island received 42 mm of rain—roughly half its monthly October average—sending tourists scurrying into baroque doorways, farmers scrambling to save livestock, and parish priests swinging open church doors as emergency shelters.

“I’ve seen Gozo green and I’ve seen Gozo dry, but I’ve never seen Gozo under water like this,” said 78-year-old Ċensu Portelli, watching from the raised step of the Monte Kristo wine bar as a plastic garden chair floated past Independence Square. “My grandfather used to say ‘when the Citadel weeps, the island prays.’ Looks like she’s weeping today.”

The storm, born off the North African coast and super-charged by warmer-than-average Mediterranean surface temperatures, barrelled north-west and stalled directly above the Gozo Channel. Met Office radar showed a perfect “train-echo” effect: thunderclouds rolling one after another over the same track between Xewkija and Nadur. The result was flash-flood warnings that lit up every mobile phone on both islands, followed by the archipelago’s first-ever “red alert” specifically issued for Gozo alone.

By 4 p.m. Victoria’s main car park resembled an inland sea. Shopkeepers formed human chains to ferry cardboard boxes of stock onto mezzanine levels; teenagers turned the slope beside the Citadella into an impromptu water-slide, shrieking with delight until police moved them on. In Għajnsielem, the newly inaugurated Jubilee statue of St Joseph stared out from a miniature island as rainwater lapped at his plaster toes. A herd of sheep sought refuge on the steps of Ta’ Pinu Basilica, the animals’ bells clanging like a melancholy carillon.

Transport Malta closed the Mgħarr ferry terminal to high-sided vehicles after waves crashed over the breakwater, leaving commuters stranded on both sides of the channel. Gozo Channel Company laid on an extra freight boat normally reserved for Christmas week, while Captain Morgan and Supreme fast-ferries offered free seats to anyone carrying medical prescriptions or baby formula. “We’re an island community—when the sea becomes the enemy, we become each other’s bridge,” said crew member Ramona Saliba, distributing paper cups of hot Kinnie to cold passengers.

Cultural calendar casualties mounted within hours. The Nadur pumpkin festival—an autumn staple that draws thousands for its “minestra-eating contest”—was postponed, its straw bales already disintegrating into soggy mush. In Xagħra, the traditional “Żejża” olive-picking feast turned into a mud-wrestling pit; volunteers nevertheless refused to cancel, simply relocating the folk singing to the parish hall and livestreaming the playlist of għannejja ballads. “Our ancestors picked olives through winter downpours—why should TikTok generation melt at first drop?” quipped organiser Rita Camilleri, wringing out her lace faldetta.

Farmers bore the brunt. Josephine Grech’s 2,000 strawberry seedlings, due for export to UK supermarkets in December, vanished under a brown torrent that carved gullies through her clay-rich fields in Żebbuġ. “That’s €18,000 of crop gone before I even posted an Instagram story,” she sighed, mud streaked across her cheek like war-paint. Agricultural cooperative Għawdex Fresh has already applied for EU emergency aid, estimating island-wide losses at €1.3 million.

Yet the downpour also delivered long-term blessings. The Ta’ Cenc aquifer, critically low after last summer’s heatwave, rose by 11 cm in 24 hours, according to the Energy & Water Agency. Photographers rejoiced at temporary waterfalls cascading over the cliffs at Wied il-Mielaħ, a sight locals say hasn’t happened since 1979. And by dusk, double rainbows arched from Comino to the Azure Window ruins, flooding social media with images that seemed to promise nature’s apology.

As clean-up crews pumped out basements and priests recited thanksgiving prayers, the spirit of Gozitan resilience shone brighter than the LED floodlights illuminating debris-clogged streets. “We measure our history not just in sunshine, but in storms survived,” Mayor of Victoria Samuel Azzopardi tweeted at midnight. “Tomorrow we dry out, rebuild, and share another bottle of local wine. That’s the Gozo way.”