Gozo Under Water: Sudden Storm Floods Villages, Disrupts Ferries and Unites Islanders

**Watch: Flooding in several localities as heavy rain hits Gozo amid thunderstorm**

Gozo’s streets turned into rivers on Tuesday afternoon as a violent thunderstorm dumped torrential rain across the sister island, flooding homes, paralysing traffic and turning the usually serene villages into scenes of chaos.

Videos circulating on social media show water gushing down the stepped alleys of Victoria’s old town, cascading past the Citadel’s limestone walls like a waterfall and pooling knee-deep outside the Arcipretal Church of St George. In Xlendi, the normally postcard-perfect bay vanished under a sheet of brown runoff that carried deck-chairs, café umbrellas and even a small fishing boat into the street. By 5 p.m. the Civil Protection Department had received more than 80 calls for help, from pump-outs in Għarb to evacuations in Nadur’s low-lying Ta’ Wistin hamlet.

“Never in my 72 years have I seen it rain so hard, so fast,” said Marija Portelli, who watched from her balcony in the Citadel as tourists huddled under the baroque portico opposite. “The stone was still steaming from yesterday’s sun when the sky cracked open. Ten minutes later the whole square was a lake.”

The storm arrived with theatrical Maltese timing: the feast of St Anthony in Marsa had just wound down, Gozitan farmhouses were fully booked for the shoulder-season weekend, and farmers were preparing to harvest the first gbejniet of spring. Instead, lightning forked above Ta’ Pinas Basilica, thunder echoed off the cliffs at Wied il-Mielaħ, and hailstones the size of carob beans bounced off terracotta roof tiles.

Meteorologist Dr Charles Galdies from the University of Malta said a cut-off low pressure system had stalled directly over the Maltese islands, funnelling moist Saharan air upwards and triggering “cloudburst” conditions. “Gozo bore the brunt because its topography forces moist air to rise quickly, cooling and condensing into violent thunderstorms,” he explained. In three hours, Xewkija registered 62 mm of rain—more than the monthly March average.

The downpour exposed familiar infrastructural sore points. Drainage grids clogged with citrus leaves and construction grit became fountains, while the new €4 million Arka parking complex in Victoria briefly resembled an underground aquarium. A stretch of the main road between Rabat and Mġarr subsided, snarling the evening ferry rush; Gozo Channel announced delays of up to 90 minutes, stranding commuters who had travelled for medical appointments in Malta.

Yet, as always, the Gozitan spirit surfaced as quickly as the floodwater. Parish youth groups formed human chains to sweep water out of elderly residents’ homes; the Nadur scout troop ferried tourists to higher ground in borrowed farm trucks; and by nightfall the In-Nuffara restaurant had turned its dining room into a drying station for soaked passports and mobile phones. “We’re used to sharing drought, now we share buckets,” joked owner Josephine Cauchi, handing out improvised fenkata (rabbit stew) to soaked fire-fighters.

Culturally, the storm has already entered local lore. In Għasri, someone created a Facebook event for “Il-Għarqa ta’ Marzu 2024” within an hour of the last raindrop, inviting villagers to post photos and swap stories—digital continuance of the oral tradition that once kept memories of the 1951 Gozo tempest alive. One black-and-white image doing the rounds shows a 1950s priest blessing the flooded church parvis, captioned “Plus ça change…”.

Farmers fear lingering consequences. Potatoes in the red soil of Ta’ Ġurdan sit under murky puddles that could rot seedling stems, while the first fava beans—usually served raw at Easter—are now streaked with silt. “Nature gives, nature takes,” said 83-year-old Ġanni Vella, leaning on his hoe near Qala. “Tomorrow we’ll plant again. That’s the Gozitan way.”

By Wednesday morning the sun had reasserted itself, glinting off wet limestone like varnish. Cleanup crews hosed down streets already smelling of wild fennel and wet dust. Forecasters warn another trough could arrive over the weekend, but for now Gozo is drying its wounds, counting its blessings and already turning yesterday’s deluge into tomorrow’s anecdote—proof that, on an island where the sea is never more than 15 minutes away, every storm is both a crisis and a conversation starter.