A coffee on Gozo

There are fewer tourists at the back of the ferry. Less wind, too. For a travel-thirsty soul, the twenty-five-minute crossing through the Gozo Channel tastes like spring water. I let it pass through me. I catch myself hoping that the captain will break and turn the wheel toward Sicily or Greece. But the captain is not a rebel. We dock in Mġarr. Riding off the ferry, I recall hearing that Gozo is like Malta, only smaller. But I sense a different energy immediately.

The smell of hot coffee drifts up from the cup. Midday sunlight filters through the trees around the small Pjazza l-Indipendenza. The island’s capital Victoria hums peacefully, albeit not exactly quietly. It radiates the confident charm of remote provinces that caravans rarely pass through. A corner of the world you don’t stumble into by accident—you have to mean to come here. And once you do, you listen. Phoenicians. Romans. Arabs. The Knights of St. John. They all left their marks here.

The Cittadella lingers in my mirrors on the long straight out of town. Towering walls and bastions mounted on a hill make it look like an extraordinary peak. All other summits on the island end flat as if giants’ hands had broken off their tops. I stop and let Lim rest on her stand on the side of an asphalt road traversing a plateau across the wide Sannat Valley. I lean back on the saddle to take it all in. The scene from a tale of dragons and wizards. Gozo lies open in front of me, held by the shimmer of the Mediterranean.

I’m now close to Ta’ Ċenċ cliffs. A wave of memories comes in, bittersweet. We stood there with Ale not so long ago, admiring dizzying depths together. I really don’t feel like going there again this time around. Too early. They’re best at sunset anyway.

It’s better to move on and head for dirt roads. I follow a dusty track along the edges of the coastal cliffs, working my way toward Ras il-Wardija. On a rocky outcrop in front of a small rock-hewn cave, there once stood a Phoenician sanctuary. Some two thousand years ago, fires and smoke would signal to the seafaring vessels that land was near. This spot gets really gusty. Especially in winter.

For me, though, the cooler part of the year is the best time to wander the island. In January, the first rains have already soaked into the island’s rocky core, making the earth forget the time when the heat drained life out of her. The scorched land sinks beneath a weave of lush green, emerald and jade.

Narrow roads lead me through a patchwork of fields. Farming here feels personal. Small tractors and sunburned hands work the reddish soil. It doesn’t look modern but it somehow does feel honest. Connected to the land. The air is filled with a blend of familiar scents of sprouting potato plants, onions, lettuce and tomatoes. It takes me somewhere far away.

From San Lawrenz, the road drops in gentle, sweeping bends toward the sea. I lean into each, watching Dwejra Bay reveal its rough beauty from all angles. It has, too, become different this time of year. Vacant. A few figures wander in soft beams of sunlight. Shadows long and intimate. White waves splash the shore. On the right, in the blue depths below lie the remains of the Azure Window—a massive stone arch that once stood as the island’s icon and symbol until it collapsed in a fierce spring storm. Even stone doesn’t get to last forever.

I find myself a small boulder to sit for a while. At the far end of a glittering table, the sun has taken its seat across from me. It warms my face but otherwise pays no special attention to what I’m doing. Leaning against the darkening silhouette of Fungus Rock, it doodles with whatever colors it has left after the day. Gold and some orange. I turn away and gaze around. There’s something about this island—a soul, maybe. Its own time. A rhythm barely touched. Difficult to leave. The sun is still painting away. As I’m getting up, it’s down to the red.

Like a kid clinging to the playground, I take the long way back to the harbor. Benches by the windmill in Xagħra have already cooled in the evening air. Winter days are short. That’s alright. At least they pass quickly. I ease down the final descent toward the marina. Mġarr glows with the magic of harbors at night. Lanterns on the masts wave to the lamps in the streets, scattering flickering breadcrumbs to the calm water below. The ticket inspector stands off to the side, a little bored. The metal ramp rattles under my wheels—at once a welcome and a goodbye. The tourists are at the back of the ship with me this time. I don’t mind. I just wonder how they’d react if the captain really did turn toward Sicily. But he won’t. He’s not a rebel. That’s fine. I’ve got some living water now.

Gozo - An overlander's take

Sitting at the southern edge of the central Mediterranean, Malta and Gozo can be a worthwhile extension to a trip through Sicily or southern Italy. Ferry routes now connect two Sicilian ports with Malta. At the time of writing, Ragusa Express offers Marina di Ragusa–Valletta return tickets for €75 (rider + motorbike). I recommend booking the tickets well in advance because the ship is fairly small and sails only five days a week, so the car/bike spaces tend to sell out fast. The other option is to use the significantly pricier services of Virtu Ferries. Their catamarans are larger, sail daily from Pozzallo, and offer return tickets for around €220. Journey time with both operators is around two hours.

Thanks to a 24/7 ferry service between Ċirkewwa (Malta) and Mġarr (Gozo), hopping from Malta to Gozo is straightforward. Sailings are frequent and affordable—the crossing for a rider with a motorcycle costs €8.15. Tickets are purchased on the Gozo side, at drive-through booths before boarding in Mġarr, so there’s no need to look for a ticket office in Malta.

In terms of accommodation, Gozo is known for its traditional farmhouses, favorite with Maltese holidaymakers. Otherwise, it’s the business as usual with countless hotels, guesthouses, and hostels across the island. There are no official campsites, but wild camping is generally tolerated, though the ground is often rocky—bring appropriate gear.

Here's my personal list of things to see on Gozo. Some of them I mentioned in my journey.

The Cittadella is a fortified hilltop complex in Victoria with exhibitions, history, and panoramic views over the island.

The Ġgantija Archaeological Park gives an opportunity to get inside an impressive complex of prehistoric temples—one of the oldest existing man-made structures on Earth.

Dwejra Bay is one of Gozo’s most dramatic coastal areas, home to Fungus Rock, the Inland Sea, and the remains of the Azure Window.

Ramla Bay is home to a wide sandy beach with distinctive reddish sand—one of the few sandy beaches on the island. On its western side lies Calypso's Cave believed to be the one referenced in Homer’s Odyssey.

Mgarr ix-Xini lies in a narrow, fjord-like bay with steep rock walls and a secluded atmosphere. From there, a short hike leads to the remains of a 19th-century pumping station—well worth seeing and off the typical tourist path.

Ta’ Pinu Basilica is a spectacular church set in open countryside, can be seen from far across the island.

Windmills of Gozo are scattered across the island. These historic structures are part of Gozo’s rural heritage, with several nicely restored and open to visitors.

About this article

While living in Malta, the small island of Gozo became my outlet for motorcycle adventures. For years, Virtu Ferries held effectively a monopoly over passenger ferry service between Malta and Sicily. The price for the 80-km crossing was a couple of hundred euros. Compared to that, a trip to Gozo for less than a tenner quickly became my way to keep the motorcycle adventures going—when leaving the country was nothing short of a luxury.

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