Gozo is a wonderland: while Lewis Carroll’s Alice might not recognize its terrain, she would surely feel at home here. This small and gentle Mediterranean island features a three-dimensional landscape of green and golden-browns, where roads meander through secret ravines and valleys sculpted by centuries of flash floods and running water. There’s a whimsical quality that could delightfully fill the pages of a sequel to Alice’s Looking Glass.
Last weekend, while the UK experienced unusually warm February temperatures exceeding twenty degrees Celsius, only sixty miles from North Africa, Shakespearean storms swept across the Maltese archipelago from its western edge. These storms uprooted trees and even sent fish into the streets of Xemxija, where residents reportedly stopped their cars to collect their dinner from the curbside. Our farming neighbor carefully wrapped his strawberry plants to protect them from the weather, which, in turn, whisked his goat enclosure into the sky.
Sunday’s formal carnival parade was canceled. However, the sun has since reappeared, casting a soft wintery brightness. Strolling past garages this morning, I noticed twelve-foot-tall, garishly colored heads peering from giant doorways, resembling the Queen of Hearts and the Cheshire Cat. In preparation for the rescheduled parade tomorrow, these floats promise bold and brash fun as the island’s population celebrates in the streets, blending pre-Lenten religious fervor with the frivolities of a Venetian masquerade ball from the Renaissance. Shops are filled with costumes for four days of feasting. Mardi Gras here is a far cry from the simplicity of an English pancake with lemon and sugar.
This afternoon, I walked the Stations of the Cross—a series of striking sculptures leading to the highest point of the island—from the beautiful mosaics outside Ta’ Pinu Basilica, just half a mile from home. Taking the path that twists and turns up the hillside through a carpet of small, colorful flowers, I stood alone in the surprising amphitheater atop. The world was shrouded in peace, a centuries-old silence rich with the sounds of nature. From the top, the Citadel and the sea took my breath away—one standing proud to the east while the sinking sun spread a white glow across the water beyond the dome of San Lawrenz’s church. Between, I could see our washing flapping on a flat rooftop, a curious contrast that made me grin. And this, for us, is our real-life Wonderland, away from the White Rabbit’s hurried rat race. Although, it must be admitted, ‘I’m late, I’m late’ isn’t an entirely unheard-of phrase down the Gozitan rabbit hole.
