Sliema

Sliema is a compact coastal town of approximately 22 600 inhabitants spread over 1.3 square kilometres on Malta’s northeast shore, within the Northern Harbour District, directly facing Valletta across Marsamxett Harbour. Renowned as the island’s most densely populated municipality, with nearly 20 000 residents per square kilometre, it serves today as both a residential nucleus and commercial hub, its shoreline punctuated by promenades, cafés and historic fortifications.

Sliema’s origins lie in its quiet existence as a fishing hamlet, its name deriving from the Maltese word for ‘peace’ or ‘comfort’—a salutation once offered at the now-vanished Our Lady of Good Voyage Chapel. That humble chapel, noted on 16th-century maps even before the Knights of St. John assumed control of Malta, stood as a beacon for mariners in Marsamxett Harbour. Over subsequent centuries, the settlement remained modest until the mid-19th century, when its first parish was established in 1878, signalling its emergence as an independent community.

By 1853 the first residential developments appeared, and before long the sweeping views of Valletta’s bastions inspired a wave of villas and traditional Maltese townhouses. These structures, with their closed timber balconies and ochre stonework, lined the narrow streets above the limestone shoreline. Generations of families grew up within them, their lives intertwined with the rhythms of the sea, the tolling of church bells and the seasonal feasts that knit the town together.

As the 20th century advanced, modernity arrived in the form of mid-rise apartment blocks. Developers circled the peninsula, reshaping its skyline with concrete towers, some now among the tallest on the island. This rapid densification brought both opportunity and strain. Traffic snarls became common, parking scarce and construction noise a persistent backdrop. Yet for many residents the trade-off has been worthwhile, granting proximity to cafés, boutiques and offices in a prime seaside locale.

The Strand, a sweeping esplanade on the seaward edge of Tower Road, has become Sliema’s social spine. Here, shaded benches offer spectators views of fireworks displays each August, while joggers and strollers thread leisurely along the Sliema Front, the local name for the coastal walkway. At dawn, the route fills with early-rising walkers breathing in marine air; by evening, families amble in their Sunday finest, honoring the Maltese tradition of la passiġat, a ritual promenade emblematic of communal life.

Religious devotion remains woven into Sliema’s identity. The mother church of Stella Maris, dating back to 1855 and elevated to parish status in 1878, anchors Lower Tower Road, its baroque façade a testament to Neoclassical taste. Nearby, In-Nazzarenu, dedicated to Jesus of Nazareth, and the friar-run Our Lady of the Sacred Heart each draw congregations attuned to centuries-old practices. Every summer, these parishes host richly adorned festas, with brass bands parading statues under archways of bulb-lit filigree, each celebration attracting both parishioners and curious visitors.

Culturally, Sliema has been home to figures of national consequence. Giorgio Borġ Olivier, Malta’s prime minister at independence, resided within these streets, as did revolutionary thinker Manwel Dimech, whose advocacy for social justice reshaped early 20th-century Maltese thought. Today the slender lanes near Lower Prince of Wales Road still bear his name, a reminder of his exile and legacy.

In the 21st century, the arrival of the iGaming industry precipitated a fresh influx of expatriates, particularly from northern Europe. This demographic shift has influenced language use: long known for its predominantly English-speaking native Maltese, Sliema now hosts a mosaic of accents and tongues, heard in cocktail bars, coworking spaces and English-language schools offering instruction in Maltese culture and language.

The town’s commercial heart pulses along Tower Road and The Point shopping centre, opened in 2010 under British retail management. Boutiques offer ceramics and hand‐blown glass, while cafés spill onto pavements, dispensing espresso and pastizzi. Despite high property values—among the highest on the island—the local market retains artisanal outlets where one can still purchase wrought-iron balconies or bottled capers from the nearby hinterland.

Although swimming in open water is limited to rocky ledges and artificial bathing pools carved into the shoreline, watersports flourish here. Kayakers skirt the coastline at dawn; paddle-board enthusiasts balance above submerged rock shelves; snorkelers trace patterns of marine life beneath the surface. In neighbouring Exiles Bay and Balluta Bay, small sandy inlets shelter families at low tide, linked by meandering stairways to cafés serving fresh fish stews.

Transport networks unite Sliema to the rest of Malta while honoring its maritime heritage. The Valletta–Sliema ferry operates on the half-hour, carrying commuters and sightseers across the harbour in five minutes. Buses from the Valletta terminus—routes 12, 13 and 14—thread through the town, though in summer they fill quickly as tourists descend on the area. Driving from the international airport takes roughly one hour, with signage guiding motorists toward this well-signposted peninsula.

Architectural vestiges of military antiquity persist along the coast. Fort Tigné, a mid-18th-century bastion by the Order of St. John, stands at Tigné Point, its rhombus-shaped ramparts now under restoration for cultural reuse. Nearby, fragments of the late 19th-century Garden Battery and Cambridge Battery hint at British ambitions to wield giant Armstrong cannons. At Sliema Point, the Il-Fortizza restaurant occupies the old coastal battery, its dining rooms overlooking the azure sea.

By night Sliema’s ambiance shifts from seaside calm to discreet conviviality. Café terraces glow under amber lights, while wine bars fill with conversation. Unlike the wilder revelry of neighbouring Paceville, known for its club scene, Sliema sustains a quieter nocturnal tempo, one more inclined toward conversation and local wine than bass-driven dance floors. In this way it accommodates diverse tastes: culture seekers here to absorb Mediterranean rhythms, couples embracing seaside romance, and families seeking evening leisure.

In daily life, Sliema exemplifies the coexistence of tradition and modernity. Maltese street names appear first in Maltese then English, a duality reflected in shopfronts and directory signs alike. Older residents recall when fishing boats tethered to the shore brought in sea urchins and bream, while today’s generation moves past high-ended boutiques and coworking hubs. Yet beneath the changes lies continuity: the same limestone beneathfoot, the same clear waters eclipsing a horizon where Valletta’s bastions stand guard.

Sliema’s parcel of land is too small for any single breath to encompass its full character. Instead, its essence unfolds in cumulative impressions: a sunset above Fort Tigné’s parapets, the tinkling of guitar strings in a café courtyard, families pacing the promontory in shared serenity. Here the past and present merge: fishing roots interlace with international commerce, parish feasts echo alongside corporate events, and the sea remains a constant, immutable companion.

Ultimately, Sliema can be seen as a mirror of Malta itself: a place shaped by orders of knights and colonial powers, revitalized by global industries and enriched by local custom. Its human narrative is inscribed in stone and salt, in the rhythms of festa banners waving overhead, and in the cadence of footsteps along the Sliema Front. For those who arrive by ferry or by car, its compact streets and storied façades offer both an introduction to Maltese life and a living canvas upon which new stories are written.

In its relentless density and its moments of quiet pause, Sliema sustains a complex equilibrium. It is a locus of commerce and conviviality, of memory and motion, of sea-sprayed mornings and lantern-lit evenings. Observed from above—or felt underfoot—it is at once intimate and expansive, its horizon defined by limestone ramparts and the bright, unending curve of the Mediterranean. Here, human lives continue in conversation with history, place and one another.