An iconic landmark on the Maltese coast

St Paul’s Island is small, exposed, layered with belief, shaped by history and inhabited by a single statue, yet open to anyone willing to make the journey.

WORDS BY David Carabott

I always enjoy gazing at St Paul’s Island whenever I pass along the scenic coastal roads, alert and ready to catch a glimpse of this weathered, steadfast sentinel of the bay. Also called Selmunett, it is one of Malta’s tiny, uninhabited islands, lying at the mouth of St Paul’s Bay, off the rugged northeastern coast. Though small, it captures the eye with its rocky silhouette and the ever-changing connection between its two sections, depending on the tide. It usually appears as a single island, although a very low and narrow land bridge between its two rocky sections can be submerged at times, making it look like two separate islets. This is why it is often wrongly referred to in the plural as St Paul’s Islands.

Only by sea. This time, I gave it more than just a fleeting glance. Approaching the islet by boat, we cut the engine just short of the shore, and for a moment, there was only the sound of water sloshing over the rocks. In that stillness, St Paul’s Island revealed itself not as a familiar sight I had admired from afar all my life, but as a place I was finally about to touch, accessible only by sea. Perhaps that is precisely what preserves its magic. Pulling myself onto the rocks, warm from the sun, I was struck by how quiet everything was. Malta is rarely silent, yet here the noise of the mainland had faded into a low hum. The northern breeze carried the scent of salt and wild Mediterranean herbs. Knowing that access is limited only from sunrise to sunset added to the sense that this was borrowed time; an afternoon that needed to be absorbed and remembered.

Standing beneath St Paul The monumental statue of St Paul, co-patron saint of the Maltese Islands, dominates in a way that felt both expected and surprising to me. I could see it from almost everywhere, the Apostle standing tall, book in hand, arm raised, with the stone snake at his feet, frozen in its biblical moment. At four metres high, perched on its platform, it was impossible to ignore. Yet, standing beneath it, the statue felt less imposing than watchful; as though it had been keeping an eye on these waters for centuries. I thought about the fact that somewhere near here, around AD 60, Paul was shipwrecked on his way to Rome. The storm, the wreck and the unexpected landfall would change Malta’s story forever. Whether this precise rock marks the exact spot mattered less to me than the idea that faith, survival and chance had converged in these waters. It was enough to stand there and imagine the chaos of that moment, the fear and relief of land after days at sea, and the truth of the saying about the calm after the storm.

Echoes on Selmunett From the statue, I followed a narrow path that wound across the island. There was little soil, only hardy plants clinging to the stone, shaped by the northern winds. Lizards darted between the rocks, their movements quick and confident, as if they owned the place. Above me, seabirds circled and cried, their shadows fleeting across the ground. I could almost forget how small the island is barely a 10th of a square kilometre, because it feels layered with stories. One of these stories belongs to a farmer who lived here with his family and animals until the 1930s. This quintessential Maltese farmhouse now stands in partial ruin, its thick limestone walls exposed to the sky. Much of the site is slowly falling apart; a quiet witness to the passage of time. As I wandered around, I tried to imagine daily life on the islet, the isolation and the journeys by boat, even with livestock in tow. It must have taken a particular resilience to call such a place home. Today, the silence surrounding the ruins feels almost respectful, as though the island itself remembers. The stone was quarried directly from the islet, something I could clearly see in a small quarry facing the picturesque Selmun Bay, where the cut marks left by extraction remain visible to this day.

My path across the island I continued walking, following the natural contours of the island. The landscape felt stark yet deeply Mediterranean, shaped by wind, salt and sun. Low shrubs clung stubbornly to the rock, releasing their scent as I brushed past. Patches of hardy flora broke up the pale stone reminders that life here adapts rather than conquers. The ground underfoot was uneven, carved by centuries of exposure, and every step felt deliberate. From various points along the path, the sky above and the sea below opened in shifting shades of blue. The waters around the island were astonishingly pristine, their clarity revealing rocks and shadows far beneath the surface. Standing still, I watched the light move across the water, the rhythm of the waves unhurried, almost meditative, and I felt completely present in the moment.

Seeing Malta anew For a moment, I turned to face the main island, and the view took my breath away. St Paul’s Bay, Buġibba and Qawra stretched along the coast, familiar yet transformed by distance. From here, Malta felt softer, almost dreamlike, framed by blue and light. It was a view that truly had to be seen to be believed; one that made me appreciate how profoundly perspective can change a place you think you know so well.

Taking the magic along Time moves differently on St Paul’s Island. It offers stillness and the rare, quiet grace of standing somewhere that asks nothing of you but your attention. As the afternoon sun began to soften, it cast longer shadows and warmed the stone beneath my feet. I thought of the countless hidden moments that have unfolded here, from the visits by fishermen, divers, sailors and pilgrims, and even the simple act of someone sitting quietly, as I was now, letting the island do what it does best. As I prepared to leave, I took one last look at the statue, its raised hand silhouetted against the sky, and felt that there is something profoundly Maltese about this island. It is small, exposed, layered with belief and practicality, shaped by history yet open to anyone willing to make the journey. As we returned to the boat, I was reluctant to break the spell. The engine coughed into life, the water shivered and slowly the island slipped away. From a distance, St Paul’s Island is an iconic landmark on the Maltese coast. For that one afternoon, it became something more, imprinted in my mind intimately and indelibly.