Two Realities

Standing on the deck of the freight ferry that travels ceaselessly from Malta to the small island of Gozo, the first thing that strikes you is the desolate landscape of dry soil and brittle vegetation. Seen from a distance, the land appears abandoned and inhospitable with very little movement of any kind. The landscape is composed of variations of brown, where the limestone buildings are indistinguishable from the backdrop of the hard sun-bleached earth. This monochromatic rock is a stark contrast to the deep sapphire blue of the Mediterranean Sea that seems to stretch to the edge of the earth. The land is one of the last remnants of the African-Eurasian land bridge, yet its unsightly presence becomes a stain on an otherwise vivid tableau.

Watching the island rapidly approach closer as the drone of the ferry engines fade into the background, it suddenly becomes clear how remote this small piece of earth is, existing seemingly independently from the rest of the world. You become aware of how, despite the power of the modern machinery you stand on, part of the island remains ungraspable and eludes understanding. Islands, by their very nature, are best understood fully within their own contexts, defined by isolation. You, as the foreign force, are able to appreciate this rocky outcrop only at a superficial level, which can deepen only through time and exposure.

This is how Gozo has historically been approached, as a safe sanctuary providing refuge for peoples since the Bronze Age. Strong ties between the land and people developed not from military design, but instead through a careful cultivation of the land and society that came from it. The island comes to be a protector, as it did in the Middle Ages when the hilltop city of Victoria ensured strategic defence mechanisms could be used to ward off hostile Turkish and Berber forces attempted to sack the island.

Today, however, you are there to experience Gozo not as a space of sanctuary, but as a tourist, a voyeur. Your connection to the space does not come from hardships endured or battles won, but instead from a hyperspace that lacks any semblance of a physical reality. What brought you here can be quantifiably measured in ones and zeros and pixels. What engages your interest is not the familial ancestry of buildings or agricultural techniques to conserve rain water, but instead the need to see the top destination site recommended by the thousands of anonymous friends that have left positive reviews in the past.

The disjunction between the physical reality of the island and your mental reality of the island, however, are not in conflict, but instead are both equally encouraged as you move through the space. Where you are asked to appreciate the art that commemorates the harsh, yet ethereal, beauty of the vista, you are encouraged to acquire it through capital exchange of goods for money. When you are asked to sample local delicacies, you are directed towards the chain stores on the main street. The two realities of a singular space are able to coexist and feed into one another, flowing seamlessly to the point where you forget that the two are independent, and you begin to feel as through the island has become your island.

            There are moments, however, which flicker at the corner of the mind, signalling something is off. It is a difficult feeling to place, until suddenly it is not, and you realise that drilled into the hundreds of years old Citadel walls are signs advertising free Wi-Fi, available for all devices.

Standing at the top of the island, looking out the view of the Mediterranean that has simultaneously inspired awe and fear in the minds of countless generations, your reality invades the physical space to demand your experiences be condensed into the constrictive limitations of hyperspace. In a brief moment, you begin to question yourself, your motives, your authority, your right to be present in this remote corner of the world where you have no business or connection. It is a jarring disconnect, one that cuts through the psyche, until you come back to yourself and upload the picture using the Wi-Fi.