At a truly awe-inspiring moment, it's impossible for me not to step outside myself and see things through an outsider's perspective. In this case, the outsider who works in an office building with fluorescent lights and recirculated air.
I'm standing on the back of a ship—okay, a hydrofoil—about forty miles north of Sicily, and it's that time, just after dusk, when the sky is a violent cobalt blue. Off the boat's starboard side, as I cling to the railing and mentally recall the whereabouts of the lifevests, I see a volcano—a massive and perfect inverted V—rising from the Tyrrhenian Sea. White caps crash slowly against its base and its peak spits and gurgles a steady, orange flow of lava. This is Stromboli—the first of the Aeolian Islands.
The nearly unpronounceable Aeolians (ee-OH-lee-uns) consist of seven volcanic islands off the northeast corner of Sicily. They were settled in 580 BC by the Greeks who named the archipelago after Aeolus, a god who controlled the winds by trapping them in rocky coastal caves. In the ensuing millennia, the islands hosted battles between Rome and Carthage, France and Spain, and countless others. Today, the food, culture and sensibility of the locals reveal their geographic influences: a little Greek, a little North African and a lot Sicilian. This exotic mélange attracts vacationing Italians and Germans, Britons and French.
Remarkably, the Aeolians remain mostly untrodden by Americans. Whether it's the five-hour ferry ride from Naples or the weak transoceanic marketing campaign, few Americans visit or even know about the archipelago. That's why I'm here scouting it out (with the help of my fiancé Devin and our friend Peter, who is visiting from New York).
Stop one is Salina, second largest and most central of the islands, with 2,300 full-time residents. It's rough around the edges—jagged cliffs, rocky beaches and a notable absence of five-star anything—but that's part of the Aeolians' charm. Unlike other Mediterranean outposts, these don't cater to people who like air-conditioned lobbies and Louis Vuitton boutiques. There's coarseness here—right down to the pumice stone beaches and ubiquitous salted capers. I'm not suggesting the Aeolians are a camping trip. Well-heeled fans include Madonna, Robert De Niro, Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana. But here, you're closer to Palermo than St. Tropez—and all that that entails. The battle-torn history, the volcanic landscape, the weathered fishermen and the coarse dialect are all part of the romance of the place. And five minutes in, I'm sold.
Our home for the next few days is the Hotel Signum, which could be the nicest place I'll ever sleep. Tucked in a pocket of lemon trees and dripping with red and fuchsia bougainvillea, the thirty-room hotel is the white-walled, terracotta-floored stuff of Mediterranean legend. Fittingly, the staff—including owner Clara (who's also the assistant town mayor), her son Luca and a distractingly handsome sommelier named Vincenzo—is kind, helpful and generally looks like a casting call for Lost: The Aeolian Chapter. Here's what I quickly learn about Salina: Devin, Peter and I are the three palest people on the island.
"You must see the nature reserve—the santuario," Clara tells me, describing the arid green mountains at the center of her native island. At this point, it occurs to me that I have a choice: I can thank Clara for her help but explain that this is a travel story exclusively about the poolside bars of the Aeolians. Or I can peel myself off the chaise at the Signum's infinity pool and unpack the bug repellent. I take the high road. (Literally, I will soon learn.)
My traveling companions and I rent mopeds and scoot off along the only route into the heart of Salina—a narrow road that snakes along the mountainous coastline and deposits us at the base of Monte Fossa delle Felci, an ancient and inactive volcano 3200 feet above sea level. Its crest provides panoramic views of Mt. Etna to the south in Sicily and every other island between here and there (or so Peter and Devin later told me).
I won't actually get to the top—just shy of it. Despite the warm, cloudless weather and the manmade stone steps along most of the path, climbing to the highest point in the Aeolians really does feel like climbing to the highest point in the Aeolians. Thirty minutes in, Devin and Peter are out of sight, occasionally calling down to me through the thicket of pine trees. Soon they're out of earshot and have left markers for me to find like a kid on an egg hunt—an arrow scrawled in the dirt here, another made of small stones there. My only company is hundreds of palm-size lizards that noiselessly scatter in every direction at my approach.
I can't remember the last time I was out of earshot of another human. Here, on the side of a volcano in the middle of the sea, I'm completely alone among the cactus plants and invisible birds calling from within the cypress trees. I sit on a step and take in the view—vast, blue and near enough to the peak to make out the coastline of Sicily. Aeolus sends a hearty gust of wind to cool the air.
By evening, I'm once again seeing myself from an outsider's perspective. Shivering in a wool sweater, she's smacking the radiator in a rickety city dwelling. But, I'm whipping through the warm night air on the back of Devin's moped, careening around hairpin turns and overlooking the flickering lights of nearby Lipari, on our way to Da Franco, a trattoria in the port town of Santa Marina. Like nearly every eatery on the island, Da Franco specializes in whatever was freshly caught that morning. (If seafood had been frozen, by law it must be noted on the menu).
After a meal of fresh spaghetti with clams, insalata mista and a carafe of vino rosso, we're back on our mopeds heading to the seaside village of Lingua, home of Alfredo's legendary granita. Alfredo—both the man and the establishment—are as famous as one gets on Salina. For the past forty years, he has made his sweet, icy dessert, from fresh ingredients (strawberry, espresso, lemon, etc.) and sugar, and it is eaten at all times of day by everyone. We devour several flavors each before finally heading home.
We plan our next stops: Filicudi, a mere 3.7 square miles, followed by Alicudi, even smaller. Each one is about two miles long and home to 250 and 140 people, respectively. They're as close to remote as you can find in the Mediterranean, and are perfect spots to get a savage tan, swim naked through cool grottos, eat fresh fish off the boat and generally pretend that you're shipwrecked on a deserted island.
Unfortunately, the sea is "troppo forte," which translates loosely to, "There's no chance I'm taking you and your friends out there when the sea is this choppy, and besides, it's lunchtime anyway so please go away." So we amend our plans and jump on the ferry (a bigger boat that can handle the rough sea) to Lipari, which is akin to foregoing the camping trip for a night at the Ritz. And once we arrive, none of us is complaining about the troppo forte sea.
Lipari is the biggest and most populous island of the bunch (population 11,000). It has towns (plural), an airport and nightlife—bars and cafes speckled along the waterfront. We've barely checked in to our gorgeous hotel, Villa Meligunis, before we rent a small touring boat, "the best way to see the island," according to Manuela Tiraboschi, the hotel's owner.
Our rig for the day is the Panaria, a sixty-year-old vessel captained by Giovanni and his first mate, Sebastiano. They are Aeolian seafarers from Central Casting—leathery skin, scruffy beards, callused hands and the relaxed dispositions that suggest a lifetime of heavy drinking. So we set out—three of the palest people in the Mediterranean with two of the most tanned.
From the port of Lipari, we head north, circumnavigating the island counterclockwise. We pass the trendy beach of Canneto, with its packed chairs and bustling outdoor bars, and stop at Pumice Beach, famed for its porous white stones (the very same that my city self enjoys during a pedicure). As Giovanni steers the Panaria closer to shore, I notice that the water is dotted with thousands of golf ball-size pumice stones floating on the surface. The sandless shore is covered with these stones as well, and the water—warmed by the summer sun and clear to its rocky bottom—is impossible to resist. We dive in, but only have time for a quick swim before Sebastiano, cigarette in one hand, beer in the other, beckons us back to the boat. Don't worry, he explains, the water is much better on the other side of the island.
We round the northern tip, past the scuba divers at Punta Castagna and the beaches at Aquacalda (also rocky, but with less pumice and more black volcanic stone), and make our way south along the western side of the island—Sebastiano's favorite spot. There are no roads that lead here—the shore, isolated by the island's wilderness, is only accessible by boat. I hear a loud chain clanking and look over my shoulder to see that Giovanni has dropped anchor. Sebastiano is in the kitchen preparing lunch—spaghetti with roasted tomatoes and garlic, and a bottle of crisp, white wine. Devin and Peter dive back in the water, barely dry from their last swim, and make their way toward one of the naturally formed stone archways jutting out from the cliff.
I sit on the side of the Panaria—the breeze scented with sizzling garlic and salty sea air, flashes of sunlight bouncing off the water in front of me, and overhead, a blinding blue sky. Then I catch a glimpse of the outsider again. She's making her way through a torrential storm, umbrella flipped inside out, braving the blustery winds and pushy crowds—and she's on her way to the airport.
PLANNING YOUR TRIP
HOW TO GET THERE AND AROUND
It takes twenty-plus hours to reach the Aeolians from the United States, so it's worth planning an extended stay.
It's best to fly to Naples: Delta, American, United and Alitalia all have flights, usually connecting through Rome or Paris.
Hydrofoils leave Naples and Milazzo for Lipari several times a day in the high season (April 1 to October 30). www.snav.it
Once you're on the islands, the best way to get around is by bike ($13 to $19 per day) or moped ($25 to $32 per day). Taxis are available, but very costly—about 20 euro for a five-minute drive.
To get from one island to another, ferry tickets can be purchased at the port just before travel. Be warned: If the water is rough, ferries to the smaller islands will be delayed or canceled.
WHERE TO STAY
Hotel Signum (Salina): Imagine a small hotel of white and peach poured concrete nestled within a lemon grove. Add amazing food and an infinity pool overlooking the Mediterranean, and you begin to get an idea. $140 to $360 per room, depending on the season and size. +39 090 9844222, www.hotelsignum.it
Santa Isabel (Salina): Rooms are comfortable and clean, but the real draw is the lounge—a chic, Los Angeles-inspired outdoor patio offering cushioned white divans, shady banano trees and the best view of the Tyrrhenian for miles. Order a Negroni, munch on fresh olives and warm pizzette and stay until dark. $90 to $162 per person, +39 090 9844018, www.santaisabel.it
Villa Meligunis Hotel (Lipari): Smack in the center of Lipari town, the Meligunis is a seventeenth-century villa restored with all the modern amenities—the Internet, a pool and a rooftop bar with views of the sea. $127 to $370 per night, +39 090 9812426 www.villameligunis.it
WHERE TO EAT
Da Franco Ristorante (Salina): It can take a few tries to find the place since it's tucked in a corner pocket of Porto Marina, but it's worth it. Sit among locals and order whatever fresh pasta the cameriere suggests. via Belvedere, +39 090 9843287
Da Alfredo Bar Graniteria Panineria (Salina): The food, especially the pane cunzato—dried bread with fresh tomatoes, capers, olives, onions, anchovies and olive oil—is spectacular. But the real reason to trek out to Lingua is to sit on the outdoor patio, look out on the island of Lipari, and order a famous granita. Piazza Marina Garibaldi, Lingua, +39 090 9843075
La Nassa Ristorante (Lipari) Sit upstairs under a canopy of foliage and order the antipasti della casa—a catch-of-the-day extravaganza. Be prepared: When you order lobster, they bring out the live ones for you to make your selection. via G. Franza, 36, +39 090 9811319, www.lanassa.it
E Pulera Ristorante Bar (Lipari) The staff is friendly, the food is fresh and delicious and the outdoor garden feels like a tropical rain forest. (Bring bug repellent.) via Isabella Vainicher Conti, +39 090 9811158, www.filippino.it
