ISLAND HOPPING IN THEAEOLIANS

TAMARA THIESSEN4 MINUTES READING TIME

THE LUMPY, CRINKLECUT ISLES OF PUMICE GREY STONE ARE ERUPTEDPROTRUSIONS OF UNDERWATER VOLCANOES

Tamara Thiessen takes a whirlwind tour of the picturesque archipelago offthe shores of Sicily

“The sea is in my veins – all my family have worked in boating and fishing. It’sa very special relationship, which all the Aeolians have with the sea …  Youhave to live with its moods and our survival depends on it – particularly inwinter, when sometimes we can’t come and go.” Silvia Carbone is the ownerof a small artfilled hotel on the island of Lipari. It is very marine in decor, withits azzurrocoloured tiles and inner courtyard billowing with saillikecurtains. This is our homely bolthole in the little harbour of Canneto – our firstport of call in the Aeolians.

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Like all islands, getting there takes some mental gymnastics. In the case ofthe Aeolians – an archipelago of seven islands off Sicily’s north coast – theworkout becomes even more vigorous as you try to decide which islands youshould visit– in what order – and how to get between them. Though theirlyrical string of names – Lipari, Panarea, Vulcano, Stromboli, Salina, Alicudiand Filicudi – would have you believe it is as easy as tiptoeing through thetulips – boat travel always means seasonal precariousness. We get animmediate taste of that, coming in October – just when the transportswitches to its lowseason schedule and the waters get choppier. Being anislander myself (from Tasmania, in Australia) – islands are everpresent in myimagination – and the prospect of holing myself up on these breakawaypieces of land is as tempting as their wild, UNESCOlisted nature and deepblue mythladen seas.

It’s here in the Tyrrhenian Sea, that Aeolus – god of the winds, supposedlydwelt – giving the island group its name. The lumpy, crinklecut isles ofpumice grey stone are erupted protrusions of underwater volcanoes – stillactive in the case of Stromboli and the eponymous Vulcano. Making Lipariour base, we hop around half of the Aeolians during a threenight stay.Starting with a stroll into the port of Lipari itself the following morning.

The capital of the biggest, most populated island is painted in faded pastelfacades, with 360degree ocean views from its upper town citadel. The

‘acropolis’ perches high on a volcanic outcrop on the site of a former Greektemple. The steep walk is pockmarked with porthole peeks through thecrumbling castle walls to a seemingly endless cobalt expanse. Easy tobelieve another island myth – that in this seductive setting, sirens tried to woothe Greek hero Odysseus (Ulysses in Latin) with song.

We wind up down in the incredibly picturesque harbour area of MarinaCorta. In the narrow jasmine and bougainvillea hung streets of the old fishingvillage, I fall irrevocably in love with the arancini di riso. The elasticky rice balls– filled with mozzarella and peas – are one of the typical Sicilian foods in theAeolians along with fried potato patatine fritte, cassata icecream, ricottastuffed cannoli pastries and cooling lemon granita.

The passegiata along the main Via Corso Vittorio Emanuele II – and all thelittle vico off it (Vico Stromboli, Vico Salina, Vico Eolo … here it seems all alleyslead to an island) – is one hemmed in by more island flavours and crafts.Ipush through the hanging wild oregano, sun drying red peppers and stacksof bright coloured ceramic plates at the doors, to shelves bulging with oliveoil, capers and Malvasia delle Lipari white wine.

In the afternoon, we hop aboard the Urso buses which leave from the portand circumnavigate the island – nothing is further than a 30minute rideaway. Within a couple of hours of rather haphazard bussing and highcountry hiking, we have set our eyes on some incredible craterscapes andtaken in one of the best panoramas of the whole archipelago, from thebelvedere of Quattrocchi. Even ‘four eyes’ as its name implies, are notenough to take in the horizonless seas, snaking promontories, and spray ofrocky outcrops.

We also get a clear view of the isola di Vulcano, tomorrow’sdestination. There’s an almost irresistible attraction to a simmering volcano,which grows the closer you get. We leave on the earliest hydrofoil to allowtime for the two hour, 11 kilometre return trek to the Fossa di Vulcano, startingout from the Porto di Levante. The 391m crater is the only of three volcanoeson the island which is still active – spouting out its sulphurous gases. “The urgeto look down into a volcano appears to be ageless,” wrote SicilianlivingAmerican writer Mary Taylor Simeti in 2002. “St. Willibald, on his way homefrom the Holy Land in 729, climbed up the volcano of Lipari in the hope ofgetting a glimpse of hell.”

The walk to Gran Cratere was sandy but fairly easy going. And while thesulphurous egg smell wasn’t far from your nostrils, the view at the top wasmore than worth it. On the slopes you also get great closeups of the wispyplumes of smoke rising up from the steamy fumaroles of the mustard yellowcrystal encrusted void. While from its southern rim, just 10 minutes walk furtheron, the views extend over the gaping hollow to a lineup of the other Aeolianislands on the horizon.

Unfortunately we do not have time on this trip to take in Stromboli. The“syncopated explosions of gas, ash and lava” – to again quote Simeti – hasearned Europe’s most active and frequently erupting volcano the name‘’Lighthouse of the Mediterranean’. The lavablackened northernmost of theAeolians starred in Roberto Rossellini’s 1950s film, alongside IngridBergman. We trade the strenuous sixhour nocturnal hike for a splurge stay onPanarea. The smallest of the Aeolians is gloriously car (and street lamp) free –and at this time of the year sans the jet setting crowds. In fact, at my nextfivestar hotel I have the geothermal, naturally heated pool all to myself.

TAMARA THIESSEN

Tamara Thiessen is a travel writer from Australia. She has written for NationalGeographic, the Sydney Morning Herald and Conde Nast Traveller. She is the

author of Chronicles of Old Rome.

An afternoon walk around the isle is pure Mediterranean bliss of white stuccowalled lane ways (actually old mule paths) shaded in myrtle bushes andolive trees suspended over the coast. Between our dip in a small shelteredbay and return to our lofty whitewashed suite, there is a dramatic change inweather.

All set for an early boat out, we are warned this might make it impossible forus to leave. Sure enough down in the little harbour at dawn, the oceans arewhipping up – and the trip is called off. Clearly our life has been placed inthe hands of the gods – and we’ve caught Aeolus on a benevolentday. Thanks to his handiwork, as the keeper of the winds – we get anothernight in the lap of Aeolian luxury.

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