Island Rain

Well, today, instead of immersing ourselves in radioactive volcanic mud of Vulcano, we are forced to take a day off. Dan's having a little nappy and I'm having my fun here in the cafe.

I am not kidding about the mud. Vulcano has very few permanent residents, because of the alleged nasty smell--sulphur--but has this nifty laghi di fanghi of 'therapeutic' stinky mud. For this I have purchased a Bathing Costume--my one swimsuit went AWOL before we left. This Fashion Treasure is navy blue, my least favorite color in the entire world, and is two-piece. I would love to say that all the walking has done wonders for my girlish figure, but that would be a bold-faced lie. My legs are steely, but the pasta has worked against removing any insulating layers atop those steel bands. The top of the costume is, shall we say, minimally constructed, and a girl like me might run into trouble if the tiny clasp on the back gives way, but it is a risk I have to take considering the other choice, a magenta one-piece with foam cones in the upper region, and very modest leg openings (near my knees). I just could not go there. So, tomorrow? I'll let you know just how it is--we are promised that we can also walk to the edge of the small crater, if we can stand the smell, and that there is a black sand beach with hot water springs for rinsing off.

We are also promised that our Bathing Costumes will never relinquish the fragrance they will acquire.

Yesterday, we were wandering the Marina Corta, trying to figure out if a trip to Stromboli and the hike to the crater might be feasible. Not much was happening there, but we did see someone mending fishing nets:


We were approached on the piazza at Marina Corta by a local seaman named Antonio, who offered to take us out in his boat Marea. We agreed on a price and an itinerary, and we were off. This is a view of the old, fortified part of Lipari town, home to a fine archaelogical museum and a museum dedicated to the volcanic history of the Aeolian Islands:



Antonio took us motoring around the SW end of Lipari, toward Vulcano, to see the Grotte Azzure, the Spiaggia da Vinci (spiaggia=beach) and around some huge stacks of volcanic rock whose name now escapes me. (Every time we cannot remember the name for something, we have been substituting 'funiculare' as a plausible replacement, and that would actually be pretty close, I think. )


The water, very deep, ranged from milky blue green to the bluest blue imaginable. The vegetation is cactus, gorse, and not much of it.
At one point, Antonio reached into the water and scooped out some floating ROCKS. "Pumice. Pumice." Say this like: poo-me-chay. It just had not registered with me yet that the major industry here is pumice, and that the pebbles that get loose are going to float, but there they were. The pumice here is pale grey, too, and that threw me off. The white foam in the water in this photo camouflages the pumice. You can replicate my experience looking at the photo, because you won't see any pumice, either:


I also noticed that he reached into a school of medusa--jellyfish--to retrieve the pumice, but he was not stung. He has loved here all his life, fishing, and taking tourists out to see places that cannot be seen from anywhere but the water. The volcanic pile is so steep and so inconsistent that it cannot be hiked or climbed, and the boat is the only way. Antonio is tan-burned deeply, and the back of his neck below salt and pepper hair is just redder than chestnut, a color like I have never seen before. He knows full well how beautiful his home island is, and is happy for the tranquility of post-tourist season. He carries a cell phone.


Out near the stacks of rock, he asked us if we wanted to swim. Dan rose to the challenge, but I did not have that pesky bathing costume, and frankly, since we'd left all our clothes to be washed, my underthings were not decent enough to pass for such, so I demurred. He went down the ladder in his blue silky drawers (his last and least favorite pair of undies, too), and lost his breath from the shock of it.



The water is cooler than it looks, and very salty, almost thick. The pumice dust makes it a little milky. Then, for a photo and despite the cold, Dan came out and dove BACK in so that I could capture the moment in digital:




I got it on the first try! Cold, but well worth it, and I am jealous, but I just did not want to be the talk of the fisherman's local bar scene, which might go something like: "You should have seen this lady--woof--American tourists seem to be so well off, but can't they afford underwear?"

It's a good thing that only after we were well into the trip back to port that Dan figured out that I was pointing to the medusas, and there were scads of them, though I didn't see any near the rocks where he had taken the dive.

The only other scary wildlife we've seen was just as we left Tuscany. I lifted up the bag I had packed the night before from the stone floor of the farmhouse and a cold, slow SCORPION about 2" long crawled out and headed away from the light. Fortunately, I'd already had my coffee, and I was quicker than he was, and despatched him with one of my Keens. Dan's now checking his shoes every day before putting them on. (He couldn't even look at a lake after seeing Jaws.)

Anyhoo, I see sun outside, so it may be time to see if there is another ferry to Vulcano. This is a view of Vulcano from the high road on Lipari Island. In the water below, you can see the funiculare, the site of Dan's historic dive.


Cannot wait to be irradiated!!!

In other news, Grandma has a new black Jetta! I called Tim and about all I got out of him is that he is "fine." Dan's tooth is perfect.

Underneath the Volcano

(Warning: map and Bulfinch's mythology will be helpful for this post)

We are on Lipari Island, in the Aeolian Islands, off the coast of Sicily.


This is the home of Aeolus, god of the winds. We arrived the night before last, after successfully escaping the Sirens, and then passing over the Scylla and Charybdis. The Odyssey did not take place in Greece, but in Italy.

The Sirens really did beckon, and they were irresistible (Sirens come from Sorrento--did you know that?). We spent our time in the Sorrentina Peninsula at Le Tore organic farm, run by the inexhaustible Vittoria Brancaccio and her husband Gianni.

31 October was a demanding but smooth day--we had left Contignano reluctantly. Our efforts to speak Italian finally opened everyone up, and we had the most wonderful conversations with the residents of our tiny town in Tuscany. I learned an old Tuscan proverb from the owners of the food market: "Tutti Sant, caputi e guanti." (All Saints Day--get out your cape and gloves.) And that it ALWAYS rains on the second of November, which is also an important day in Italy, when everyone visits the cemeteries to remember "i defunti, i morti."

Early on Halloween morning we drove to the train station, found the place to return our car--had to ask directions, and I'm finding I can speak Italian just well enough to get a response in Italian which I cannot understand, until I walk away and think hard about it, and then it comes-- and figured on a two hour wait for the train. Silly us! The time had changed, and the 9:35 had not yet left. You should have seen the look on the desk agent's face when I told him that surely it had left. He rolled his eyes and pointed pointedly at the clock. I had noticed the night before that the clock in Bar Franci said 7:30 while my watch said 8:30, but I figured that was just how things could be in Bar Franci.

Ten minutes later we were on our way to Salerno. Good thing--we knew finding our next destination in the dark would not be much fun. )

We arrived by driving the demanding (but not as scary as most Americans make it out to be) Amalfitan Coast highway--as the Salerno Avis agent said, "it's a good highway-double sense," meaning two lanes wide. This is debatable.



We did have to back up three cars on a curve when a bus could not pass, but Dan now has skills to be proud of--yes, he can drive a stick around a hairpin turn and take pictures at the same time--and we drove into the sunset, arriving at the green gate on the very top of the world just after dark. They were expecting us for dinner--7:30.

Dinner. One long table, six people, all of us fellow guests. Simon and Jane, a UK couple living in Poland, had just put 18-month-old Isaac to bed. Ruth and Marcus had arrived from Switzerland on a walking tour using only public transportation. And we were going to have conversation and a lovely organic dinner from local sources. But among all the six adults, and Italian, French, Swiss-German, German, Spanish, and English, there was no single language in common. So everyone had to translate for someone. We have never had so much fun (or such great food) . By the end of it Marcus deadpanned "Schwartzennegger for President," and Dan was making jokes in Italian, and he's only on Pimsleur lesson 24 because he keeps skipping ahead.

And then we woke to find ourselves in the middle of olive and lemon groves and espaliered annurca apple trees, with two lovely white cows.


The farm is near the tip of the peninsula, and near the very highest point. One stone house is for guests, and one for Gianni and Vittoria with a small self catering apartment. This is an agriturismo par excellence.

I wanted to find out more, or even work a little, so I talked my way into a tour of the farm, but just as we were starting out, friends of Vittoria's from near Naples came to visit, the D'Alterio family, and so we all went together, and then it started to sprinkle. I had noticed that looking west it was sunny, but looking east it was black, and I had already forgotten--it ALWAYS rains on 2 November. So we all headed for shelter in the dining room, peeled annurca apples--a remarkable ancient variety that keeps all winter if just left on the ground and turned often--and tried to keep up with the conversation. And then it REALLY started to rain.

By 1:00 we were snuggled in our room with intermittent lights and the howling went on all afternoon. It was great, a wonderful, exciting storm. And a great forced rest for us after a long travel day.

Is it cruel to leave you hanging now? When I could talk about touring the ancient olive grove with the 350 year old mother plants? And about being invited to join twenty or so Italian travel and food journalists for an educational olive oil tasting? I'll get back to this. . . promise. . .but for now, I'll just say that I am in love with the Sorrentina Peninsula, and tell you about Dan's day here in Lipari. Jenny! Take special note!

Dan is now on a first name basis with a Sicilian dentist! A molar with an old filling broke, and even though (thankfully) he was not in immediate pain, we decided better here than Prague, and found the local dentist. He was GREAT. Seemed like the happiest dentist I have ever seen, took Dan right in, and while they were still talking, I could see the assistant preparing the Big Syringe, and an hour and a half later, he had a beautyfull new ceramic-filled tooth. They were full-on modren, with dams and rubber gloves, and those syringes that they all use even at home that look just like apparati from the Inquisition. I'm sorry, I could have stayed to hold his hand, but I went shopping, because I nearly fainted at the sight of it. The only things not current were that there was no paperwork, and that the dentist only charged us €100, discounting his usual price of €150, perhaps just for the sake of international goodwill, or Dan's great popularity here in southern Italy. This translates to about $129.

But now I AM cutting you off, because I need to go check on the patient. Translate this as, I'm hungry and am going to go sweep him up and find something for dinner.

We're staying here on the island until the 13th, so I'll certainly have another post up in a day or two. Love you all, and miss you, and we will now be home soon.

Ciao! Tanti baci!