It’s almost midnight—an inky sky, loads of stars, a crescent moon. I’m on what the poet Homer called “the wine dark sea,” boating with my traveling pals. We’ve come to enjoy The Aeolians, a chain of seven small volcanic islands sprinkled between the toe of Italy’s boot and the northeastern shore of Sicily.
The boat’s dropped anchor and cut its engine. In silence, we’re facing Stromboli. This is the Aeolian Island with a dramatic claim to fame—it’s topped by Europe’s only continuously active volcano. We focus on Stromboli’s peak. There’s a rumble, a low boom, then BAM—golden sparks and red flames shoot skyward. Natural fireworks! WOW! This is exactly what the Ancient Greeks must have seen when they circled this land on boats.
All through my days on these islands, I’ve felt connected to that Ancient World Homer wrote about. His hero, Odysseus, got into all kinds of trouble around these islands—lured by sirens, thrown off course by a bag of winds given to him by the God of Winds himself, Aeolous, from whom these islands got their name.
For me, the Aeoloian winds didn’t bring on the trials of Odysseus, but blessed relief from the blazing sun as we boated from island to island. The sea that raged with storms in The Odyssey was calm as a lake—and it was a cool pleasure to dive into the clear, shimmering, turquoise water, with the biggest peril being the occasional jellyfish.
One jet-lagged morning, I saw exactly what Homer meant when he wrote “the rosy fingered dawn.” From my Carasco Hotel room balcony on the island of Lipari, I watched the sky change from deep violet to pale pink to blue. Fishing boats bobbed in the distance, a random seagull flitted across the horizon.
Lipari is the biggest Aeolian island, but it only has 9,000 inhabitants. The village that spreads out from its harbor is a warren of narrow streets, lined with low pastel stone houses, where geraniums and petunias cascade from humble balconies. These balconies are the domains of gray-haired signoras, who hang their laundry there, chit-chatting with their neighbors across the alleyways. Kitty cats claim spots in the sun right in the middle of quiet streets where scooter riders putt-putt along and zigzag around them. The big excitement is the rickety produce truck that rambles through the wider streets, with the driver on a scratchy megaphone calling out what he’s got for sale. On the morning I’m remembering, the announcement of “POM-O-DO-RI!” (Tomatoes!) got a smattering of villagers to amble out of their beaded-curtained doorways to flag the truck down.
Lipari has an amazing archaeological museum, with a beautifully curated collection of pre-historic to Ancient Greek artifacts. It fired up my imagination as I wandered around, surrounded by vase paintings of elaborate banquets, towers of wine amphorae from shipwrecks, and wild looking clay masks from plays that were performed right on the ground I was walking around.
On the smaller, more rustic island of Vulcano, I got the Aeolian sensorama experience. The volcano here has been dormant for over a hundred years, but still there’s loads of underground activity, and a faint sulfury, rotten-egg smell in the air. The land is super-fertile, blanketed with wildflowers when I visited in May: purple thistle, yellow broom, and vibrant poppies. Thermal springs bubble up into curative mud baths that the ancient folks must have enjoyed, just as my friend Marzia and I did, taking a quick soak and coming out with silky soft skin. And for a delicious taste sensation, there was spicchiteddi, the quintessential Aeolian cookie, flavored with almonds and wine—wonderful to enjoy with a glass of prosecco on the beachside porch of the Hotel Conti.
The Aeolian island that wins for “looks most like Greece” is Panarea, which is also the smallest and most luxurious of the seven. No cars are allowed here, so it’s dreamy to stroll up and down its gentle hills, surrounded by whitewashed stone buildings with curved archways and domes, all trimmed in royal blue. A few years ago, I loved staying there at The Hotel Raya, stretching out on my balcony’s lounge chair and blissing out as I stared into the horizon.
