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A PATH BREAKING EXPERIENCE
by SLAWKA GIORGIA SCARSO
We got off the ferry boat on a hot may day, with two
commuters, a motor cart loaded with fresh vegetables
and the postman. Two girls around ten years old with
long brown hair highlighted by the sun and an early
golden tan approached us and tried to sell us some sea
shells. Getting exercised for the high season, we thought
- as if many tourists ever arrived at this remote island.
Alicudi is indeed the most isolated island of the Aeolian
archipelago, otherwise famous for its constantly active
volcano, Stromboli. To get there, you need to catch
a ferry boat from Milazzo, in Sicily, or from Naples,
get off in Lipari and then take another one which will
eventually take you to Alicudi Porto. Far too much fuss
for most tourists, and that's why a hotel and two grocery
shops, one of which also serves as a coffee bar, comprise
Alicudi's tourism industry. We had only planned to stay
for our few hours anyway, that is until our next ferry
boat to the island of Salina.
As it was lunch time however, we bought some sandwiches
from Umberto, the grocer near the port, who also allowed
us to leave our backpacks under the porch in front of
his shop. A critical help as Alicudi, an ancient volcano,
is virtually all uphill and the village spreads upwards
and culminates with the ancient church of San Bartolomeo,
which was where we wanted to go. Having to take our
backpacks on our shoulders would have meant spending
the rest of our time by the port. Instead, with our
backs unburdened, we headed upwards, via paved paths
and staircases of volcanic stones which squeeze through
white and pastel pink houses surrounded by cascades
of red geraniums and fuchsia bougainvilleas, and walls
of prickly pears.
At that time of the day we were the only people around.
We did hear a few voices, probably engaged in lunchtime
conversation, coming from under the private shade of
porches overlooking the sea. Otherwise, it was just
us and a couple of cats running from the shadow of one
bush of flowers to another. Unfortunately, though immense
to our eyes, those bushes weren't big enough to shelter
us from the sun too.
We passed the post office, also deserted. Two or three
yellow dandelions half hanging from the post box where
they had their roots proved that no one had posted a
letter from there for ages. We walked with heavy paces
- the heat of the day, the steepness of the hill and
the ham sandwiches in our stomachs all weighing us down
as if we had two 70 litre backpacks.
The pungent scent of capers growing in the orchards
hit our noses and as soon as we found the shade of a
lonely tree we decided to take a rest. Suddenly a lady
leaned out of a nearby window and we asked her in Italian:
"Is this the right path to go to the church of
San Bartolomeo?" She looked at us as if we had
spoken a foreign language. What had we said that was
so wrong?
"Do you mean the STREET to San Bartolomeo?"
she asked us in turn.
"Right" we replied confused.
"Yes, this is the right STREET. There's about another
fifteen minutes of walking to do."
"Thank you" we all answered then started our
climb again, wondering how it is possible to call a
paved path, just large enough to have two people walking
side by side and with grass growing in between one stone
and the other, a street.
Forty minutes and several stops later we reached the
deserted church of San Bartolomeo. So deserted that
one of us climbed on the roof and rang the bell. The
view from there was vast, spreading across an empty
Mediterraneum except for the island of Filicudi not
too far away. Besides, the church courtyard bestowed
another precious gift, a beautiful series of shadow
yielding holm-oaks.
Later, when we collected our backpacks from Umberto,
we discovered that during the summer indeed many tourists
come to Alicudi (though how much "many" means
is a mystery).
"They have bought houses everywhere, even near
the church of San Bartolomeo," he continued.
We were quite shocked. Not just because tourists arrive
everywhere, but because we wondered how someone would
choose to buy a house where even bringing a six-pack
of mineral water was a crusade.
"By the way," we asked, "how do people
bring water, or shopping up to those houses?"
"By donkey," he answered as if it was obvious.
"And how much does it cost?"
"20 euro."
Alicudi's tourism industry may not be extremely developed,
but they're definitely working on it.
©
2003 Slawka Giorgia Scarso
slawka@tin.it
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