The ferry halted abruptly. “What happened? Is the hydrofoil damaged?” asked the Brazilian visitor who was seated besides me. We were heading toward the Stromboli, a volcanic island in the Mediterranean Sea, from the diminutive village of Ginostra in a ferry.
Aeolian Islands, a bunch of volcanic islets, are positioned amid Sicily and around 30 miles from the south Italian mainland. Stromboli island is one of these volcanic islands located to the northern part of Aeolian bunch. The surface area of this island is just 4.8 sq miles. The highest altitude of this place is 924 m (3031 feet) above sea level, while the lowest is between 5000 and 6500 feet. The population of 400 people continuously witnesses volcanic eruptions throughout the year.
“Landing a hydrofoil or a ferryboat requires some vacant, spacious land. The ports of miniature Stromboli are too small to accommodate this ferry,” I explained the Brazilian and pointed toward the group of natives that were busy hopping in a smaller boat that will help them to get back home. Others threw baskets of fruits and grains into the minute boat. “A small port might soon be built here, after they can arrange some electricity here,” I looked at him.
“You mean they don’t have electricity here?” he asked astonishingly. “Not after the major eruption that took place on 28th December 2002.” I said watching the island that looked even smaller due to the distance.
The first and biggest eruption (since last eruption 17 years ago) in Stromboli took place in 2002. A couple of days later, gargantuan molten rocks and volcanic solid of approx 4 million cubic meters slithered into the depth of the sea. This abrupt fall of enormous rocks caused a tsunami in the neighboring areas, damaging coastal buildings. For few months, the island was blocked for visitors.
The hydrofoil started sailing again and the Brazilian smiled at me for the first time since past 5 hours. Our capricious journey ended when the ferry dropped us at Scari, northern fraction of the island.
For natives, tourists are a huge source of income. So they welcomed us and offered overnight stays at tiny flats (personal flats rented by them) and luxurious inns. They were quite friendly, I don’t know if it was natural or intentional. But I enjoyed their company. A local official guide asked me if I was interested in joining a tour that would offer sights of Sciara. This is to the northwestern part of the island and hot magma here flows in to the cold sea water that keeps erupting from an active volcanic gap.
You can watch the entire island from the top of Stromboli summit. However, ascending the summit is permitted only if you are with an authorized guide. Such tours are offered in all months of the year if weather is perfect. The timing of this tour is your preference. You can opt to ascend the peak in the morning and descend in the afternoon. If you don’t like walking under the sun, choose to descend in the evening or after dusk. Many tourists climb the summit in dark hours, enjoy whole night on the peak and descend in early hours next day. I was among them. We opted for an evening jaunt. The guide kindly agreed to pick us up at 10 pm from our hotel rooms after inserting the US$ 16 in his pocket (that’s per person fees). Before leaving he said, “Kindly ensure that you carry tough trekking shoes, a torch, and an additional t-shirt”. I nodded while he left. However, I kept wondering why he asked me to carry an additional t-shirt. Let’s see, I thought.
The garden area outside our hotel offered an amazing view. To our right was a volcanic coast and murky soaring rocks which aroused a weird stench. To the left was a lofty volcano peak standing sturdily with hues of smokes appearing when the breezed blew in our direction. Although the sights were awesome, I thought I was trapped between pleasant looking volcanic panoramas. But that feeling lasted only a while, before the stench grew stronger and we left for our respective rooms.
On the other side of the peak that stands to the left of the inn, are the hovering villages of Piscita (I had tough time pronouncing this name), Ficogrande, and S. Viscenzo. These settlements had several minute pallid houses, some of them yet laid shattered by the tsunami waves in 2002. Most of the population left the island after the tsunami, except the population of these three villages.
I looked at my watch that displayed 9.52 pm when I suddenly realized I have to arrange for a torch. Luckily, I found one and we left for the night excursion on scheduled time. The flow of lava would look awesome and clear at night, the Brazilian had said while deciding the time of the jaunt. Hence we opted for the 10 pm tour. So, except being terrified, he was capable of thinking as well.
Ascending to the top of the peak was feasible before the brutal volcanic eruption of 2002. However, now you can climb only up to 1,312 feet, which was still quite a decent place to watch the panorama below.
The Brazilian laughed when he saw three blue helmets that were carried by the guide. “What are these for? Are we going to play a baseball match up there?” and he laughed again. “My friend, your safety is my responsibility and occupation. Lava flows continuously up there and occasional lava bursts are common. The thick fluid of lava that shoots out of the volcano cools off before landing on the ground which makes it stronger and harder than a huge stone.” He placed his hand on the Brazilian’s head, “and if it drops here, you are dead.” The smile quickly disappeared from the Brazilian’s face. We looked up at the peak and started our excursion.
We walked up the hill with torches in our hand. The road past Piscita (I still can’t pronounce it) was very craggy and coarse. As we went up the hill, no sound reached our ears except the occasional roaring of the waves. Suddenly a sharp, pungent stench of wild capers filled my nostrils. For that single moment, I regretted my decision to trek.
The wind up there was quite chilly and unswerving. However, occasional warm breezes made me wonder about the source. Our guide seemed to be a wise man with enormous experience in leading such tours. He didn’t speak much. He led both of us and kept looking back every minute to ensure we were right behind him. We rested twice until we reached the concluding observatory of the summit. We switched the torches off and occupied flat stones to watch the panorama. Just 650 feet away from us, sweltering red lava was flowing unhurriedly and submerging into the water, which created thick cloud of smoke above it. It immediately answered my question of source of warm breeze. We heard bursts of huge lava rocks occasionally and saw many small pieces of rock rolling down the hill. The guide looked at the guilty looking face of the Brazilian and patted on his back and said, “The ground seems dreadful. May be we will play baseball next time.” We all laughed and looked at the slowly gushing fluid.
Our t-shirts were clammy with sweat and the chilly breeze aroused a freezing sensation. So the guide asked us to wear the fresh t-shirt. Descending was quite effortless and took lesser time. When we reached near the hotel at 4 am, I waved at the guide and the Brazilian before going for a nap in my room. No starts were visible in the sky due to the lava haze.
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