Above us, the clouds covered the peak of the massive peak that formed the
center of the island, obscuring from us the real dimensions of the island. A
single road circumnavigated the island's perimeter, beckoning us around the
ever-present curve of the island. We set out on foot towards the north, where
a little basin and a sandy peninsula pointed us northward toward the next
island. The road left the water's edge and ascended the mountain's rocky
slope, lined on both sides by wild flowers and tall grasses that plunged off
the vertical sides of rock faces towards the sea. The Aeolian islands caught
my attention like nothing else in all the blue and yellow that made up my map.
But then, my passion has always been islands. Even as a young boy I was
acutely aware of the bays and harbors that surrounded me on all sides, and ever
since I've been unable to resist the allure of those corners of the world that
live surrounded on all sides by the sea. So it was that the Aeolian islands
called to me from the azure of the Mediterranean that surrounded them on all
sides.
We departed in the early morning from Milazzo on Sicily's north coast, bound
towards the northeast to a delicate archipelago whose reputation preceeded them
and whose very name evoked the sound of the wind and the fury of gods that
still lived among mortals, parting the choppy sea during the 60 minutes it took
us to reach the islands. We chose Salinas: neither the closest of the
archipelago, nor the most popular, because the boat that took us northward into
the waters of the Mediterranean carried many more than just the two of us. on
that little ship.
A shower passed over us before we reached the shore of Salinas, wetting the dry
side of our boat and driving us inside under the fiberglass roof to wait out
the rain. But just before we reached the island, the clouds parted and we
stepped onto shore under the tenuous sunlight of the after-rain. Salina was
captivating.
Above us, the clouds covered the peak of the massive peak that formed the
center of the island, obscuring from us the real dimensions of the island. A
single road circumnavigated the island's perimeter, beckoning us around the
ever-present curve of the island. We set out on foot towards the north, where
a little basin and a sandy peninsula pointed us northward toward the next
island. The road left the water's edge and ascended the mountain's rocky
slope, lined on both sides by wild flowers and tall grasses that plunged off
the vertical sides of rock faces towards the sea. With the exception of the
occasional vehicle, we remained quite alone on the side of the island we
explored. Above us, we saw gulls cruising the water's edge, and saw the
burrows where small mammals had dug homes into the island's quiet interior.
The sun grew brighter and warmer, and we continued.
Towards the north of the island we found a small beach, off of which a striking
yawl twisted on its mooring in the changing tide. The shore was rocky and hard
to cross but we made it to the water's edge in sandals and then stripped down
to swim in the Mediterranean. It was still and cold, and the shoreline sloped
off quickly to depths unimaginable from the surface. Instead, we dried off on
the rocks and watched the sailboat bob on the waves.
Salina was neither the first nor the last island where I caught myself
wondering what it would be like to be cast free from the rest of the world and
make my home among the so-clearly delimited confines of an island. The rest of
the world would remain comfortably insulated by the cold sea, and I could find
my peace among the shore birds and the morning wind. But Salinas was my home
for no more than a day, and Ericka and I returned to Sicily - paradoxically
both the mainland and an island in itself - to continue our exploration
elsewhere. From the back of the ship we watched the island of Salina drop
beneath the horizon as the ship's wake spread beneath the afternoon sky. Be it
the abode of gods, it was our home for a day, and awaits us the day we decide
to walk the other side of the island's rocky shoreline.
