Staggering sights, steps on Stromboli volcano

I should start off by saying that traveling by train in Italy is wonderful. It’s easy if you don’t mind a long ride in a seat or a night on a hard cabin bed. It’s affordable ? you can cross most of the country for less than 60 euros and, if you check Trenitalia for its Happy Train discounts, you can sometimes cross for as little as 10 euros (about $13). And the train system will take you to just about anywhere you want to go.

I left Palermo by train and traveled to Milazzo (for less than 10 euros) in the hopes of catching a ferry to the island of Strombolli. Those hopes were dashed when I arrived too late to catch the last boat, but I spent a pleasant and relaxing evening in Milazzo as an alternative. (A local later told me that the town is controlled by the mafia ? seriously!)

Bright and early the next morning I bought my ticket for Stromboli and less than two hours later I was stepping off the dock, facing the black volcano that looms over everything on the island.

I immediately began my search for a place to stay, and, with the name of a hostel already in mind, I was off to a good start. With the help of a local fisherman, who pointed me in the right direction, I was able to find my hostel. It has communal bathrooms, a pretty little patio area with tables and chairs, a communal kitchen and a terrace with a view of the ocean. Also, just a short walk down the sidewalk, there is a quiet little beach tucked into a cove of lava rock.

To be honest, when I first arrived, I wasn’t really enamored with my new surroundings. (The bathrooms had me flashing back to my days as a camp counselor.) I started in a double room upstairs with a view of the terrace and the ocean. After hiking around with all my luggage in the morning, I was exhausted and collapsed on the bed to sleep for a few hours. I had yet to get a key for my room, but when I looked for the manager, she was nowhere to be found. I napped with my door unlocked, but when I woke up I finally had to call her on the phone. (I wanted to get my first look at the island while I was still young.) She lives not too far away and visits the hostel at various times of the day. When we talked she told me that there was no key for my room, but that it was OK to leave my door unlocked, because Stromboli is a very safe place. (Uhuh) She did, however, give me the option of moving to another double with a key, but it was downstairs and didn’t have a view. Having already gotten a good ogling from one of the men staying there and knowing I would have to leave my camera equipment in the room from time to time, there was no way a view alone was going to cut it. “Yeah. I’ll take the room with a key, grazie.”

After this questionable development, I was a bit on edge, but I met many nice people at the hostel and I later met an Australian man at a restaurant. James, the Australian, is a freelance graphic designer. Since my father is a professional photographer, we had a lot to talk about. The next night we hiked to the 400-meter mark on the volcano to watch the volcanic explosions (Stromboli is very active), and it was a beautiful, moonless night, which means I saw more stars in the sky than I have ever seen before. Stromboli has virtually no street lamps (something I discovered my first night stumbling back to the hostel in the dark), making our view of the stars nearly perfect. The explosions were like nothing I’ve seen before. Sometimes in the day you can hear the little eruptions and see plumes of gray smoke rising from Stromboli’s peak, but you can only get a good glimpse of the bursting red lava at night.

There are tours to the top where you can look down at the craters and watch the eruptions from a relatively close, but still safe range. Of course, I’m just the sort of masochistic traveler to do such a tour. If you’re like me, in this way, and find yourself on Stromboli someday, take the tour with Magmatrek. They have a better reputation and deservedly so. A friend from my hostel went with another group and when we compared notes, her guide seemed to care more about flirting with a woman at the head of the line than actually looking after his team. A woman in this same team fell down the side of the volcano as they were returning to base camp. The guide went sliding after her and managed to grab her before she got too far, but it could have ended a lot worse. My guide, on the other hand, kept us informed at all times. Not just in safety precautions and what to expect further up the trail, but also in the volcano’s history. All of this was non-existent in my friend’s group.

When I first signed up I knew that this tour wasn’t going to be easy (anyone who had sweated a day away on Stromboli sitting in the shade could guess that), but I was assured that it was not overly difficult.

Climbing Stromboli was one of the most physically grueling experiences I have ever had. No joke.

At first I was cocky and thought it was going to be easy. I mused that those in my group who were already huffing and puffing needed to find a Stairmaster. Climbing to the top of Florence’s Campanile and spending a week on the hills of Perugia were all just mild training days for what I faced on that volcano. It’s not just hot, it’s humid and each phase of the trek is harder than the last, including the climb down. The whole way up, you just want to guzzle down your water. Once you reach the top, swarms of bugs and the smell of the volcanic gases accost you. As you sit, covering your face with a mask or handkerchief, dust rains down on you, covering every surface. Dusting yourself off is just a temporary relief. (I actually didn’t get to take any photos at the top, because this dust, high in glass particles, could easily ruin my camera and lenses.)

The view of the craters was phenomenal. . The volcano seemed to be putting on a show just for us. At one point there were three consecutive eruptions that were awe inspiring in their size and duration. It was like watching a giant fire hydrant bursting forth liquid fire and, after each eruption, the ground around the craters swelled and collapsed as if it were breathing.

My group began its climb down after sunset. We each had a flashlight and a mask for our faces. We still needed to cover our mouths, because the trail down was nothing but sand. Each step kicked up a thick fog of dust, giving us poor visibility, even with the lights. Going down was just as hot as going up, because, as we practically ski-stepped along our steep trail, we exhaled hot breath into our masks only to breath it back in a second later. By the end, we were covered in ash and dirt and sweating like a mid-day sun was shining down on us. I was sore, tired and desperate for water, and I was not alone. I don’t think anyone who took the tour for the first time knew what they were getting themselves into. We were all a bit shell shocked by the time we returned to our starting point. Not caring how I looked (I’m sure the locals are used to it anyway), I stopped at a pizzeria and wolfed down an entire pizza and large bottle of water before going back to my hostel and taking a much needed and much enjoyed shower.

Despite the difficulties, I’m glad I took the tour, not just for the views it provided, but also for the physical test. It was difficult, but I never turned back. No one wants to be the only person who didn’t make it to the top. As glad as I am that I made it through the whole trek, I certainly don’t feel the need to do it again and I won’t be putting any more volcanoes on my must-see-list.

Right now, I’m back in Naples, where I’ll stay for a while, before going on to Venice. The temperature has gone up a lot since I left, but I’m happy to be staying in a familiar place. Before I know it, I will have to leave Italy behind and then I’ll really put my European phrasebook to use. At least for now I can still say “ciao raggazzi!”