Stromboli
Memories of Stromboli
Today’s story in the NYTimes about Stromboli was sent to me by a few people who know something of my memories of this island in the Mediterranean sea.
It all started with a movie date with our friends, Peter and Katherine Greenleaf. I’d bid at a charity auction and won a picnic basket delivered with wine and cheese and assorted goodies. We decided to rent a couple of movies and picnic in the living room. Each couple got to choose a movie. My selection was Stromboli, a rather dark b&w film by Roberto Rosselini starring Ingrid Bergman as a refugee who escapes a POW camp by marrying an Italian man from the island of Stromboli. He takes her back to this austere forbidding island, days punctuated by volcanic bombs, brutal living conditions, and unfriendly inhabitants. The climax involves a volcanic eruption. I loved the movie and although my picnic partners found it somewhat grim, we all decided to plan a trip to Sicily. My hope was to take a side trip to the island of Stromboli, known as the Lighthouse of the Mediterranean. It’s been in continuous eruption for thousands of years.
We booked a cottage on a lemon farm in a village outside of Catania on the slopes of Mt. Etna and enjoyed days of walking into the village for our morning espresso, smelling the fragrance of the lemon blossoms, and savoring Sicilian food. One day we drove up to the top of Mt. Etna, and that’s another story that my friend Kath told often. But on the day we planned to go to Milazzo and take the ferry to Stromboli, we missed the last boat out. I wanted to climb aboard a private fishing vessel that was taking tourists and said they’d make room for one more, but Peter took one look at the old boat and said in no uncertain terms that none of us were going to make it to the island.
A year or two later I received an inquiry on my website volcanoes.com about a film crew looking to do a show for the Travel Channel about people who visit volcanoes on vacation, and did I know anyone they might feature? Well, I signed myself up for that in a heartbeat, and we agreed that they would film me in Stromboli. Due to some changes in the shooting schedule, my 15-year-old nephew was visiting me, so they said sure - bring him along. My friend Blythe also wanted to go, so the three of us met up with the film crew in Catania.
We took the ferry out to Stromboli, unloaded all the gear and the passengers, and as the boat was heading back to Milazzo I realized my nephew was missing! He must have fallen asleep on the boat. He had no money, could speak no Italian, and was alone on the last ferry of the day headed to a city where he knew no one. The producer and I went into the office to try to explain the problem, but they did not speak English, and we did not speak Italian. The voices got louder and louder until I rocked my arms - pointed to the boats in the harbor and said “Bambino!” A rush ensued as everyone thought I’d left my baby on the boat. They reached the boat by radio, it turned around, and half an hour later, delivered David to the dock, with everyone on board waving goodbye. David and I agreed that we wouldn’t mention the incident to my brother.
With several days of bad weather when we were unable to climb the volcano for the film, Blythe had to fly back to Paris for work. David and I did climb with the crew the next day. He was the star of the film performing a rap song he’d written for the occasion. Something about his Aunt and Volcanoes and beat your butt. I had one roll of slide film, no idea of the appropriate exposure times, but managed to get a lucky shot that I treasure to this day. The climb down after dark under the stars, sliding down the scree was both scary and magical. Somewhere I have a copy of the TV episode but haven’t managed to transfer it to a form that I can post on the website. Maybe I’ll figure that out one day, but for now, this story will have to do.