Postcard from Alicudi

POSTCARD FROM | CABANA TRAVEL | CABANA MAGAZINE

Deep in the Tyrrhenian Sea, Alicudi is one of the most remote and least populated islands of the Aeolian archipelago. Its wild, rugged beauty makes this lesser-known haven a must-visit for anyone seeking a car-free, mountainous refuge with spectacular landscapes and no shortage of delicious Sicilian cuisine. Yaye Kassamali and Harrison Thane explore.

BY YAYE KASSAMALI | CABANA TRAVEL | 28 OCTOBER 2024

Alicudi, the westernmost and least populated Aeolian island © Harrison Thane. 

My imagination’s eye often deconstructs the world around me into simple shapes. In Alicudi smooth and hot ellipses litter the shore where they’re licked by the cool waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Neat lines on tiny gates conceal worlds of charm behind them. Decorated squares splay across walls, floors and kitchen counters where chilled glasses of Prosecco catch the light, glistening and gleaming.

After a three-hour journey we arrived at the last stop on the hydrofoil from Milazzo. Passengers were ushered down the ramp in a rush due to choppy waters. With two feet planted on the jetty I finally looked up at the waterfront: a long row of basic white buildings, one aptly marked “bar”. Then my eyes floated higher, registering the impressive rock formations and the unpretentious houses nestled into them.

Alicudi is the westernmost and least populated island of the Aeolian archipelago. Perhaps it is not the first destination that comes to mind when considering where to have your first holiday as a family of three, but there we were. It was 5pm and the sun was nowhere near setting. Summer in Europe. We passed mules lugging loads on our way to our first accommodation on the volcanic island: Casa Janca.

It’s a typical Aeolian house right on the seafront. Its simple and slightly worn exterior do not betray the interior of this two bedroom home. Pieces of driftwood hang around one of the rooms, seemingly levitating. One of them has hats resting on it and on another, necklaces. And then my favorite room in the house: the kitchen. White walls are washed with a dark red. Garlic on the vine hangs over here, pots and pans hang over there. Extra virgin olive oil. Colorful and cozy and straight to the point, the kinds of characteristics that work well in a person too.

Blue doors lead out into the back terrace where shadows of bougainvillea dance on the concrete all day long. We visit our trusty alimentary daily for bounties of mozzarella, anchovies, prosciutto, salami, et cetera at prices free from import tax. Back and forth we walk past the enormous rock with a gaping hole through it, which romantically frames beach goers from our terrace.

Our next accommodation is located higher above, 35 steps above to be precise. Our host, Lucia, from Casa Gianni meets us near the jetty and guides us up the steps, which also function as mule tracks and connect all the parts of the island that are inhabited. We stop to watch the sizable beasts trot, like debutantes, down the steps. From our new rooftop terrace we could see the other volcanic islands stood stoic and stark, smoke from Stromboli rising to the clouds.

The outdoor staircase, adorned with frangipani and succulents, guides us down to our cozy retreat. The vintage bed frame was made of metal that coiled in all the right places. The bright cotton bedding was covered in lemons. One morning we followed the colored lines on a map of the island, playfully depicted as a subway system. We avoided the red route that Lucia warned would be too steep for my baby-wearing husband.

In Alicudi smooth and hot ellipses litter the shore where they’re licked by the cool waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea © Harrison Thane. 

We ascend higher following the mule tracks. I pluck bits from a pine tree and rub my fingers, inhaling their crisp, resinous scent. There are more secluded houses and a school which has been turned into a museum. That, too, would explain the silence of the island. We stumble upon Elise’s boutique. For Elise, Alicudi is more about the mountain than the sea. One of the tiles in her shop reads, in Italian, something to the effect of “How do you stay in Alicudi all year?”.

We hear the same about Lamu in Kenya, our island of residence. The next question is usually “What do you do everyday?!” We share a knowing glance. I purchase one of her ‘Baci’ necklaces and leave wishing I could buy one of everything.

That evening we head to “Dinner at Silvio’s”. Silvio is a local fisherman. The table is set for nine, not counting the two strollers parked nearby containing sleeping babies. Eggplant drowning in aromatic olive oil, zucchini like you’ve never tasted it, with fresh Parmesan and, of course, the fried fish. The sounds of Italian conversations provided a funky bassline for our English exchanges about dolce far niente.

Our last day in Alicudi was spent swimming, eating and terrace-dancing with our baby to loud Italian opera and 80s Italopop. As we boarded the hydrofoil with other holiday makers headed back to reality, an Italian couple approached us to say that seeing us there all the way from Kenya had inspired them to start their own family.

In overcoming our fear of the life changes that come with having a baby, we had inspired another couple to do the same. Imagine that. We, the odd family zooming the island with a stroller, taking turns jumping from the jetty into the sea while our baby watched on. We’d be back, we were sure.