Our glasses clinked to our first vacation as a couple. Sitting at the airport bar, I couldn’t help but wonder: would we survive, not to mention, enjoy six days alone with eachother? We were still eyeing each other suspiciously at the boarding gate when to my shock …..“I’m sorry. This flight is closed.” Survive? I fumed. We couldn’t even make our flight; And we were only 30 yards from the boarding gate! It was a rough start, but two planes, a train, and a ferry ride later—not to mention a few gin and tonics—we were finally standing at the base of a 2000-meter volcano.
Just miles from popular places like Sicily and Sardinia, Stromboli, Italy, isn’t exactly a high-profile vacation spot. An active volcano dominates the five- mile-wide island and, while the last major blast happened 70 years ago, recent activity gives cause for concern. (An eruption in 2002 and in 2007 forced officials to activate emergency procedures) And yet , my favorite cousin Cosimo was getting married, making my worries about safety an arbitrary matter.
The bitter-sweet irony is that the volcano is what makes Stromboli a magical place. With no cars or street lights, the island is nature at its most raw: walls of jagged rock resting above lush vineyards, olive groves, and scents of exotic flowers. Chris and I stayed at La Sciara. With its whitewashed bungalows, the hotel echoed the Moorish style architecture found throughout the island. Beaches on Stromboli are ebony-black. And, if you can plan your stay to coincide with a full moon, a walk through the island’s breezy hills feels truly romantic.
The wedding took place in the 18th-century church of San Vincenzo, which commands an impressive view over the Tyrrenean Sea. In keeping with small-town tradition, locals gathered in the village square to get a peek at the bride and some even spilled down the aisles during the ceremony. An hour after Cosimo and Rebecca had exchanged vows, we all hopped on golf carts—the island’s only mode of transport--and rode down to a sea-side reception at the Tartana Club.
Things had gotten off to a rocky start, but as Chris and I feasted over a four-course seafood meal, I admitted our trip was feeling more like a honeymoon than a first-time vacation. But there was one thing left undone: the volcano. From the moment we stepped onto the island, echoes from its gurgling crater had beckoned us. We knew we had to climb it.
The day after the wedding we hooked up with a guide from MagmaTrek. Helmets, windbreakers, and headlights in tow, we began our ascent at 5 pm. For two hours, our Che Guevara-look-alike guide, lead us up a steep incline of volcanic rock and ragged cliffs. As we reached the summit, temperatures dropped dramatically. But, everywhere you looked, the soft orange light of the sun’s rays melded with a brisk, howling wind that made me want to step off the volcano’s edge and fly into the sunset.
But of course, this was no time for indulging in fairytales. Our mission was to trek the final forty feet so we could peer into the crater. We made our way through clouds of sulphiric mist, our eyes stinging from the gas , our lungs filling up with smoke. And then, when we were almost there, a deep animal-like groan came out from the bowls of the volcano and molten lava sprang 25 feet up in the air. With a mix of awe and fear, Chris and I grabbed each-other’s hands, both thinking: if we could survive this thing, the relationship part would be a piece of cake. http://intelligenttravel.typepad.com/
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Our glasses clinked to our first vacation as a couple. Sitting at the airport bar, I couldn’t help but wonder: would we survive, not to mention, enjoy six days alone with eachother? We were still eyeing each other suspiciously at the boarding gate when to my shock …..“I’m sorry. This flight is closed.” Survive? I fumed. We couldn’t even make our flight; And we were only 30 yards from the boarding gate! It was a rough start, but two planes, a train, and a ferry ride later—not to mention a few gin and tonics—we were finally standing at the base of a 2000-meter volcano.
Just miles from popular places like Sicily and Sardinia, Stromboli, Italy, isn’t exactly a high-profile vacation spot. An active volcano dominates the five- mile-wide island and, while the last major blast happened 70 years ago, recent activity gives cause for concern. (An eruption in 2002 and in 2007 forced officials to activate emergency procedures) And yet , my favorite cousin Cosimo was getting married, making my worries about safety an arbitrary matter.
The bitter-sweet irony is that the volcano is what makes Stromboli a magical place. With no cars or street lights, the island is nature at its most raw: walls of jagged rock resting above lush vineyards, olive groves, and scents of exotic flowers. Chris and I stayed at La Sciara. With its whitewashed bungalows, the hotel echoed the Moorish style architecture found throughout the island. Beaches on Stromboli are ebony-black. And, if you can plan your stay to coincide with a full moon, a walk through the island’s breezy hills feels truly romantic.
The wedding took place in the 18th-century church of San Vincenzo, which commands an impressive view over the Tyrrenean Sea. In keeping with small-town tradition, locals gathered in the village square to get a peek at the bride and some even spilled down the aisles during the ceremony. An hour after Cosimo and Rebecca had exchanged vows, we all hopped on golf carts—the island’s only mode of transport--and rode down to a sea-side reception at the Tartana Club.
Things had gotten off to a rocky start, but as Chris and I feasted over a four-course seafood meal, I admitted our trip was feeling more like a honeymoon than a first-time vacation. But there was one thing left undone: the volcano. From the moment we stepped onto the island, echoes from its gurgling crater had beckoned us. We knew we had to climb it.
The day after the wedding we hooked up with a guide from MagmaTrek. Helmets, windbreakers, and headlights in tow, we began our ascent at 5 pm. For two hours, our Che Guevara-look-alike guide, lead us up a steep incline of volcanic rock and ragged cliffs. As we reached the summit, temperatures dropped dramatically. But, everywhere you looked, the soft orange light of the sun’s rays melded with a brisk, howling wind that made me want to step off the volcano’s edge and fly into the sunset.
But of course, this was no time for indulging in fairytales. Our mission was to trek the final forty feet so we could peer into the crater. We made our way through clouds of sulphiric mist, our eyes stinging from the gas , our lungs filling up with smoke. And then, when we were almost there, a deep animal-like groan came out from the bowls of the volcano and molten lava sprang 25 feet up in the air. With a mix of awe and fear, Chris and I grabbed each-other’s hands, both thinking: if we could survive this thing, the relationship part would be a piece of cake.
http://intelligenttravel.typepad.com/
Alison Ogden, Contest, 01/18/2008