In The Still Of The Light

It’s no easy feat to reach the Aeolian Islands, a tranquil, unspoiled archipelago north of Sicily beloved by travellers since Homeric times. But once you’ve arrived and settled into the gentle rhythms of the place, HOWIE KAHN finds, leaving is no easy feat, either.

- Howie Kahn

Should I bring another bottle of wine?” asked Enzo Anastasi.

The two of us had been sitting in silence on the spacious terrace of Hotel La Canna, Anastasi’s 14-room refuge on the island of Filicudi. The water of the Tyrrhenian Sea, a few hundred feet below us, looked like grey-green glass. Filicudi is the second-farthest west of the Aeolian Islands, a volcanic archipelago that stretches for 50 miles north of Sicily.

Several of the other Aeolians were visible on the horizon, and as Anastasi uncorked our second bottle, I watched pink popcorn-shaped clouds puff up among them, like a luminous island chain of their own.

“People here love silence,” Anastasi told me. He is 55, with serious eyes and a clean-shaven head. “We’re not here to know our neighbours.” Of course, there aren’t many neighbours to know. Filicudi, which has an area of less than 10 square kilometres, is home to around 200 people. When I arrived that afternoon, to thunder and lashing rain, I felt like I could have been the only one on the island. Anastasi gave me the key to my room and the run of the place. Despite the weather, he planned to drive down the mountain for his daily swim at one of the narrow, rocky beaches. “Enjoy the view,” he said, sweeping his arm out toward the cliff and leaving me to study the islands in the distance.