We got off the ferry boat on a hot may day, with two commuters, a motor cart loaded with fresh vegetables and the postman. Two girls around ten years old with long brown hair highlighted by the sun and an early golden tan approached us and tried to sell us some sea shells. Getting exercised for the high season, we thought - as if many tourists ever arrived at this remote island.


Alicudi is indeed the most isolated island of the Aeolian archipelago, otherwise famous for its constantly active volcano, Stromboli. To get there, you need to catch a ferry boat from Milazzo, in Sicily, or from Naples, get off in Lipari and then take another one which will eventually take you to Alicudi Porto. Far too much fuss for most tourists, and that's why a hotel and two grocery shops, one of which also serves as a coffee bar, comprise Alicudi's tourism industry. We had only planned to stay for our few hours anyway, that is until our next ferry boat to the island of Salina.


As it was lunch time however, we bought some sandwiches from Umberto, the grocer near the port, who also allowed us to leave our backpacks under the porch in front of his shop. A critical help as Alicudi, an ancient volcano, is virtually all uphill and the village spreads upwards and culminates with the ancient church of San Bartolomeo, which was where we wanted to go. Having to take our backpacks on our shoulders would have meant spending the rest of our time by the port. Instead, with our backs unburdened, we headed upwards, via paved paths and staircases of volcanic stones which squeeze through white and pastel pink houses surrounded by cascades of red geraniums and fuchsia bougainvilleas, and walls of prickly pears.


At that time of the day we were the only people around. We did hear a few voices, probably engaged in lunchtime conversation, coming from under the private shade of porches overlooking the sea. Otherwise, it was just us and a couple of cats running from the shadow of one bush of flowers to another. Unfortunately, though immense to our eyes, those bushes weren't big enough to shelter us from the sun too.


We passed the post office, also deserted. Two or three yellow dandelions half hanging from the post box where they had their roots proved that no one had posted a letter from there for ages. We walked with heavy paces - the heat of the day, the steepness of the hill and the ham sandwiches in our stomachs all weighing us down as if we had two 70 litre backpacks.


The pungent scent of capers growing in the orchards hit our noses and as soon as we found the shade of a lonely tree we decided to take a rest. Suddenly a lady leaned out of a nearby window and we asked her in Italian:
"Is this the right path to go to the church of San Bartolomeo?" She looked at us as if we had spoken a foreign language. What had we said that was so wrong?
"Do you mean the STREET to San Bartolomeo?" she asked us in turn.
"Right" we replied confused.
"Yes, this is the right STREET. There's about another fifteen minutes of walking to do."
"Thank you" we all answered then started our climb again, wondering how it is possible to call a paved path, just large enough to have two people walking side by side and with grass growing in between one stone and the other, a street.


Forty minutes and several stops later we reached the deserted church of San Bartolomeo. So deserted that one of us climbed on the roof and rang the bell. The view from there was vast, spreading across an empty Mediterraneum except for the island of Filicudi not too far away. Besides, the church courtyard bestowed another precious gift, a beautiful series of shadow yielding holm-oaks.


Later, when we collected our backpacks from Umberto, we discovered that during the summer indeed many tourists come to Alicudi (though how much "many" means is a mystery).
"They have bought houses everywhere, even near the church of San Bartolomeo," he continued.
We were quite shocked. Not just because tourists arrive everywhere, but because we wondered how someone would choose to buy a house where even bringing a six-pack of mineral water was a crusade.
"By the way," we asked, "how do people bring water, or shopping up to those houses?"
"By donkey," he answered as if it was obvious.
"And how much does it cost?"
"20 euro."
Alicudi's tourism industry may not be extremely developed, but they're definitely working on it.

First published in TouristTraveler