An Affair to Remember

Home to rocky shorelines and an active volcano, Italy's Lipari Islands may not seduce you from the start. But just give them some time.

Laura Fraser

Gourmet, January 2004

The most romantic way to get to the Aeolian Islands, the rugged volcanic archipelago north of Sicily, is by overnight boat from Naples. Bring dinner to eat on board, pass Capri in the disappearing light, and be lulled to sleep by the sea. Set your alarm clock for 5 a.m., then crawl out of your bunk and onto the deck, face in the wind. The night is so black the stars of Pleiades are as distinct as the seven islands themselves.

Then, out of nowhere, a flare of blood orange lights up the sky, shooting sparks like shooting stars. It is Stromboli, the volcano that stands as a sentry to the islands, at once warning visitors of the fierceness of the place and proclaiming its wild beauty. Homer was the first to mention these islands, which Americans refer to as the Aeolians. Here, Aeolus, the god of the winds, greeted Odysseus with a bag of breeze to ensure his safe passage. But when UlyssesÕ crew, curious, opened the bag, they were blown from rocky shore to shore, left to fend for themselves in the most treacherous waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea. These are dry, inhospitable islands, where all living thingsÑfigs, capers, apricots, rabbits-- struggle so for survival that they are bursting with the intense fragrances and flavors of a brief but concentrated life.

I am returning to these islands after three years to satisfy a hunger IÕve had ever sinceÑfor the spicy perfume of pale pink caper flowers, for fish that swim in turquoise waters, for sweet cherry tomatoes that explode in your mouth like Stromboli, for pasta with fennel and sardines. IÕm returning to simply do nothing--il dolce far niente, as the Italians say-- in a place where there are only rocks and sea and the happy prospect of your next meal.

As the sky lightens, the island of Stromboli comes into view, its whitewashed houses stacked up by the port. I once made the arduous climb up the volcano to see it erupt red against the orange sunset, booming down a black lava slope into the ocean. There are some things so magnificent they canÕt be repeated, not without being spoiled--in this case, by the lines of tourists you were too enchanted to notice the first time. So I donÕt disembark. But I remember StromboliÕs charm, its narrow streets, and its nervous atmosphere in the shadow of the volcano. And then thereÕs the carnation-colored house, with its plaque commemorating the place where Ingrid Bergman and Roberto Rossellini had an affair while filming Stromboli. (Previously, Anna Magnani, who had been living with Rossellini and was promised the lead, overturned a bowl of bucatini with red sauce on his head before fleeing with the crew to another island, Vulcano, to make an equally-forgettable film by that name).

If there were a plaque somewhere in the Aeolians to commemorate a love affair of my own, it would be on Filicudi, one of the remotest and most desolate islands. There, for ten days, I stayed with a French professor in a white house at the top of a steep hill overlooking the port and the other craggy islands beyond. We did nothing but read, swim, make love, and decide where we wanted to eat that day. I always voted for Villa La Rosa, for the pasta of wild fennel fronds and sardines, which tasted exactly like the islandÕs aromatic sea breeze. As with Stromboli, Filicudi was a place where I could never return, for fear of spoiling the memory of those magical days.

That still leaves five other islands to explore, though, each with a unique personality. Panarea, small and precious, attracts chic Italians and honeymooners, but is all tranquillity in the off-season. Lipari is the largest and most industrialized island, with a fascinating museum filled with relics from all the ships that have sunk in these violent seas since before the first Greek settlers arrived. Salina is sleepy and agricultural, covered with vineyards that bear grapes for the regionÕs distinctive Malvasia wine. Vulcano, the island closest to Sicily, is heavily touristed on its hot-bubbling shores, but up the mountain's uplands are home to pastures that yield some of the worldÕs best ricotta cheese. Small, outlying Alicudi has no cars, few tourist facilitiesÑreally, nothing at all.

I've come to the islands this time with my Italian friend Giovanna, a Giulietta Messina look-alike, with the same impish flair. Giovanna isnÕt content to far niente on the islands, but wanted to explore all the tastes, sights, and activities IÕd missed before. ÒZampetta, zampetta,Ó she says, meaning:" A little paw here and a little paw there, and weÕll try everything." Va bene.

Pulling into the tiny port of Panarea,we're met by a golf cart to take us to our pensione. (On Panarea, even the police drive golf carts, since no cars are allowed.) We pass square, traditional Aeolian houses-- magenta bouganvillia climbing the white walls and dripping over the pergolas--with wooden doors as blue as the sea. The air is perfumed with a profusion of flowersÑwild pomegranate, purple acacia, daisies, lilies, Birds of Paradise. ÒDa delirio,Ó said Giovanna. Absolutely delirious.

We check into our simple room, wander along the path to the rocky beach, and come back in time for dinner. Like its rooms, the food at La Sirena is simple and clean. We have sea urchin pasta with parsley and tomatoes, and Òmille gustiÓ spaghetti, with all flavors of the island represented in the dish.

In the morning, at exactly the same time (Italians have a strict sense of the order of a day), everyone on the island finishes their coffee and goes to the beach. With only a few square feet of sand, the beachgoers, mainly Italians, spread out on the rocks, wading waist-deep in the water with their cell phones. To avoid the weekend crowds, we take a steep footpath to a farther beach, and swim in a magnificent blue coveÑuntil I am stung, painfully, by a jellyfish. On closer look, the place was infested with the little monstersÑÒmedusasÓ--which make swimming like strolling through a minefieold. These islands, I am reminded, are full of discomforts and mild dangers.

On Panarea, we do everything but far niente: We climb the mountain until our trail got lost in the sticker bushes. We hid to a deserted beach and went skinny-dipping. We eat pizza from a wonderful panificio for lunch, scout for jellyfish at the beach, and stop by La Sirena to try to pry away the recipe for mille gusti, but end up with some of the ownerÕs salt-cured capers instead, as consolation. That evening, as we sip Prosecco on our terrace at the cool, white Hotel Raya, the morning seems like a distant memory. We watch Stromboli in the distance, smoking like an Italian, a pack a day.

On our last night, we eat dinner at Da Pina, with its lemon-painted blue ceramic tables outdoors. We try fillets of eggplant rolled with olives and capers, and the lightest eggplant gnocchi imaginable. Then I am introduced to totani, a large, yet perfectly tender squid-like creature, this one stuffed with grilled radicchio. If I had to be stung by a jellyfish every time I ate totani (flying squid), IÕd call it a fair deal. We finish up with a soothing rosemary liquore, inhaling the islandÕs nighttime aromas.

Lipari is an hour--and a worl-- away by hydrofoil. The islanders consider Lipari Òtown,Ónot another island, and by local standards it's as busy as Milan. With its 10,000 inhabitants, pumice mining and fishing fleet, Lipari is the center of Aeolian industry--and with its castle and archeology museum, itÕs the center of culture, too. Some people will tell you Lipari has the best restaurants in the islands, but Giovanna and I decide they are just the most formal. Like everything about Lipari, much of the food is overworked and industrial.

But Lipari is well worth visiting, for its untouristy streets and its remarkable castle. There, we spend an afternoon contemplating a collection of Greek terra cotta theatrical masks, with a vast array of human characters--thereÕs the chatterbox, the gossip, the flatterer, the crotchety old man; there are characters from Greek plays lost to time except for their faces, full of unspoken expression.

Eventually, we find some small, authentic restaurants on the island: At Ristorante La Nassa, we have an exquisite caponata in which the flavors are distinct, playing off each other rather than homogenized. Ristorante Nenzyna is smaller and simpler, and the dishes are traditionalÑfish in olives, capers, basil and onion; a fish stew made with tomatoes, capers, and dried bread. Giovanna and I agree weÕd be happy eating at that little restaurant every day of our lives.

Yet for all those good meals, a corner of my hunger remains unsatisfied. I havenÕt tasted pasta with fennel fronds and sardines yet. Nor will I find the dish I want on Lipari. For that, we had to go to Filicudi.

As we check the hydrofoil schedules for the next day, I am reluctant to return to Filicudi for fear of spoiling the bittersweet memory of my first visit there. But I am more afraid that I would never taste that fennel pasta at Villa La Rosa again.

To my relief, nothing had changedon Filicudi-- its rocky beaches and hills terraced with ancient stone walls are still there. After a quick coffee at the port restaurant, we hireGiovannino and his blue and white boat for a tour around the island. As someone who makes his living from foreign tourists, but would rather not, he is happy to speak Italian and regale us with storiesÑthough Giovanna has to keep translating his dialect into my schoolgirl Italian. He tells us he was born on the island, pointing to a limestone ruin by the beachÑÒin that house.Ó After World War II, when most inhabitants emigrated to Australia, he was one of only sixty souls left; now there are 240 residents. As we circle the rocky island for an hour, he tells us how they survived by catching lobster for Christmas in Naples, and by growing capers, hiking all over the steep hills to collect them. He describes the mafiosi who were interned on the island in the 1970s, and the shipwrecks heÕd seen over the years. Life on these dry, remote islands has always been tough.

After the boat ride, Giovanna and I hike the steep path cutting up the side of the hill, to Villa La Rosa perched above. ÒMagnifico,Ó Giovanna says, when we pause to catch our breath and stare out at the sea. Finally at the villa, we sit at a cool table on the airy, colorful terrace. The waiter warns us they have only two pasta dishes that day. One with almondsÑI hold my breathÑand maccheroncini ai finocchetto. ÒItÕs made from the wild fennel growing around here,Ó the waiter explaines. Ahh.

The aroma arrives first, the sardines of the sea mixed with the fennel fronds of the island. With the plate in front of me, I pause, my desire mixed with a fear of disappointment. But the pasta is perfectly al dente, with grated bread crumbs on top and a few raisins peeking out; the fennel fronds and sardines have a wild, simple taste that satisfies me to the soul. I am in the very restaurant where I realized my affair with the Frenchman would come to an end, but no trace of sadness lingers. I am back with the fennel pasta, with a friend, and I am utterly content. ÒThat is your pasta,Ó says Giovanna, refusing more than one bite. She looks around. ÒAnd this is your island.Ó She herself would pick Panarea.

After the pasta comes grilled totani, stuffed with breadcrumbs. There should be a plaque up at Villa La Rosa, for the best lunch IÕve ever eaten.

We leave that evening, but on the way to the boat I noticd a sign for another restaurant, La Sirena, which boasts that it'sMichelin-rated. How could I have missed it? Giovanna urges me to ask a man on the boat, who looks like he knows how to eat, about the restaurant. ÒSi mangia benissimo,Ó he tells me. You eat very, very well there. Tell the chef that Sergio sent you, he says. Va bene, I say. Grazie. Maybe next time, if I ever return.

Giovanna leaves for home the next day. I can't help it: I have to go back to Filicudi to try that restaurant. I go straight to Pecorini a Mare, the fishing village, and take a modest room at La Sirena, overlooking the fishing boats pulled up onto the beach. In the evening, a Monday night in off-season, I am the only diner at the restaurant. I mentiod the bit about Sergio to the waiter, who couldn't care less but brings me some raw swordfish--in olive oil, pepper and lemon-- that was practically still jumping. Then comes a light pasta with almonds, cherry tomatoes, and garlic. Finally a piece of tuna, with tomatoes and capers, served on a plate decorated with flowers. I am self-conscious, eating alone, but one by one several islanders join me, helping me drain my pitcher of white wineÑthe guy who rents the fishing boats, his nephew, the proprietress, and finally, the chefs themselves.

I rent a kayak the next day, and head back to the blue grottoes, carefulyl navigating in that jellyfish soup. There is no one in sight. Occasionally, on some invisible cue, 2000 tiny, slivery fish arc in the air. I paddle to an empty beach for a swim, then, hungry, make my way back to La Sirena.

An islander is finishing his pasta when I come down for lunch, a beatific smile on his face. ÒBuon giorno,Ó I say. ÒWhat did you eat?Ó

ÒSpaghetti with swordfish eggs, and it was divine.Ó

I tell the waiter IÕll have what he had.

The waiter, suddenly enraged, argues with the islander. ÒHow could you tell her you ate something special like that?Ó

ÒIt was the most innocent thing in the world,Ó he protests. ÒThe signora asked, and I told her. What do you want me to say? That it was a schifezza? Disgusting?Ó

The waiterÑactually the owner and head chef, Antonio Pellegrino-- relates this outrageous story to the cooks. One tries to calm him, arguing that perhaps the signora could have just a little taste. "Perche no?" I say, offering my vast appreciation and whatever the dish costs, but he waves me away. No American tourist is getting swordfish eggs, apparently, no matter how much charm she is slathering on in Italian.

After the scene, the islander looks at me and shrugs. ÒHeÕs cracked, but the food here is great,Ó he says.

I eat a pasta with finnochetto and sardines instead, this one with cherry tomatoes. It might be divine, but I am too busy thinking about the swordfish eggs to know for sure.

After lunch, Antonio is cheerful again, and we chat. I remember what a friend had told me, told me,that the islands' cooks are fiercely independent and will only cook well for you if they like and respect you. So I tel lhim about the time I was bitten by a moray eel on Filicudi, almost losing a finger. I show him the scar, and he warms up to me. Everyone on the island has heard stories about someone losing a finger to a moray eel, but for an American tourist to be bitten on a short visit is spectacularly bad luck.

ÒThe next time I encountered a moray eel,Ó I tell him, ÒI ate him. Grilled.Ó Antonio appreciates that act of culinary revenge, and approves of my method. Piero, the chef, sidles by and offers that he was once so mad at the jellyfish for biting him that he wokked themÑbut alas, they had no taste whatsoever.

I give Piero and Antonio my profuse thanks for the meal, compliment the food, the weather, the island, and Italians in general, and tell them IÕll be back. Piero kisses me on both cheeks, which is a good sign.

The Aeolians are a difficult place to get to, and a difficult place to be. But I will indeed return to Filicudi. IÕll eat at La Sirena every day, until they insist I try the spaghetti with fresh swordfish eggs, until they want me to eat it as much as I do. And then I may just stay, doing nothing all day but deciding: Villa La Rosa? or La Sirena.

***

 

CUT FOR SPACE: SALINA

I went to Salina to visit friends of a friend of a friend in RomeÑwho, with that tenuous but very Italian connection, immediately invited me to stay in their home. Susan Lord is an American who married Danilo Baroncini, an Italian who had the foresight to buy the ruins of an Aeolian house twenty years ago and fix it up. They live at the top of 200 stone steps, with a big, breezy patio, indoor and outdoor kitchens, and a commanding view of the entire island, with Lipari and Panarea peeking out of the haze.

Susan and Danilo, both in their 60s, are the culinary archeologists of the islands; they interviewed older-generation cooks to preserve their traditional recipes in a book, Pani Caliatu. Just off the boat, they greeted me like old friends, and we immediately set about gathering foods for dinner.

First was the fish market, where Susan flatters the shopkeeper to get the freshest tuna. Then Danilo and I collected mulberries from a tree nearby, stopping off at a farmerÕs home for some fresh green beans before starting the steep ascent to their house. There, Susan and I picked purslane for a salad, and watered the lemons, herbs, and zucchini in the garden with the wash water.There is no water on the islands, except rainwater caught in cisterns, or, recently, water that arrives on a boat from Naples. An English captain, who arrived in 1800, William Henry Smith, noted that the inhabitants were some of the fiercest, dirtiest people heÕd ever seen.

Susan showed me the cavernous oven in her outdoor kitchen. Pani caliatu, the backbone of the traditional cuisine, is twice-dried barley bread. She pointed to the terraced steep twin hills of Salina. ÒPeople used to work in those hills for days on end. They didnÕt have time to make bread.Ó They made dried bread because it would keep, the way pasta does (which came to the islands much later, in the early 1800s). Traditionally, the islanders ate the bread with cherry tomatoes, herbs, capers, and fish. They also grated the bread as a poor manÕs substitute for hard cheese. NatureÕs offerings are so meager on the dry islands that thereÕs even a recipe in Susan and DaniloÕs book for stone soup (sea pebbles boiled with green algae, olive oil, onions, cherry tomatoes, and dried bread).

But what does grow is bonsai and intense, especially the pomodorini (cherry tomatoes), and niputiddata, wild mint. SusanÕs favorite soup has garlic, mint, parsley, and cherry tomatoes made into a pesto, with eggs dropped into the boiling broth. The most traditional dishes are the simplest, like spaghetti with cherry tomatoes and capers. ÒItÕs a bare-bones cuisine,Ó she says. Swatting the no-see-um bugs that eat you alive in the islands, I told Susan that the Aeolians are a harsh, difficult place. ÒBut such a pleasure,Ó I said, and she nodded over her glass of white wine. Comfort is different from pleasure, and pleasure is better.

Susan and Danilo are the type of couple who bicker only in the kitchen; they are both precise cooks with different methodologies. I told Danilo IÕd had mixed experiences eating at some of the restaurants in the islands. The pasta would be great, but the fish overcooked, or vice-versa. Danilo sighed. ÒTheyÕre fiercely independent,Ó he said. ÒTheyÕll only cook their best for you if they love you.Ó After much discussion, we finally carried a dish of pani caliatuÑbread salad made with cherry tomatoes, cucumber, basil, oregano, olive oil, sea salt, and loveÑto a party.

We drove around the island to Pollana, the town where Il Postino was filmed, with its zig-zaggy bicycle road down to the beach. We gathered with friends on a terrace to watch the sun set in the volcanic crater that had slipped into the water centuries before, forming a bay. The host was nervous because the spumanti hadnÕt arrived in time for the sunset, but he refused to start in on the Barbaresco. That wasnÕt the order of things. The spumanti arrived just as the sun was sinking into the sea. Cin-cin.

After three days of bicycling, swimming, cooking, and eating with Danilo and Susan, I had a day left before my departure. I couldnÕt help it: As much as I loved Salina and my new friends, I had to go back to Filicudi to try that restaurant.

 

NOTES ON STAYING/EATING/BEING THERE

Panarea: *Da Pina (Via S. Pietro, tel: 090 983032) Chef Giovanna Campisi uses the traditional flavors of the islandsÑcapers, herbs, cherry tomatoesÑin an updated cuisine. Da Pina has its own fishing boat and herb garden on the island. In the winter, when the island empties out, Campisi makes her own marmalades, oils, and rosemary and fennel liquors. The restaurant also has a small pensione. Da Paolino (Via Iditella, tel: 090 983008) A 30-year-old restaurant, Da Paolino specializes in seafood. The motto is ÒIt gives us pleasure to tell you that weÕll never change,Ó and the place is full of localsÑsome of whom, says Paolino, can tell whether a dish was made by him or his wife. *La Sirena (Via Drauth, 4 - Tel. 090/983012) A simple outdoor restaurant with typical pasta dishes that has been run by the same family for 40 years. The mille gusti pasta has all the savory herbs on the island. Buy some of the best wild capers here. Pensione. *Panificio (Via S. Pietro 090 983284) For a quick lunch or bite of pizza on the way to the beach, stop at the baker on Via S. Pietro for fresh focaccia and pizza; you can also order fresh pasta in advance.

Lipari: *La Nassa (Via G. Franza, 090-9811319) Sweet and sour fish, black squid ink risotto, caponata: Traditional island dishes with a refined twist; the best restaurant we tried in Lipar-- but others say it depends on whoÕs cooking that day. Also a pensione. *Ristorante Nenzyna (Via Roma, 4 tel 090 9811660) A very simple, fresh, traditional restaurant just off the port. Inexpensive and wonderful. If you need a taxi to see the island, arrange it here. Da Filippo (Piazza Municipio, tel 090 9811002) This restaurant has been the most famous in Lipari since 1910, and certainly the most formal and expensive. With its more casual daughter restaurant, E Pulera (Via Diana 090 9811158), they form a little culinary empire on Lipari. A bit citified and industrial, by far the best things we ate at either restaurant were the simple island apricots presented after dessert at E Pulera.

Salina: *Porto Bello At the port--tel 090-9843125 Porto Bello has excellent seafoodÑparticularly raw dishes, such as marinated grouper with red onion, pecorino, mint and red peppers; and raw shrimp in yogurt and mint. There are also traditional dishes like spaghetti al fuoco, calamari stuffed with breadcrumbs and malvasia, and fish dumplings. DonÕt come in August at high season and expect such good food. Il Delfino In Lingua 0909843024 Just off the sea front near the lighthouse, Il Delfino serves traditional Aeolian dishesÑcalamari in malvasia, pesto with pine nuts, capers, almonds and basil; swordfish rolls with breadcrumbs and ricotta. Pensione. *Bar Alfredo By the sea wall. ItÕs so hot in the summer, the locals have their coffee as granita in the morning. This bar has the best granitas in season, whether almond, mulberry, lemon, or fig.

Stromboli: *Punta Lena Via Marina, 8 tel 090986204 Chef Stefano Oliva is passionate about his super-fresh fish dishesÑsardines, octopus salad, spaghetti with mussels and clamsÑall overlooking the sea from which they recently came. Da Luciano Via Roma, 15 tel 090.986088 Uphill from the port, Da Luciana is a casual pizzeria(the owner is Napolitano, so the pizza is great) with traditional pastas and a great view. Filicudi: *Villa La Rosa Via Rosa, 24 tel 090/9889965 A restaurant and pensione (and disco in the high season), Villa La Rosa specializes in simple Sicilian cuisineÑgrilled swordfish with lemon leaves, fennel fronds and sardine pasta, pasta with eggplant and fresh ricotta. *La Sirena Pecorini Filicudi 090 9889997 A seaside restaurant with a few rooms to rent, La Sirena has an extraordinary restaurant for such an out-of-the-way location. Using only fresh, local, and traditional ingredientÑalmonds, pistachios, citrus, swordfish, tuna, capers-- the chef creates marinated raw fish dishes, tuna sausage with onion chutney, gnocchi with pistachio, and more traditional Aeolian dishes.

Staying There: Panarea *Hotel Raya Via S. Pietro tel 090.983013 With its cool blue and white tiles, perfect simplicity, all-organic breakfasts, and magnificent views of the ragged rocks in the sea, itÕs easy to see why the Raya is a fashionista favorite. The rooms are terraced up a hill with luxurious gardens; the reception, bar, restaurant and disco are 400 meters down the hill. Lipari *Hotel Oriente Via Guglielmo Marconi, 35 tel 0909811493 This quirky, oriental-themed hotel has a charming garden and friendly, impeccable service (When I realized IÕd made off with my friendsÕ bike lock on Salina, the owner called them to arrange pick-up time and put the package on the next aliscafo). Villa Miligunis Via Marte 0909812426 LipariÕs most posh, four-star hotel has a spectacular rooftop bar and restaurant, but the place has a businessmanÕs ambianceÑand canned fruit and Nescafe at breakfast. Salina *Hotel Signum Via Scalo, 15 tel 090.9844222 The loveliest hotel I saw in the Aeolians is the Signum in traditional Aeolian style, surrounded by vineyards and gardens, with a view of the sea. Traditional dinners.

Being There: Climb Stromboli The climb to the top of the active volcano is a magnificent sight, particularly at dusk. From a safe vantage point, you can watch the volcano shoot sparks and lava, hitting the sea with a mighty boom. Hire a guide from one of many agencies at the port.

Taste malvasia A golden sweet, amber-colored dessert wine, malvasia is the traditional after-dinner drink in the Aeolians. Thought to be planted in the 16th century, malvasia is having a renaissance on Salina.

Buy capers The unruly pink caper plant grows everywhere in the islandsÑtumbling down rock walls, and by the side of the road. Preserved in salt, these little buds are intense culinary gems, little morsels of pure island flavor--nothing like what you might find packed in vinegar at the grocery store.

Visit the Castello on Lipari Built on a promontory to ward off successive waves of pirates and intruders, the Castello shelters evidence of all the cultures that have overtaken this strategic island since the Bronze Age. The fine volcanic ash carried by the winds have preserved stratified layers of ruins, from the Middle Neolithic period up to a Norman monastery destroyed in 1544 by a Tunisian blackbeard. The museumÑwith its separate hall of vulcanologyÑhas an extraordinary collection of Neolithic pottery and obsidian (volcanic glass), the sharpest material known to man at the time. There are amphora piled upon amphora from sunken ships, but the biggest treats are the delicate pots decorated with Dionysean scenes from the 3rd century B.C. by the Lipari Painter, and little terra cotta theatrical masks and statues representing characters in Greek plays.

Hire a boat The best way to see the inaccessible parts of the islands are to hire boatsÑespecially on the smaller islands. Ask around at the smaller ports for a fishing boatÑor kayak.

Dolce far niente By far the best activity in the Aeolians is dolce far nienteÑthe sweetness of doing nothing. With little activity on the far islands, particularly Filicudi and Alicudi, thereÕs nothing to do but swim, hike around the islands, and contemplate your next meal.

Getting there: The overnight ship goes from Naples (SIREMAR, 091582688). The boat only goes a few days a week in the off-season. You can also take a hydrofoil, which also jump from island to island (SNAV, 090362114). Hydrofoils run from Palermo, Milazzo, Messina, Cefalu, or Naples. Reach Naples, Palermo, Catania, or Reggio Calabria by air.