Sicily: Seeking inspiration from the seismic

Sade’s haunting voice can overwhelm you at the strangest of times, but listening to her on radio, in a bus awaiting a ferry cross-over from Calabria on Italy’s mainland to Catania, Sicily’s bustling port, seemed more surreal than otherwise. Surreal because her song hearkened to home, which I was missing at that point, having been on the road with artists for a good week or so, maybe longer by the time Sicily happened. Also, because listening to Sade and remembering her underwater video isn’t the kind of mood you want to be in before a water crossing, especially if you are a nervous traveller. But I was travelling with artists — you’d agree that eccentricity of some measure is a given amongst creative souls.

And really, there was no cause for unease. The ferry wasn’t what we’re used to, here in Mumbai, naturally. It was massive (like the ones that cross between England and France), so massive it had cars, bikes and smaller vehicles being loaded on, so it didn’t feel like one was stepping off the land at all. Boat rides like these make memories on most holidays, especially if you’re a people-watcher and you shun the air-conditioned interiors for the sundeck at the very top.

Obviously, the shadow of the financial crisis that Europe is currently weathering wasn’t reflected in this tableau of families taking time out.

I watched a father soak in the summer sun and the adoration of his toddler daughter for the greater part of the journey. Most of the families on board had the women relaxing while the men gambolled indulgently with their children, a pattern I have observed as recurrent, no matter which country it’s set in.

Evidently, holidays are for merry making with daddy, the men who don’t get to enjoy time with their offspring on work days.

Sicily is of course, as famous for the notoriety of its Mafiosi, having been the setting for the Godfather movies. But our agenda was different — in Catania, we transferred to cars, ready for the long and winding journey uphill, to Mount Etna, the tallest active volcano in Europe.

The city lives under constant seismic threat, there is a 24/7 seismic monitor to assess volcanic activity. Catania’s cathedral of St Agatha was rebuilt three times, witness to Etna’s spilling fury. The volcano had last erupted in January this year, the affable guide told us.

On the way up, a stop — to see Gole dell l’Alcantara, literal translation being ‘the mouth of the Alcantara’, a gorge formed of crystallised volcanic rock formation alongside the river Alcantara. The canyon had 100 steps that we had to negotiate. After which, I kicked off my shoes and sank my feet into the icy clear water — spa therapy au naturelle!

Then, winding higher, Etna — the vegetation sparse, the terrain grey-black: hardened volcanic ash. I picked up a rock piece as souvenir, but there were more at the tourist stores — rings made out of  lava, the ossidiana mineral glass, dominant black showing silicon content, green showing copper. Also Etna’s fine liquor, 70 per cent alcohol, made of Rumix, the fiery red flower growing on the hillside.

The group of artists I was travelling with were overwhelmed, not just by nature in its rugged rawness but by the vibes they said they picked up. “There is an energy field here, so strong, I’m picking up the vibrations,” one Delhi-based painter confided. Were the surroundings not so (for lack of a more complete word) spiritual, one would’ve smiled at this. As it happened, the rest only nodded gravely, bowing to one among them, for whom, vibrations or otherwise, the muse had clearly descended.