I’ve always been a bit of a beach bum. So Calabria, on the Southern tip or ‘boot’ of Italy was a destination after my own heart. Tropea, in Calabria, is actually most popular with Italian locals for holidaying, but that still doesn’t take away from the unspoilt aura it manifests the moment you arrive.
Maybe I just got lucky, maybe there were less tourists when I visited. Whatever the reason, I got to see a part of Italy that was unreal, dare I write reckless in its untamed beauty. 800 km of coastline between the Tyrrhenian and the Ionian side, ninety per cent of this area is actually mountainous, local guide Rosella explained of the beaches on the area stretching from Pizzo to Nicotera, unsurprisingly called Costa degli Dei or Coast of the Gods for its dramatic loveliness.
Across the water from where we stood, lay Sicily, seen better on a clear day — also volcano Stromboli, active but not as dangerous as Sicily’s Etna.
For Calabrean locals, Tropea is ‘The Pearl of the Mediterranean’, just as pleasure point Taormina is, for the Sicilians. The two regions are competitive in vying for this title, and boast similar treasures — Tropea is near Stromboli; across the sea, Silcily harbours Etna.
The secluded, sandy beaches I was shown no doubt appeared magical, as did the area’s famed marine/geological bounty, but equally enticing whilst there, was the bit of folklore I was imparted.
Apparently this was the place where the sirens lived, way back in the times of Ulysses, the very ones that lured unsuspecting sailors onto the rocks by their charms and voices. Medusa’s enchantment originated here, Rosella further revealed, her wild curls as unruly in the sea breeze as any modern day Medusa.
There is actually a place called Scilla on the way here.
Then Rosella led the way to a wishing grotto, close to Capo Vaticano. Apparently if one had a burning question or a fervent wish, one invoked oracle Mantreau whilst there. And waited to be answered. Remarkably, the answer would arrive, always, that is the legend, Rosella explained. Her words: “So — it will happen.’
Most taken by this, I too asked a question…
Meanwhile, Rosella made her way to yet another place: a winding scenic walk on a pathway hugging the cliff on one side, a sheer drop to the breath-stopping azure down below on the other.
“In the 1950s, an Italian writer,
Duceto Berto lived here,” she explained, pointing across to a basic roof on the cliff with four sticks supporting it. “He roamed all over to find a place he could write in, a place of unparalleled beauty. He found this. Then he made that (spartan) structure to live in. He had the view he said. One doesn’t need much else.” Indeed. In his book he wrote to his dog, she continued. Most gratified, I too explained how I had written a book about a dog. Struck by the moment, the legend, the magnificence of the view I told her: “You are lucky to live here.”
Spontaneously, without arrogance came the reply: “Yes, I am,” then perhaps, ’coz she didn’t want to sound superficial, “Every country is beautiful.”
In the night I left my room with the view of the sea over rooftops to absorb the town centre, lovely cobbled streets, and souvenirs of red chillies — chilly produce is special to Tropea, apart from a type of sweet red onion. To remind me of the trip I bought a red chilly pendant in glass.
As we passed an internet place I contemplated checking my mail. “Don’t kill the buzz,” a fellow traveller remarked idly. “Why invite the real world in?”
Mail unchecked, I walked away — Who, after all, needs human connect whilst in the region of Gods!
Comments
