The alta velocità train from Rome to Naples is late, but I’m strangely not too anxious. There is every reason for being so–in the confusion of Naples in summer, I risk losing the hydrofoil to Stromboli. Absent-mindedly, I turn my attention to the train’s dusty window, staring at my own reflection while it gets distorted by the landscape, quickly flowing towards the city.
I arrive in Stromboli after more than four hours of sail time. The island’s harbor consists of a simple concrete pier, which looks even more modest the closer my boat gets. At the end of the pier, a grumpy lady is waiting to hand me the keys to the house I’ve rented for a few days.
