Attack of the Zanzara

I woke up at 4am to the familiar irritating buzz of zanzara (mosquitoes) and splattered my blood on the wall when I managed to slap a fat bloodsucker bastardo! Refreshed but studded with fresh bites on my face, I left Vulcano early to catch the 9am hydrofoil to Lipari, the largest Aeolian island. Just as I was aiming my camera at the mud bath signage, my eyes were instinctively drawn to Lorenzo, a blue-eyed blonde bello who spoke Italian in an English accent. He was glancing at me curiously from behind the reception hut, so I said ciao and had a friendly exchange with him and his friend Francesco untill it was 5 mins before my water ride. I was almost tempted by their plea to stay on at Vulcano but I shrugged my shoulders and said the other islands were waiting for me!

At the bustling Lipari, incidentally also the most populated Aeolian island, I followed Lorenzo's instructions and was happily strolling down the main street Corso Vittoria Emanuele when Enza, an Italian lady with her dog on a vespa, inquired if I'd like to view her camere (rooms) upstairs. At 30 euros a night for a large room for 3 and a communal terrace overlooking the town and lush hills, it was an offer too good to resist.

She urged me in her rapid Italian to sign up for today's full-day excursion (25euros) to Stromboli and Panarea, so half an hour later after chomping down breakfast, I found myself on the crowded fastboat with 42 French-speaking Canadian tourists from Quebec and bonded with Martine, a youthful 47 year-old doctor, who said she spotted me yesterday at Vulcano walking around with my backpack.

When we reached Panarea island, I couldn't resist the cold blue waters after watching in glee how the first few brave ones leaped in. Everyone laughed when I pronounced in my rusty French "C'est tres froid mai tres bien aussi!" as I tried to stay afloat and surveyed the waters like a hawk for any jellyfish.

Martine and I got along really well as she had backpacked extensively as a solo female traveller. This time she had decided to join the tour for convenience but after hearing my adventures, she wished she had done the same. Shortly we climbed the winding streets up the pretty tranquil, lush hills on Panarea dotted with white-washed pumice stoned houses and flowering terraces overlooking the crystal clear sea and pebbled beaches.

At high noon, we dived into the sparkling sea to cool ourselves down, pronouncing it paradise and exchanged more life stories under the glorious sun. On the way back to the boat, we chanced upon a beautiful old cemetery and looked at all the elegant graves with vivid coloured photos of those rested in peace. Somehow I felt overcome by sadness and choked back my tears, reminded of my own mortality.

We visited more volcanic remains in the sea on the way to Stromboli for the 2nd largest and active volcano (after Mt Etna on the mainland), whose smoky vapour was visible from miles away. The island was equally tranquil and lush but more majestic with the towering volcano looming in the background. We broke away from the tour group of old foggies, poking our heads into cosy gardens, waved and shouted 'bravo' to the local kids playing soccer on the black dusty volcanic sand and gushed 'Tres jolie!' at every weather-beaten door and lodge.

Martine returned to the boat for dinner which was included in her tour package while I killed some time chatting with an elegant donna, Gena from Roma, over a cold birra and cigarettes, and took pictures of adorable Andrea, a 3 year-old toddler of the fruit-seller, licking his fast-melting gelato. At 7pm, this other young couple - Enrica and her boyfriend Attilio from Bologna - and I rejoined our boat companions and circled Stromboli at sunset witnessing its wrath as it sprouted luminous red lava in the dark.

The Sicilian boatmen Franco and Giuseppe chatted me and Martine up, and I had to play translator between M and them! It was hilarious! She spoke to me in French and English first, and I'd then speak to the men in my fast-improving Italian and vice versa. Imagine me, a Chinese girl from Singapore as the translator! I should have recorded our conversation for laughs.

Franco, the married 42 year-old sporting a goatie beard, whispered something in Italian in my ear but I couldn't hear above the din so in the end he shouted 'do you want to make love?' to which everyone could probably hear! I sniggered and proclaimed "Tutti Italian ragazzi sono matti!" (all Italian men are crazy!) and sarcastically replied that his 20 year-old son could be my boyfriend instead. He didn't look too pleased but after we chatted some more and got the sleaze out of the way, we could banter freely and smoked together as buddies.

This was not the first time I was hit on in this country by some of its infamous cassanovas and it further affirmed my belief that female solo travellers need a large dose of wit and patience to deal with horny Italian men! For me, I likened the experience as being humped on the leg by a poor puppy in heat and all you can do is laugh it off and pad it on the head. Or you can also slap it on its face.

At 9.30pm, we got back to Lipari and somehow I lost Martine while talking to the others, and was sorry I didn't get to say a proper goodbye to her. Hungry and tired, I popped my head into this chic L'Approdo wine bar near my camere and told the boyish 23 year-old waiter "Vorrei mangiare" (I'd like to eat). Sebastien, who always called me signorina from then on, showed me the menu and I lamented to the smiley bartender Alessandro that I liked cocktails but they were 'tanto' (too much) at 7 euros. To my amusement, he gladly discounted my Mint Daiquiri to 5 euros, saying "solo per tu" (only for you) because I was so nice and spoke such good Italian!

Not surprisingly, I lost track of time having a hearty chat with them and another regular guest Giuseppe who owned a shop nearby. All of them echoed 'brava' and gave me the thumbs up for travelling alone and "parla bene Italian" within the 2 short months. Giuseppe then invited me to listen to the live Sicilian band (his younger brother was the guitarist) at Chittara bar located at the nearby port. Before I accepted his offer, I made it clear to him that if we hang out, it'd be just as 'amici basta' (friends enough) and we shook hands on it, punching each other like sworn Sicilian buddies.

We lapped up the band's soulful performances over a glass of the local sweet wine Malvasia di Lipari. In between heart-wrenching Italian classics, our conversation turned to relationships and somehow G poured out his heart to me saying he missed the love of his life B and recalled his happiest moment was when he woke up and couldn't believe B was actually sleeping next to him after their first night together. It was a case of friends-turned-lovers and they even suffered a miscarriage. I could feel his pain when he revealed that B eventually left him for a friend who was handicapped.

He confessed that everyone knew him here and it had been a couple of years since they had seen him with a lady companion. I thought he might be uncomfortable but he shrugged and said he was not bothered by what others might think. To cheer him up, I showed my appreciation for the band with loud wolf whistles, much to G's amusement and drew giggles from him like a bashful schoolboy. I told G jokingly that I couldn't play any musical instrument but could sing, and he nearly dragged me up to sing a Chinese song! Just then at midnight, a flurry of wedding fireworks lit up the starry night and I gushed "perfetto - solo per me!", to which G agreed yes, it was only for me.