Article of September 22, 2026, by Davide Mantovani.
My first sailing trip in the Aeolian Islands.
I had never sailed before.
Before that trip I had seen the sea hundreds of times. I had spent days on the beach, swum in clear water and watched the sunset from the shore. But the sea seen from land and the sea lived on board a boat are two completely different things.
I understood the difference on the first day, when I stepped aboard the sailboat that would take us to discover the Aeolian Islands.
I didn’t know exactly what to expect. I was excited, but also a little intimidated. I didn’t know how life on a boat works, how the sails are trimmed, how to read the wind, or how different the sea could look from just a few inches above its surface.
Then we cast off.
We were in Lipari and, slowly, the harbor began to slip away.
The houses grew smaller, the people on the quay almost disappeared and the noise of the mainland faded behind us.
When the engine was turned off and the sails were hoisted, I felt something hard to explain.
The boat kept moving forward, but the sound of the engine was gone.
There was only the wind.
The sails slowly filled and the hull glided over the water. Every now and then a small wave reached the bow and broke into a cloud of spray.
I sat down at the bow and simply started to look.
In front of me was the sea.
Behind me, Lipari.
All around, blue.
At that moment I understood that this would not be a vacation like any other.
Lipari, the starting point
Lipari was our gateway into the world of the Aeolians.
Before leaving we had time to stroll through the center, look out over the harbor and walk up to the Castle of Lipari.
From up there the view was already incredible. The town stretched along the coast and the sea surrounded the island.
But seen from the boat, Lipari looked different again.
Sailing along the coast we came across places like Valle Muria, with its rock walls and deep water, and watched the island’s coastline change constantly.
In some spots the rocks were dark and towering, in others small inlets appeared where the sea seemed to stand still.
We had our first swim near a small cove.
I dove off the boat without thinking twice.
When I came back up, I looked up.
The boat was gently swaying above me.
At that moment I felt a sense of freedom I had never known.
There were no sunbeds, no umbrellas, no beach clubs and no crowds.
There was only the sea.
Vulcano and the scent of the earth
The sail to Vulcano was short but exciting.
The island slowly drew closer and the outline of the volcano grew bigger and bigger.
The landscape was different from Lipari’s.
Vulcano had something primordial about it.
The dark earth, the rocks, the crater and the steam rising from the ground in places were a constant reminder that these islands were born from volcanic activity.
We passed close to the Baia di Ponente.
The water was calm and clear.
We stopped and went for a swim.
Swimming in that sea while looking at the volcanic coast made me feel very far from home.
In the afternoon we reached the area of the hot springs and the mud baths.
The smell of sulfur was strong, but it was part of the island’s charm.
Vulcano wasn’t trying to be beautiful.
It was beautiful precisely because of its wild nature.
Salina and the colors of its greenery
The next morning we left Vulcano and set a course for Salina.
The wind was in our favor.
That was the first time I truly understood what sailing meant.
The boat heeled slightly, the sails were taut and the water rushed along the hull.
I kept looking at the sails.
It seemed almost unbelievable that the wind could push such a big boat.
Salina appeared on the horizon after a few hours.
From a distance it looked very green.
Its mountains, terraces and vegetation made it completely different from Vulcano.
We arrived in Santa Marina Salina.
The little village looked like something out of a story.
White houses, colorful doors, bougainvillea, moored boats and narrow lanes winding away from the sea.
I walked with no particular destination.
I just wanted to look.
On Salina we also visited Malfa and Lingua.
In Lingua the bond with the sea felt even stronger.
We tasted local products and traditional dishes.
The food of the Aeolians won me over almost as much as the sea.
The fresh fish, the capers, the vegetables, the bread, the pasta, the granita and the local sweets had simple but intense flavors.
After a day spent in the sun and the wind, even a seemingly simple dinner became an experience.
Pollara, the place that looked like a film
On Salina we also reached Pollara.
I had already seen photos of the bay, but arriving from the sea was completely different.
The high walls of the coast seemed to embrace the water.
The volcanic rocks ran down to the sea and the little hamlet appeared high above, surrounded by greenery.
I stopped to look.
It didn’t look like a real place.
It looked like a film set.
The sun was slowly going down and the light turned the rocks into a palette of colors.
That evening we stayed on board.
After dinner we lay down on the deck.
The sky was full of stars.
In the city I had never seen a sky like that.
The Milky Way looked almost like a band of light hanging above us.
The sea was black, but calm.
The boat rocked gently.
I didn’t need music, a phone or TV.
I had the sky.
Stromboli, the mountain in the sea
The sail to Stromboli was one of the most thrilling experiences.
The island appeared on the horizon like a great, lonely mountain.
The closer we got, the bigger Stromboli seemed to grow.
The volcano completely dominated the landscape.
We sailed along the coast past San Vincenzo, the island’s small village, and looked at the white houses resting on the slopes.
Then we reached Strombolicchio.
That small volcanic rock looked like a sentinel standing guard in front of the island.
The boat slowly passed close by.
The sea was clear and deep.
I dove in once again.
And this time too, when I came back up, I looked at the boat and thought how incredible it was to be able to live a day like this.
In the evening Stromboli gave us yet another kind of show.
The sky slowly grew dark.
The volcano was right in front of us.
Its presence was almost hypnotic.
There was no need to talk.
We all just kept watching.
Panarea and its clear sea
After Stromboli we reached Panarea.
Panarea had a different atmosphere.
It was more elegant, livelier, but it still had extraordinary natural spots.
The first thing we did was look for a bay where we could stop for a swim.
We reached Cala Junco.
From the sea the bay was spectacular.
The rocks formed a kind of natural amphitheater and the water had incredible colors.
I dove in and started swimming.
Looking down at the bottom, I could see the rocks and the fish moving in the water.
It was one of those moments when you realize you don’t need anything else.
Later we sailed among the islets of Basiluzzo, Dattilo and Lisca Bianca.
It felt like crossing a small archipelago within the archipelago.
The rocks rose out of the water and the sea kept changing color.
We also reached the area of Cala degli Zimmari.
The day went by between swims, sun and wind.
In the evening we went ashore.
Lit up at night, Panarea had a completely different atmosphere from the one of the hours before.
The terraces of the bars and restaurants were full of people, the little lanes were lit up and the village seemed to be living a second life.
Filicudi, the wild island
After Panarea we set off for Filicudi.
The sail was long, but the wind kept us company.
I spent almost that entire day on deck.
By now I had gotten used to the boat.
I had learned to tell apart the sounds of the water, to sense when the wind was picking up and to recognize the moment when the sails began to pull harder.
At the start of the trip all of this had felt foreign to me.
Now it was starting to feel natural.
Filicudi appeared ahead of us in the afternoon.
The island seemed wilder.
We sailed along the coast to the Grotta del Bue Marino.
The entrance to the cave was imposing.
Inside, the water turned shades of blue and green.
The sound of the sea against the walls amplified every little movement.
Then we arrived in Pecorini a Mare.
The little village was exactly how I had imagined a Mediterranean village far from mass tourism.
A few houses, a small pier, boats and the sea.
We had dinner at a place in the village.
Fresh fish, pasta, wine and island products.
Dinner went on for a long time.
No one was in a hurry.
Alicudi, where time seems to stand still
The last stop of the trip was Alicudi.
When we saw it, I had the feeling that it was even more remote than the others.
The houses were scattered across the slope of the volcano.
There were no busy roads.
Only footpaths and stone steps.
We got off the boat and started walking.
We climbed slowly among the houses, the olive trees and the terraces.
Every now and then we stopped.
From up there the sea seemed endless.
Our boat had become a small white dot on the water.
I sat on a low wall and looked at the landscape.
At that moment I thought of the young man I had been a few days earlier.
I had set off thinking I was simply going on vacation.
I had found something very different.
The return
The trip back to Lipari came too soon.
That morning the sea was calm.
The sails were out and the boat moved along slowly.
I no longer had the same curiosity as in the first days.
Instead I felt a strange melancholy.
I watched the islands fall away one after another.
Alicudi was left behind us.
Then Filicudi.
Farther off, Panarea.
And Stromboli, smaller and smaller, still dominated the horizon.
I thought about everything I had seen.
The bays.
The caves.
The little villages.
The beaches.
The volcanoes.
The white houses.
The clear sea.
The sunsets.
The stars.
But above all I thought about the wind.
The wind I didn’t know at the start and that, by the end of the trip, had become almost a companion.
I had discovered that sailing means learning to listen.
Listening to the sea.
Listening to the wind.
Watching the sky.
Knowing when to stop.
Not always being in a hurry.
Maybe that is what struck me most about the Aeolians.
They are not just seven islands.
They are seven different ways of experiencing the sea.
Lipari, with its bustle and its history.
Vulcano, with its volcanic land.
Salina, with its greenery, its vineyards and its villages.
Stromboli, with its ever-present volcano.
Panarea, with its bays and its islets.
Filicudi, with its wild nature.
Alicudi, with its silence.
And then there is the sea that joins them all.
A sea that looks even bigger from a boat.
When we got back to the harbor in Lipari, I stayed on deck for a few minutes.
The boat was still.
The sails were furled.
The trip was over.
And yet inside me I felt that something had just begun.
I had discovered a new way of traveling.
A slower way, closer to nature.
I had understood that a sailboat is not just a way to get from one island to another.
It is a home on the sea.
It is a privileged point of view.
It is the place from which you can see a village appear on the horizon, a bay hidden behind a rock wall, a sunset reflected on the water or a starry sky with no lights around.
And above all it is the place where you can feel small in front of nature and, at the same time, incredibly lucky.
The first time I sailed in the Aeolians, I thought I was setting off in search of something.
I didn’t know what yet.
By the end of the trip I understood that what I had found was a feeling.
The feeling of being free.
Free to follow the wind.
Free to stop wherever the sea was most beautiful.
Free to dive in whenever I wanted.
Free to look at the sky for hours.
And free to let myself be surprised.
Because in the Aeolians, when you sail slowly between Lipari, Vulcano, Salina, Stromboli, Panarea, Filicudi and Alicudi, every bend in the coast can hide a new wonder.
And perhaps that is the true magic of a sailing trip.
Not knowing exactly what you will find ahead.
But knowing that, whatever it is, it is worth sailing on.