Let’s start with Azur’s favorite part of the day, the walk along the volcano slopes at dusk. It’s true that all this green had a tropical allure, and without qualifying as a forest, this variety of capers, thistles, fennel, fields of reeds and grasses galore was delightful after all the desert landscapes we’d crossed in Greece and Sicily.

We disembarked at around 7 p.m., by which time the ambient temperature had become bearable again in this heatwave, and, planning an hour-and-a-half climb to the 300m-high observatory on the west side of the island, would let us arrive just in time for sunset.

Alas, as we passed through the small village of San Vincenzo, with its narrow paved streets lined on either side with high round walls painted with Cycladic lime, Thomas used the pretext of stocking up on fruit for the hike to take advantage for a few minutes of the grocery store’s air-conditioning, which was begging from the street, and we had to stop again at the next shop, the pharmacy, to buy antibiotics to treat his foot, which had been swollen for several days. These little hiccups disrupted our masterful timing, and our stroll soon turned into a chase against the sun, which seemed to be hiding ever further behind the hill, when suddenly Zephyr, a little ahead of us, exclaimed with glee “I see it!” and, magnanimous, lifted up his brother, who was trotting along behind him but too small to see the big pink star disappearing over the horizon.

Up until then, we’d been alone on the path, with the only clue that we were heading in the right direction being footprints in the dust that looked relatively recent, and indeed, we ended up joining the horde of visitors who had allowed a little more margin than us for their climb and were already settled on makeshift benches or leaning against the railings at the last observation post authorized since a 2021 decree.

The atmosphere was almost religious, with nobody talking, as if the slightest murmur could disturb the belching volcano. I, on the other hand, couldn’t suppress my admiration for the first glimmers of boiling lava erupting from the crater in bold sprays, and although my lyrical ecstasy elicited little reaction from the little boy whose back was turned to the “scene”, Zephyr had rightly pointed out that he was playing video games on his phone and couldn’t take his eyes off the screen, It seems to me that the amber flashes had more panache with my aural appraisals, which had the added advantage of alerting the other spectators, some of whom also had their eyes glued to their smartphones in between sprays.

Occasionally, though, the volcano took over from the soundtrack and offered us terrifying roars, so much so that at one point I wondered when we were supposed to start worrying and repenting for not having joined the pilgrimage of boats (around 30) that had sailed to settle on the west side of the island for the evening, preferring to watch the spectacle from the comfort of their cockpits.

After a final eruption lasting several minutes, worthy of a final bouquet, the assembly disbanded and it wasn’t long before we too deserted, following in the footsteps of groups accompanied by guides as they made their way back down the hill, like colonies of lemmings snaking in cadence, illuminating the night with their flashlights.

Further down, we found the same library atmosphere at the Osservatorio restaurant, where we enjoyed a candlelit dessert (tiramisu, sorbeto al limone and almond and marzipan cookies) to enjoy Stromboli’s regular eruptions a little longer, joining our ahs and ohs not with those of the waiters, who had seen it all before and didn’t react in the slightest to the boiling lava, but with those of the amazed guests, who even applauded after the longest and most formidable eruption.

And so, at the end of the day, we shared our favorite moments. One of mine was to have been able to observe, at the same time, thanks to my diving mask held just above the surface of the water and offering me a double vision above and below, my two sons, one diving to the bottom of the sea, the other preparing to jump in from the rock he had climbed to at Cala di Junco in Panarea. I also congratulated myself on having proposed a lunch break at Isola di Basiluzzo, with its transparent water, sheer cliffs and flat rocks, among which Azur had not failed to discover new waterslides for kayaking. For Thomas and Zephyr, for whom the eruptions of Stromboli were number 1, there was also Zephyr’s unhesitating jump from the high cliffs of Cala di Junco, which probably surpassed the diving board at Rhodes. (cf. Cousinhood in Rhodes & Symi)

Between our morning in Panarea, our stopover at Isola di Basiluzzo, the navigation (long and slow, but under sail!) and this excursion to the Stromboli volcano, we’ve had our hands full and, once again, enjoyed the miracles of Mother Nature.