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Calabria: Where's That?
It started out like any other holiday weekend, the car slowed down by the load of luggage in the trunk, but with anticipation on the accelerator we headed for the tip of the island. Arriving at the port, we parked the car in line with the other autos on the boat's lower level and headed up to the sun deck for the twenty-minute sail across the Straight of Messina. Docking, we revved the motor once again and headed northeast up the toes of the Italian peninsula to a beach on the Ionian sea. The town was called Sibari, on the east coast of Calabria. And Laghi di Sibari was a community spoked on a lake with three canals that lead to the sea. Houses were stacked side by side, two stories high. There was a yacht club and sailboats bobbing in the water in front of every other house. The weekend consisted of 10, 12, 14 of us at times. Brothers, cousins, friends and such. When we weren't sleeping late after a midnight dinner and drinks, you found us on the beach. The beaches on the Ionian sea have depth of hot sand and the waters are tranquil with a hue of green, a reflection of the forest filled mountains that shadow the city of Sibari. As the sun sailed over the mountains, it is six o'clock and we packed up the car and stocked up at the local market on fruits and meats and cheeses for an evening aperitivo. As the sun set on empty glasses placed on the table; we took a few minutes to cut white bread and lather it with an olive accented cheese paste. Spread out the slices of prosciutto, speck and salami. A pitcher of vodka and lemon soda needed to be refilled before we finished setting the table. That is how I remember Saturday night starting. But when I woke on Sunday morning, I had to brush my teeth twice, just to get it straight. It was one of those nights when a vacation's first day exuberance had us drinking in the mid-afternoon. After our snacks, we sat to watch the setting sun. We smoked, continued to drink and gazed into the distance until we were hungry again. Around 11pm we got back in the car and drove to a nearby trattoria. We ate pizza and drank Peroni beer. The music stopped playing and we knew it was time for a short walk to the beachfront bar. Two bottles of vodka and a bottle of rum sat in the center of the table. As the night turned morning, we shared shots of rum chased by sweet, thick pear juice. I escaped a second and third smooth shot and strolled to the sea to find a back drop spotted with stars. Constellations cluttered in the sky, huddled with blinking laughter as they stared down at the strangers, arm and arm, singing songs of universal appeal. With the faint sound of Blister in the Sun playing through the loudspeakers, it was a surreal moment - one foot in the sand, the other in the sea, one eye on the stars, the other on the coming sun. I searched for what Dante called "Lucefere" (the bringer of light). Drunk and dumbfounded as to where this flaming rock could be, I rolled up my denim and sat in sand and surf. As the story goes, Lucefere is the first star you see in the morning and the first star you see at night. I surmised he meant the Sun and the Moon. But I was dragged off; wet and weary when my friends decided to call it quits. I was content to lie myself down in the sand, to sleep until sober. But the next moment, it was light and I was on a lounge chair on the terrace of the house, not knowing how I got there or what time it was - I pondered that. Wishing to rid myself of last night's excess, two passes with the toothbrush wasn't enough and I decided to go for a run by the beach before replaying the day all over again. Body and Beats
Post 11 - August'05 Back to home...
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