To the north of Sicily lie a few volcanic islands. Stromboli is perhaps the best known. Lipari is not far away to the west and nearer Palermo, from which there was a boat service. These were hydrofoil boats that travelled very fast, called “aliscafi” (plural) in Italian.
My boss recommended a trip there so one sunny morning I boarded the aliscafo headed for Lipari.
There were not many passengers on the early boat. Only a handful went ashore at Lipari before the boat continued to the next island. There was a small stone quay, where I think the stones were volcanic. The mountain that seemed to cover most of the island looked very black, like lava stone all over.
Halfway between the quay and a building that housed a hostel was a huge fig tree that gave a welcome shade. In the shade there was a long wooden table with benches on either side. A young man sat on one bench drinking coffee. I sat down on the opposite side and said buon giorno. The others from the boat continued up to the house.
The young man responded with the same wish of a good day. I had by that time figured out a technique to induce people to speak in short sentences and not too fast lest I get lost. I tried it out here. It went like this:
– Do you speak inglese?
– No.
– Parla tedesco? (German)
– No.
– Un po’ di francese?
– No… pero lei capisce un po’ d’italieno?
– Si, un pocco.
Then we could begin to explore some small talk. It turned out that the young man (I can’t remember his name) who was from the vicinity of Milan, was on a rehabilitation trip after having barely survived a car accident. He was very grateful to be alive and full of wonder of all he heard and saw.
On hearing I was from Norway he became thoughtful. Then he asked, did we have a different language there, different from Italian? I did my best to explain the spread of languages in the north. He nodded and found it surprising.
A young lady came down from the house and took an order for a cappuccino. Could I book a bed for the night, I asked. No problem… and what was my name, per favore? She jotted it down.
We kept chatting tentatively, the young man eager to tell me about his accident. A young Englishman came down from an early morning hike up the mountain and sat down. He had brought a big jug of lemonade water from the house. We said hello, in English, and he told us about the mountain. The Italian guy sat silent. Then he asked me if it was Norwegian that we spoke. I said it was English – inglese. He was amazed.
The next boat came in. More people alighted than from the first boat. Most of them went straight up to the house. Some sat down on the benches, among them two or three young French women. They, of course, saluted in French “bonjour tout le monde”. I was glad to get the opportunity to practice my French so a small conversation evolved.
Again, my Italian friend wondered: was that Norwegian that we were speaking?
But no. I explained in my best Italian that it was francese. He looked at me, mesmerized, threw both hands in the air and exclaimed: “mamma mia quante cose che sai” – mamma mia, so many things that you know!
Arrivederci.
Karl
The Hofsö Method 