CNN
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Every summer, Italy’s remote island of Alicudi slowly draws tourists looking to escape the trappings of modern life. The two-square-mile volcanic outcrop has no cars or even roads, but donkeys can pass along the sidewalks. Additionally, although mobile phone coverage is now available in most places, many homes lack electricity and running water.
For the island’s roughly 100 inhabitants (the number dwindles in the winter), the rest of the year is probably far from idyllic.
There is no hospital, so residents must travel by ferry or, in emergencies, by helicopter for treatment. Schools on the island are reportedly closed due to a lack of children, according to Camila Malese, an Italian photographer who visited Alikudi during the coronavirus pandemic and documented daily life there. . There are also two grocery stores and a bar for socializing, although the latter is only open three months a year, she added.
“For the rest of the year, large social gatherings involve going to the pier when the boats arrive. They just go there to see who’s arriving and who’s leaving,” Malese said. told CNN in a Zoom interview with his partner. Co-researcher Gabriele Chiapparini added: “Some people live two hours’ walk from the pier, so they keep an eye on them with binoculars.”
Hoping to capture rare snapshots of the island and its inhabitants during the winter months, Malese and Chiapparini spent a total of two months exploring Alikudi, photographing its nature and getting to know its inhabitants. Ta. The resulting book, Thinking Like an Island, is a collection of stark portraits and landscape photographs that speak to a deep sense of isolation.
Alicudi may have been inhabited as early as the 17th century BC, but its demographics have changed in recent decades due to migration in both directions, including the departure of islanders to mainland Italy and further afield to Australia. A lot has changed. Malese explained that the current population consists of “many islands within the same island.” This is a popular choice between long-time locals (some of whom humorously refer to themselves as “natives,” she says) and people from other parts of Europe seeking a quieter environment. It is said that there is a mix of outsiders who have immigrated there. life.
“We spoke to a lot of people who chose this island because they were fed up with the way the world is now: climate change, pollution, the way we grow vegetables, the economic system,” Chiapparini said. said.
But the pair also discovered a unique sense of community, despite the lack of gathering places and shared social spaces.
“It’s very difficult to develop a sense of community because all the houses are spread out,” Marese says. “Of course there is a great sense of belonging. Everyone knows everyone else and tries to help each other. I think their bond is really strong. At the same time, there are no unnecessary conflicts or small revenges ( This society is also a microcosm of the best and worst of society.
Marese likens the islanders’ coexistence to living in a condo, saying, “You don’t like your neighbors, but when a storm comes, you go down (to the water) and get on other people’s boats and help each other out.” he said.
Photographers found that, perhaps due to the transient nature of the seasonal population, the islanders’ spirits quickly won their trust and it was easy to persuade people to take pictures.
“They form strong connections quickly, and they’re very used to social situations and building strong relationships. They also see people leaving, turnover happens, things change. I’m very used to dealing with the fact that it’s not permanent in some way.”
“Thinking Like an Island” portraits depict islanders posing in nature or on the shore under eerie skies. Their names are often left out, and some subjects’ faces are completely hidden to protect their privacy.
This only adds to the sense of mystery surrounding this island, which is rich in local folklore. In fact, in Malese and Chiappalini’s book, the place is not clearly identified, even by name, but anyone familiar with the terrain and mythology discussed will immediately know that it is Alikudi. (A remote island in the Aeolian archipelago in the Tyrrhenian Sea north of Sicily. This island has recently been in the news because goats outnumber humans by about 6 to 1.)
And there is one interesting piece of local history unique to this island. It was by chance that bread containing hallucinogens was manufactured.
As recently as the 1950s, local residents ate bread contaminated with a rye fungus called ergot, the basic ingredient in LSD. Generations of villagers unknowingly ate the so-called “crazy rye” or “horned rye.” These may be the source of various local myths, such as the reputed flying woman (or “maiara”, meaning “sorcerer” in the Aeolian dialect). Occupy the skies over Alikudi.
“There are a lot of legends that have been passed down through the generations,” Malese said. “And it may have actually been a hallucinatory moment shared by all the island’s inhabitants who ate this bread every day.”
Malese and Chiapparini also explored other parts of the island’s culture, such as the annual procession featuring the statue of St. Bartolo and traditional practices such as weaving and caper harvesting. They were at pains to portray Alikudi as neither utopian nor dystopian, despite harsh economic realities. But even a relatively small number of tourists changed the fate of the island.
According to the photographers, many of the residents have migrated from the upper reaches of the island to the sea, and many of the young people are now working in construction, renovations and building summer homes for rent.
“It was a very, very poor situation,” Malese said. “Until the second half of the last century, the economy was mainly agriculture and fishing. Then (in the 1990s) electricity came in, tourism came in, money came in. And suddenly everything changed.”
power of the island
Rather than just taking traditional portraits, Chiapparini and Malese both shot images for this book, they turned their lenses on the island itself. Alikudi’s rugged terrain, with its sculptural rock faces and sheer crags, is one of the key protagonists of their book.
They were particularly interested in the impact this geography had on the islanders. This is because it seems to have shaped the views and character of the islanders. “I think living on an island evolves both physically and mentally,” Malese said, noting the ease with which residents get around the island, even in the darkness of the night.
“This way of life really instills in them and shapes them… They are more connected to the rhythm of the sun rising and the sun setting,” she added.
The experience left a mark on Chiapparini and Malese, both of whom report strong personal ties to the island. The pair still keep in touch with some residents and say their experiences left them with a deeper and more lasting appreciation for the simple life.
“I went there again this summer, and when I go there I think, ‘What if I lived here?'” Malese said. “Actually, we don’t want to live there, but we have a very, very strong bond.
“Ideologically, what sticks with me is that there is not one way to live, but there are many different ways to live,” she added. “They have their strengths and weaknesses, and they may be very different from yours. But they (Islanders) are fine with that.”
Thinking Like an Island, published by Overlapse, is available now.
