Alicudi is the most remote of Italy's volcanic string of Aoelian islands off Sicily's north coast. It's a tourist idyll, disconnected from the rigors of modern life, but it harbors a mind-bending secret.
Courtesy Silvia Marchetti
The sparse dwellings are dotted over steep hillsides on the flanks of a dormant volcano. It's car-free and serene and perfect for a no-frills, unplugged retreat. But Alicudi's history gives new meaning to the phrase "day-trippers."
Courtesy Silvia Marchetti
Tourists come for the serenity, crystal-clear water and quaint fishing harbor, but for centuries unknowing locals got their kicks from their daily bread.
Courtesy Silvia Marchetti
This pink villa, now a cozy hotel called Casa Mulino, was once the village mill where oblivious women prepared hallucinogenic bread to feed to unsuspecting husbands and children.
Courtesy Silvia Marchetti
It turns out the bread was contaminated by a mind-blowing rye fungus called "ergot," fostered by sultry weather. Ergot is the base element of LSD.
Courtesy Silvia Marchetti
Generations of villagers consumed this "crazy rye." "It was a diet mistake, a bad eating habit triggered by poverty, isolation and ignorance of hygiene," says historian Pino La Greca. Ergotism induces gangrene, mania and psychosis.
Courtesy Silvia Marchetti
Visions and mental trips were daily occurrences. Legends flourished of flying women, dubbed "maiara," (meaning "sorceress" in the Aeolian dialect) soaring off to Palermo or Calabria on adventures to party and collect food.
Courtesy Silvia Marchetti
Tales of talking hemp sacks, ghosts defecating behind shrubs, and of men turned into donkeys, cows and pigs are also popular. "These people were on a LSD-induced trip 24/7, they spoke to each other and shared their visions, making real what was only in their minds," says La Greca.
Courtesy Silvia Marchetti
Not everyone believes in the effect of "crazy rye." For some, it was pure magic, a miracle. "These are not fairytales," swears Peppino Taranto, owner of the island's only hotel, Ericusa.
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Some locals, such as fisherman and cook Silvio Taranto, believe they have the power to stop whirlwinds at sea, using just a variety of gestures. These so-called "tornado-cutters" say the maelstroms are formed by a vortex of naughty flying women who wanted to punish their despotic husbands.
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The witchy heritage is a visible trait of Alicudi. The harbor walls are painted with images of flying ladies dressed in long black robes, hair blowing in the wind, eyes shut and a smile on their faces.
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"Women here have always worked mad in the fields, tending crops under scorching suns and in poor living conditions. This remote isle was like a cage to them," says Aeolian artist Loredana Salzano.
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"They were desperate, bored, hopeless," adds Salzano. "This forced them to open their doors of perception, to create an alternative mental world to fly to and hide."
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Despite its freaky past -- according to Peppino Taranto the last flying "maiara" died in 1948 -- Alicudi is a slice of disconnected paradise for tourists. It is sometimes known as "Neverland," a place frozen in time.
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There are no roads and the various levels of the villages are connected by more than 4,000 rough steps. Donkeys will carry your luggage, but the reward for the workout is a breathtaking panorama from the top of the town.
Courtesy Silvia Marchetti
But some locals exploits the legends to increase the island's allure. "You bring me tourists, I tell you what I have seen and know of the sorceresses," says B&B owner Rosita Barbuto. "No clients, no stories. These are delicate issues."
