From Lava Flows To Snow: Mount Etna After the Eruption

MOUNT ETNA, Sicily, May 7, 2007 — -- Mount Etna was erupting again, spewing fire and hurling rock and lava down its slopes. The most spectacular recent outburst exploded onto Italian television screens on May 1st.

The southeast crater of the volcano seemed to be brewing some serious trouble.

Etna is renowned for regular minor eruptions and attracts tourists eager to see the flow of lava inching down its side. So I decided to head down to the island of Sicily, off the southern tip of the Italian mainland to see what an erupting Mount Etna would look like.

Reaching the Volcano … by Rental Car

Even though I have lived in Italy for almost 30 years, I am always both excited and wary when I head south of Rome. Southern Italy is as warm, charming and beautiful as the country gets, but its inhabitants are also famous for their ingenuity in finding ways to make or take a dime. They spot the airheaded tourist (or reporter, for that matter) miles away. So my antennas are up as soon as I get off the plane in the grim little Third World airport of Catania.

Thinking ahead to small mountain roads and few shops, I head for the airport store to buy batteries and a map of Sicily. As I walk in, I hear the two young men tending the store tell a client, "Non abbiamo allegramente niente," roughly translated to mean "We cheerfully have nothing."

Just then, I reach the shelf of guidebooks and maps. I count seven maps of the Sinai Desert -- yes, the Sinai Desert -- but not even one of Sicily. When asked, the cashier finds a map of Sicily under the counter. As for batteries, I cheerfully forget those.

Next is rental car pickup, with car company offices located in temporary (must be there since they started renting cars in Catania) container buildings halfway to the long-term parking lot.

Finally, I head through the confusion of signs, pedestrians and road work around the airport trying to follow the directions I have been given to Nicolosi, on the slopes of Mount Etna.

Lava Affair

I get on the Tangenziale Ovest and look for signs for Gravina. I am searching for the Gravina exit when the clouds break briefly and I get my first glimpse of the "signora montagna" (lady mountain), as the Etna guide called it. But in stark contrast to the molten lava flow of days before, on May 4 Etna is covered in snow. No wonder mountains in Italian are feminine. After all, it's a woman's prerogative to change her mind.

Just past the town of Nicolosi, I can finally take my first picture of the mountain. Etna is huge and wide -- indeed a magnificent or "signora" mountain (in Italian signore or signora used as an adjective expresses size and magnificence). Depending on whether recent eruptions raise or lower the highest crater, it is the largest active volcano in Europe -- 10,990 feet high, more or less and covering a surface area of 790 square miles.

The snow on the mountain makes my picture -- I was afraid all I would get is black on black.

Life on Etna

"You must be Mr. Corsaro," I say.

Big smile. "I deny everything."

"But your Web site says you are two brothers, you must be Alessandro?" I ask.

Bigger smile. "That could get me into trouble. No, I am Davide."

The Corsaro business on Etna, like so many in Italy, has humble, hardworking origins.Davide Corsaro's grandfather, Tino Corsaro, was, of all things, a snow merchant on Mount Etna in 1946.

Back before refrigerators, 14 horse-drawn carts would scurry up and down the mountain every night, bringing snow down to the valley and the city of Catania for use in preserving food and making ice cream.

Tino Corsaro also sold the produce from his land on the mountainside, which included apples, olives, oranges, pears and almonds. The cart soon became a truck, but when an accident stopped Tino Corsaro's trips, his wife, Davide Corsaro's "nonna," opened a kiosk where travelers up the mountain could get refreshment. That small spot grew into today's restaurant, which caters to busloads of hungry tourists that demolish the rich buffet every day.

It would be a sweet success story if it weren't for Etna. The 1983 eruption of Mount Etna totally destroyed the hard work of two generations of Corsaros.

"First, the lava surrounded the building, and then it came in through the front door," Corsaro said. "Three-quarters of the restaurant was filled with lava, and we were still clearing the kitchen as the lava flowed into the dining hall."

Undeterred, the Corsaro's were already rebuilding a year later on "warm lava." Why would you do that? Build again on a lava flow? "Very simple," explained Corsaro. "This is where we own land. Here."

There is no insurance that covers eruptions, but there is regional legislation in the works, Corsaro explained, to protect the businesses on the volcano.

As for fear, no one I spoke to -- Davide Corsaro, the souvenir shopkeepers, the residents of Nicolosi, the guide to the mountain -- live in true fear of Mount Etna, which is generally known as "the good giant." This, because Etna, unlike Italy's other major volcano, Mount Vesuvius near Naples, literally and figuratively, lets off steam (and some rocks and lava) regularly, in smaller eruptions.

"We don't live in fear -- fear is tied to immediate danger," said Corsaro. "I am worried more about having an accident, or would live in greater fear in a large city with a high crime rate. The volcano is more of a worry."

And the recent eruptions? "Those are just fun -- 'tourist eruptions' we call them," he said.

High Mountain; Higher Prices

After the hearty buffet at the Corsaro ($21, all you can eat), it is time to head up the mountain. I get to the cable car and realize why everyone goes up in the morning. The weather has changed: The wind has increased, the cable car is closed. The "normal" tour entails a cable car ride partway up the mountain, followed by a four-wheel-drive bus up to the base of the main crater. My choice is bus up and bus back down, to the tune of no less than $55 per person plus $10 for the guide. Black gold, this mountain.

On the small bus, I get in with a mixed batch of intrepid tourists, including two dogs -- a shaggy thing and a German shepherd. Giuseppe, our driver, closes the doors, looks at us and yells "jacket, jacket!" We look at each other and shrug.

The bus starts winding its way up the mountain, and I immediately sense I will get car sick if I don't pay attention. The driving is decidedly Italian -- reckless.

The scenery is black and white, cliché moonscape. The clouds are below, and there is no sense of a valley, the Mediterranean or the city of Catania below. The snow on the side of the track is higher than the bus at times.

After I don't know how many hairpin turns (take the cable car!), we reach the lodge at the top. Our driver hasn't said a word about the volcano on the way up (what about that $10 for the guide?) but now breaks out again in the only English he evidently knows (aside from "souvenir," of which he has a few in the front of the bus), "jacket, jacket!" If you want a jacket, you get out, otherwise stay on the bus. "They lend you a jacket here," one tourist kindly explained to another. You bet. Three dollars is the cost of renting a warm jacket, and it's worth every penny. I turned it down, of course.

Touring Etna

We are at an altitude of 9,500 feet, not a joke, you realize, as soon as you start picking your way through lava and snow. The air is thin. Antonio points out the crater that was erupting just four days ago. There's a small plume of steam coming out of it. Then he takes us to look at the crater that was formed in 2002.

The wind is cold and cutting, the scenery stunning. Antonio walks around the edge of the crater, explaining how volcanology is a young, inexact science. These regular short eruptions at regular intervals, 64 of which preceded the big eruption of 2001, don't necessarily foretell something big, said Antonio. There is really no way to tell, all scientists can do and the Volcanology Institute of Catania does it constantly, is monitor the tremors.

Antonio stops to dig a shallow hole with his boot. He scoops up some lava gravel with his gloves and hands it to me. Hot potato! Ever play that game? Just under the surface, at the top edge of the crater, the sand is on fire and I drop it quickly.

Antonio's love for the mountain is clear. "My father, who is also an Etna guide, taught me that you must first love Etna," he said. "And then you must respect it, too, of course. For two reasons: first because it is a 'signora montagna' and second because it is a volcano."

What he means is, any 10,000-foot mountain deserves respect, and even more so if it is explosive. But fear, not. "Etna is not explosive, not dangerous like Vesuvius," Antonio explained. "Lava is not dangerous. It is only the craters that are dangerous when they throw out rocks and debris. The volcano is frightening before it erupts, when you don't know where the lava will come out."

It's where and how the lava comes out that determines the fate of the towns on the volcano's slopes. The risk is to buildings, but not to people, who have plenty of time to leave, and in recent eruptions, techniques of lava cooling and diversion (even using dynamite) have been tested with some success.

On the jerky ride back down, a few of us (the ones with the dogs, and I) get Giuseppe to drop us off the bus as we near the bottom, so we can walk down the last stretch. It is not as beautiful as the top, what with the ski-lift pylons (yes, they ski on Etna in the winter) and the parking lot below. But that is when I hear the lava tinkle -- just like glass. This I did not expect, but when you think about it -- molten glass, extremely high temperatures -- it makes sense. In the absence of an eruption, it is that tinkling sound that I took home with me from Etna.