Sailing the seas around Sicily's islands

Each spring, the fishermen of the little Italian island of Favignana go to sea to hunt giant tuna, which they harpoon and hoist on board their boats in a bloody ritual called the mattanza.

A traveler with a strong stomach can arrange to go out in fishing boats in May and June, the prime season on this island off the coast of Sicily. Other times, travelers with a sense of adventure can count on men such as Giuseppe Messina, 72, on whose boat, the Maria, I recently spent an hour and a half puttering around the island, sans life jackets, as we darted in and out of grottoes chiseled into rocky cliffs.

"Barca, madam?" he asked as our group of six stepped off the hydrofoil on a day trip from Trapani, Sicily. Fishermen sat in their boats along the docks sewing their nets. A man in orange hip waders was doing a brisk business selling glistening silver sardines.

Giuseppe wasn't a tour operator, just a retiree hoping to make a few dollars by showing a group of strangers around the island where he was born. We negotiated a price (about $15 per person) and climbed into his freshly painted, blue-and-white wooden skiff — two of us on the bow and four on the stern with Giuseppe at the rudder.

Favignana is the largest of the three Egadi islands off the northwest coast of Sicily. Giuseppe was born here and, after a career working on a passenger ship based in Rome, he returned with his wife, Maria, bought an old fishing boat and named it after her.

As we left the harbor, Giuseppe pointed out a 1,000-year-old Spanish castle on top of a hill and a 19th-century tuna processing plant, an island landmark and once one of the largest in Europe, where he worked as a boy.

Favignana is mostly rocky, barren farm land with a few roads and surrounded by stone walls. A cluster of flat, stucco buildings with rusted iron balconies line a maze of narrow streets in town where farmers come daily to sell capers, oranges and lemons. On a clear day, the waters are a blend of turquoise and emerald.

Giuseppe motored out to sea, skirting the steep, stone cliffs and darting into calm lagoons where people swim in warmer weather.

"No speak much English," he said. But that was OK. The years I've spent studying Italian off and on were paying off, and when I couldn't find the right words, smiles and gestures worked just fine.

Crouching down over the rudder, he motioned for us to sit on the floor and duck our heads. Then he cut the engine, and using his hands to guide the boat through a narrow opening in the rocks, maneuvered us into a grotto where he explained in Italian that married couples come after their wedding and kiss for good luck.

"Capito?" he asked, Italian for "Do you understand?"

"Si," yes, I smiled.

He apologized that the sea wasn't as blue as it is when the sun is brighter. And he said he was sorry that the water was too high for him to take us into another grotto.

No problem, I said. We were snug in his boat, chatting in Italian and laughing and dodging the salt spray. Everything was perfect.

Carol Pucci: 206-464-3701 or cpucci@seattletimes.com