Living with a volcano

The eruptions of Mt. Etna, 3,350m above sea level, have been recorded since 425 B.C.

AHN CHAK-HEEThe author is the head of the global cooperation team at the JoongAng Ilbo. Last week, I visited Etna, one of Europe’s largest active volcanoes in northeastern Sicily, Italy. The roaring sound overwhelms visitors on a cable car at an altitude of 2,500 meters (8,202 feet). The black rocks and ashes made it seem like I was on another planet. It felt like a giant monster was breathing inside it. As I lifted my gaze, I spotted black smoke and ash from the crater near the top of the volcano.

Shortly after arriving in Catania, Sicily’s second-largest city, I was told that the Voragine crater — one of the four main craters of Mount Etna — started to erupt after four years of silence. The news continually showed videos of red lava flying out like colorful fireworks and flowing down hundreds of meters into the mountain valley. Catania is about a 50 minute drive from the crater, but the roads, sidewalks and even the hotel terraces were all covered with black sand-like ash. I wasn’t sure whether I should go see the crater.

Surprisingly, however, the daily lives of the locals showed no signs of disturbance. Waiters recommended Sicilian specialties such as pasta alla Norma and welcomed tourists, and market venders offered free fruit to those who purchased donut peaches at 3 euros ($3.26) per kilogram. Daily life continued peacefully even as everyone could see Mt. Etna spewing lava from anywhere in the city.

The eruptions of Mt. Etna, 3,350m above sea level, have been recorded since 425 B.C. It boasts the longest history among the 1,500 active volcanoes on Earth. In the 17th century, there were records of lava flowing down to the walls of Catania, and there were several massive explosions in the 20th century. Lava killed or injured many residents. In 2001, Etna erupted 16 times. Nonetheless, Sicilian residents affectionately call the mountain “Mama Etna.” They are grateful that the volcano makes the land fertile for farm produce.

When I witnessed the wonder of Mount Etna, I had dinner at an outdoor restaurant with a view of the volcano. It became dark after 9 p.m. and I could see red lines flashing from the mountain. I asked about that to the waiter, who shrugged and nonchalantly filled the water glass, saying, “Etna is always like that.” This is how dangerous nature and resolute humans live together.