Scilla: Swordfish, Sea Myths and Slow Living – By Zoe

A short coastal train ride punctuated by dramatic thunderclaps brought us further down into Calabria to a town called Scilla. Picturesque, mythical, and completely deserted.

The station was as lively as a Monday morning Zoom call. No taxis. No signs. Not even a vending machine. Just us, our bags, and the distant sound of huge seagulls that may or may not have been laughing at us.

First hurdle: how to pronounce the place name. Shee-la? Silla? S’chilly? (Given the drizzle and the breeze, it felt apt.) Eventually, we learnt it’s Shkeelah. 

Top travel tip: learn how to pronounce the name of your destination before you need to say it to a human. Otherwise, you’ll end up like us in Spain, confidently asking a taxi driver to take us to “Eyebis” (IBIS), only to be met with confusion and a long silence. It’s “Ibbis” in Spain, like fish, not eye. Still haunts us.

Second hurdle: how to get to our accommodation, which we now realised was on the other side of a small mountain. Okay, technically Ulysses rock—but with luggage, it might as well have been the Alps. It was Sunday morning and the town was in full-on siesta mode. We saw one man walking his tiny dog. Other than that: tumbleweeds.

Third hurdle: halfway up the steep, pavement-less road, our spare rucksack gave up the will to live. The strap snapped. Naturally.

“The travel is part of the adventure!” we once said. “It’s all part of the charm!” we naively proclaimed. That was before climbing a million steps, facing into the wind carrying 23 kilos! When a tiny courtesy car from the posh Hotel Piaggio zipped past, packed with freshly arrived guests and their gliding wheelie suitcases, we could smell their smugness. We tried not to cry.

Several swear words, many litres of sweat, and one possible hernia later—we made it. Tired, bedraggled, and questioning all our life choices. But we’d arrived. Welcome to Scilla.

A Town of Legends and Violet Waters

Nestled along Calabria’s western shoreline, Scilla is a captivating coastal gem with deep roots in tradition and mythology. Perched on the edge of the Tyrrhenian Sea, it belongs to the Costa Viola—the “Violet Coast”—named for the way the water glows purple at sunset. Its jumble of pastel houses clings to the cliffside in a way that brings to mind the Cinque Terre, yet it remains blissfully under the radar of most tourists. With a front-row seat to the Strait of Messina, the narrow passage separating mainland Italy from Sicily, the town boasts a proud seafaring heritage, especially in the ancient and skilful art of swordfish hunting, a practice that dates back millennia.

But Scilla isn’t just beautiful, it’s legendary. According to Greek mythology, this dramatic stretch of coastline was once home to Scylla, a terrifying sea creature with six heads who lurked in a rocky cave, waiting to snatch sailors from their ships. She was paired with Charybdis, a monstrous whirlpool just across the Strait, off the coast of Sicily. Together, they created an impossible dilemma: sail too close to Charybdis and risk being swallowed whole, or veer too near to Scylla and face being dragged to your doom. There was no safe passage, just the lesser of two evils. It’s where we get the Italian phrase “between Scylla and Charybdis” (our equivalent being “between a rock and a hard place”), the original no-win situation.

Standing in Scilla today, with its jagged cliffs and the Strait of Messina stretching out into the horizon, it’s not hard to imagine those ancient fears. While the monsters may have faded into myth, the sense of something powerful and eternal still lingers. And as we would soon discover, the legend of Scylla is far from forgotten, it’s etched into the identity of this town and still very much alive in the stories and spirit of its people.

Chianalea: Scilla’s Soul by the Sea

Wander a little east around the headland from the Marina Grande and the main beach, and you’ll find yourself in Chianalea, Scilla’s most picturesque and historic quarter. Tucked just beneath the towering walls of Castello Ruffo, this ancient fishing district feels like a postcard brought to life. Often called the Venice of the South (though with more swordfish and fewer gondolas), Chianalea is a tangle of narrow cobbled lanes where the sea is never more than a few steps away, sometimes literally. Waves lap right up against the stone foundations of the houses, which are built directly on the water’s edge, their windows and doorways framing endless shades of blue.

This is the kind of place where time seems to slow down. The main street runs parallel to the seafront, with tiny alleys and boat slips leading down to the water like secret shortcuts to the sea. Flowerpots, fishing nets, and laundry lines provide pops of colour against the ancient stone, and every corner reveals another perfectly composed scene.

Despite its charm, Chianalea hasn’t sold its soul to tourism. There are a handful of B&Bs tucked behind wooden doors, a few small shops, and restaurants with dining terraces that jut out over the sea, ideal for sunset dinners or lazy lunches with the soundtrack of lapping waves. You might share the pavement with a fisherman mending his nets or a cat on the lookout for leftovers. And if you’re lucky, you’ll find a quiet spot for an aperitivo or a panino filled with just-caught swordfish, watching boats glide by as the sun dips behind the headland. It’s the kind of place you arrive at by accident… and then wonder if you ever really want to leave. It’s like time has stood still.

A Hidden Room with a View

Our B&B was certainly tucked away. After that marathon walk up and over the castle, it was time to navigate the tiny streets and steep steps leading down to Via Chianalea. Had another guest not been leaving, we would’ve continued walking in circles. An elderly lady peered at us from next door’s window, expressionless and oddly menacing. The impression was like she was a permanent fixture. Probably bemused at yet more lost tourists.

Our exasperated faces and heavy bags must’ve given us away. Yes, we were indeed looking for B&B Il Porticciolo. Full of gratitude at finally being able to put our bags down, we met our hosts. A lovely old couple, Cosima and Michele. How they managed to move our stuff into our room while we were out is still a mystery, our bags were as big as they were!

Hungry, and keen to explore before the forecasted rain set in, we set off in search of food.

At the heart of the district is Via Chianalea, a narrow, cobbled alley that’s as pretty as they come. Often described as the Pearl of the Strait, it winds its way between sea-splashed houses, with the occasional café, house or doorway leading directly down to the water.

Swordfishing boats rest on the shore below, bobbing gently as if waiting for their next adventure. Officially recognised as one of I Borghi più belli d’Italia—The Most Beautiful Villages in Italy—Chianalea offers more than just good looks. With over 3,500 years of history steeped in seafaring, cuisine, and craft, every stone here seems to whisper a salty tale of Mediterranean life.

The Photo That Led Us Here

If you’re into photography, this place is pure magic. In fact, it was just one photo, stumbled upon during a late-night search for hidden gems in Italy, that first put Scilla on our radar. Now we were here, it was time to hunt down that exact spot that captured my imagination.

A Table at the Water’s Edge – El Pirata

And there it was. The photo that had planted the seed months ago, now come to life. Tucked along the narrow curve of Via Chianalea, El Pirata is the kind of place that feels like it belongs on the cover of a slow travel magazine, or possibly a dream.

A splash of faded turquoise, checked tablecloths catching the light, fairy lights strung overhead like a celebration waiting to happen. The tiny terrace clings to the sea wall, with chairs just inches from the lapping waves. Below, worn stone steps lead straight into the water, and a weathered wooden boat rests on the slipway—its proud, peeling paint bearing the red, white and green of Italy, a nod to the town’s swordfishing heritage.

The scene feels almost too perfect, like a film set carefully curated to whisper: this is la dolce vita. But it’s all real. Slightly salty from the sea spray, a little sun-bleached at the edges, and entirely magical. Whether you come for lunch, aperitivo, or just to stare at the view and wonder how you got so lucky, it’s a place that invites you to linger.

Swordfish, Followed by More Swordfish

We tucked into a selection of local specialities—when in Scilla, you go with the swordfish. It’s practically a religion here. We shared a swordfish parmigiana, scialatielli with a rich swordfish ragù, and a creamy risotto, also starring—you guessed it—swordfish. Each dish was bursting with flavour and unmistakably Calabrian, made even better with a chilled glass (or two) of local rosé.

It was one of those meals that didn’t need a big occasion, it was the occasion. Even the rising wind, which tugged at the fairy lights and whipped the tablecloth around us, only added to the romance. I was reminded of the song lyrics, ‘this is what we came for’.

The spell was only broken when my hair—clearly possessed by the wind gods—whipped me in the face, then turned on Andy like a furious red octopus. He tried to restrain it heroically with one hand, like he was wrangling a wild animal, but it was no use. Eventually, the only solution was for me to stand up like a human windsock, just to prevent further corneal damage. The wind had officially turned. Romance gave way to nature, and it was clear the weather had some drama of its own on the way.

The Sacred Craft of Swordfishing in Calabria

More Than a Job—A Legacy

In Calabria, swordfishing isn’t a career, it’s a calling. A high-stakes ritual performed on the wild waters of the Strait of Messina, handed down through generations with reverence, superstition, and pride. This is a tradition as old as the myths that swirl around the strait itself, where Greek heroes once battled sea monsters, and where fishermen today continue their own epic struggle, man versus fish, skill versus nature.

The Strait of Messina: Mythical and Merciless

The strait that separates mainland Italy from Sicily has always been a place of legend. In Homer’s Odyssey, it was here that Scylla and Charybdis guarded the passage. Modern swordfishermen may not face mythical beasts, but the currents are still dangerous, the hunt still perilous, and the respect for the sea just as deep.

Every summer, swordfish migrate through these waters, and for over two millennia, Calabrian fishermen have followed. As early as the 2nd century BC, historian Polybius wrote about the unique techniques used here, describing a silent, skilful pursuit that required both courage and near-superhuman precision.

The Felucca: Grace and Grit

At the heart of the hunt is the felucca—l’otterru to locals—named for the way it glides over the water like an otter. These narrow wooden boats are built for speed and silence, with a towering mast used as a lookout and a long platform that juts from the bow like a spear.

One man climbs the mast, acting as spotter and navigator, scanning the water for shadows. When a swordfish is seen, the boat creeps forward, eerily quiet. Another man waits at the front, harpoon in hand, ready to strike. There’s no net, no bait, no room for error—just the raw, ancient duel between human instinct and wild nature.

It’s as close to Hemingway’s Old Man and the Sea as you’ll ever get, except here, it’s not fiction.

Tradition Runs Deep

While the felucca is the most iconic, other boats—like the luntru for daytime fishing and the palamita for night fishing—also play their part. Each one is steeped in ritual. There are talismans on board: a wooden orb at the prow, painted red or blue, with the stars of Ursa Major and a white band in honour of ancient Phoenician beliefs. Some fishermen still practise the cardàta da’ crùci, carving a cross into the cheek of the catch, part protection, part tradition.

Though modern tools like sonar have crept in, many still trust their instincts and their passed-down wisdom over technology. And while the haunting Greek chants once sung during the hunt may now be silent, the spirit of the ritual remains.

More Than a Meal

In Scilla and nearby Bagnara Calabra, swordfish is everywhere, from the boats in the harbour to the plates on your table. But to eat it here is more than a culinary experience. It’s a cultural one. It’s the taste of an ancient trade, a sacred bond between people and the sea.

Even today, one of Bagnara’s proudest images is the bagnaròta, a woman of the village, carrying a basket with the swordfish’s blade rising skyward, a symbol of survival, strength, and identity.

So when you sit down to a plate of swordfish in Scilla, know that you’re not just savouring a local speciality. You’re tasting a story centuries in the making.

A Note on Italian Breakfasts

At breakfast one morning, Michele explained in a mix of English, Italian and German that now, in Spring, the small boats we could see through the rain from the terrace were fishing for tuna.

I would gladly have eaten said fish for breakfast – by day two! Italians LOVE their sweet breakfasts, and every morning we had 2 freshly baked croissants each with jam, plus two portions of that day’s cake. After half a portion of super rich tiramisu one morning I started to fear for my blood sugar levels.

They were very kind and sweet hosts, and we did our best to share stories despite the language barrier. My Italian is fine for shopping and ordering in restaurants. Full conversations—or Calabrian dialect—are another matter. And I wasn’t fluent enough to refuse Cosima’s insistence on second portions without causing offence. The persistent rain meant the terrace was unavailable and so ate in our host’s kitchen…while they watched every mouthful. Cute, cosy and slightly awkward.

The Weather Gods

The rain that had been threatening since we arrived made itself known. We were glad that after lunch on our first day we walked up on to the walls overlooking the small fishing harbour and enjoyed the seaviews. For the next two days, all our exploring was between showers, and for short bursts.

In desperate need of supplies we put our rain jackets on and braved the weather, to climb the many stairs up and over the rock to find a supermarket. Grocery shops here are limited, as are opening hours, you have to go while you can.

Castello Ruffo: Watcher of the Waves

Perched dramatically on top of the rock that slices into the sea, Castello Ruffo is the proud sentinel of Scilla—a castle with views as commanding as its history. It sits high above the ancient fishing quarter of Chianalea, its stone walls rising from the cliffs. And from up there, it really does feel like you can see all of Scilla laid out below like a living travel brochure.

To the left, the 800m golden curve of Scilla beach stretches out, lapped by the clear shallows of the Tyrrhenian, locals call it the beach of sirens. Behind you, the town square hums with local life, Piazza San Rocco, where old men play cards in the shade and kids chase stray footballs across cobbled streets. The focal point of the modern town and residential area. Look right, and you’ll spot the row of colourful houses hugging the seafront and the raised road winding out of town, offering yet another breathtaking angle of sea-meets-cliff-meets-culture.

You can, of course, walk up and explore the castle itself. It’s worth the climb for the views alone, across the rooftops of the old town, over the Strait of Messina, and all the way to Sicily shimmering in the distance on a clear day. But even if you don’t go in, the castle makes its presence known throughout the town.

The Real Rulers of Scilla: Cats, Cats Everywhere

If there’s one thing you’re guaranteed to find in Scilla, aside from swordfish and sea views, it’s cats. Plural. Dozens. Possibly hundreds. They are everywhere. Little Boof was not amused.

They lounge across doorsteps like they own the deeds, peer out from flowerpots, sunbathe on stone walls, and slink between café tables the moment food appears. Walk along the streets, and you’ll find kittens tumbling over each other on the slipway where the boats are stored, adorably playful and (worryingly) very interested in abandoned fishing wire.

Some follow you down alleyways with the confident air of a tour guide. Others simply stare you down from their chosen perch, silently judging your gelato choice.

Every doorway seems to have at least one resident feline, often more. And if you’re eating outside, forget about a quiet meal. You’ll feel the prickly sensation of being watched, and sure enough, there’ll be a small furry face staring up at you with a look that says: You gonna finish that, or…?

Locals have tried a few tactics. You’ll notice water bottles lining the streets, an old trick said to deter cats by confusing them with the shimmering reflecting light. Judging by the sheer number of moggies strolling past, tails high and unbothered, it’s safe to say the cats are winning. And if the slightly pungent smell of some corners is anything to go by… well, let’s just say they’ve claimed their territory.

Still, it’s hard to be hard-hearted. They add to Scilla’s lived-in, unpolished charm, just scruffy enough to remind you this isn’t a polished tourist show, but a real community where even the strays have a story (and probably their own sunbathing schedule).

So yes, Scilla may be famed for its castle, its swordfish, and its mythological monsters, but don’t be fooled. The true rulers of this town walk on four paws and don’t take no for an answer.

A Glass of Wine, a Slice of Life – Casa Vela

Tucked away on a quiet cobbled lane, Casa Vela Wine Bar quickly became our favourite perch in Scilla. Attached to a charming B&B, it’s the kind of place that radiates quiet care, tiny inside, with just a handful of tables spilling onto the street. But what it lacks in size, it more than makes up for in warmth, flavour, and character. A perfect shelter from the rain.

We came for the wine (Calabrian, of course), and stayed for the people-watching and perfectly assembled slow food taglieri—wooden boards piled with spicy local salami, delicate slivers of prosciutto, wedges of pecorino, and crostini spread with ‘nduja, tapenade, and sweet onion jam. Our favourite was the scamorza melted cheese topped with nduja. Naughty but so nice! Everything here is thoughtfully chosen, rooted in local pride and generous hospitality. And crucially, it opens before the restaurants, making it the ideal spot for a pre-dinner drink.

And that’s exactly how we met Ursula, a lovely lady from Switzerland also travelling around Calabria, also having a pre-dinner drink and sheltering from the rain. We combined tables, shared stories and tips and listened to each other’s plans for the coming days. She was off to Tropea, where we had just come from. By the time she left for dinner, we’d taught her how to play boxes with just a napkin and a pen, exchanged details and she even offered to host us at her home if we ever visited.

These serendipitous moments are what travelling is all about. So, thank you rain, for once!

Designs for Slow Living

Directly opposite Casa Vela is a scene straight out of a film set. A clothes shop, boldly painted in black and mustard yellow geometric tiles, doubles as both fashion boutique and creative manifesto. Signs outside read like philosophical pick-me-ups: “Made in Scilla,” “Take time to relax,” “In Scilla, you can do nothing.”

The owner, once a high-end fashion designer, with his long white beard and enviable calm, is usually found seated on the steps, surrounded by a rotating cast of cats. Some nap in the doorway, others peer out from racks of colourfully patterned jackets. One particularly relaxed feline sprawled on the cobbles in front of us, belly up, living its best dolce far niente life.

The Art of Doing Nothing

It’s hard to say what made this corner so magnetic, the wine, the atmosphere, the laid-back life philosophy written on the walls, or just the sheer joy of stumbling across somewhere that didn’t feel like it was trying to impress, yet quietly did. In Scilla, it seems, doing nothing is not only encouraged, it’s elevated to an art form.

Scilla wasn’t the easiest place to get to, or the driest, or the obvious choice. But it was absolutely worth it. Authentic, beautiful, and completely unforgettable. And honestly? That’s what we came for.

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