I had two options: the morning flight or the afternoon flight. After returning from a business trip with an early start, the choice was clear. The afternoon flight would give me the rest I needed. Or so I thought.
The day of departure, as I was working, a notification popped up on my phone. “Your flight has been cancelled.” Just like that, my well-thought-out decision turned into a regret.
Now rerouted through Munich, my travel time had just doubled, and the odds of reaching my hotel before midnight were slipping away. But at least they had rebooked me for the same day—small mercies in a world where cancellations could mean a complete change of plans.
Flying nowadays feels like a circus act. Squeezing yourself, your bag, and your jacket into a seat barely big enough for a child—it’s not exactly the picture of luxury. But hey, until I find my way out of commercial flights, this is the reality. Another round of boarding lines, another battle for overhead space. Hardly exciting, but I reminded myself: this trip was about adventure.
Three and a half hours in Munich airport felt like a scavenger hunt—shuttle buses, shuttle trains, terminals that stretched endlessly. Eventually, at 10:30 p.m., I landed in Rome Fiumicino, also known as Leonardo da Vinci Airport. If only I had checked the train schedules beforehand, I would have been better prepared.
I rushed to a ticket machine, bought a ticket for the Leonardo Express departing in three minutes, and sprinted towards the tracks. Too little, too late. All I saw were the fading red lights of the train disappearing into the night. A nearby policeman gave me an encouraging “kirittää”—a Finnish term meaning “hurry up”—but the train was long gone. The next one? Thirty minutes away.
Arriving late in an unfamiliar city is never my ideal scenario, and Rome’s central station isn’t exactly a place I’d choose to linger. That’s why I had booked a hotel half an hour’s walk away from Roma Termini. It wasn’t the evening stroll I had envisioned, but at 12:30 a.m.—six hours later than planned—I finally arrived.
The next morning was another early start. No escaping that. The Frecciarossa high-speed train to Reggio Calabria was leaving Roma Termini at 7:30 a.m., with or without me. I could have taken a later train, sure, but this was the only one that would get me to Palizzi before sunset. So, at 6:15 a.m., my alarm blared.
You know that feeling when excitement trumps exhaustion? It wasn’t adrenaline, just a quiet, determined energy. Brush teeth, get dressed, check out, head to the station. The morning was crisp but sunny.
The train departed on time, beginning its 750-kilometer, seven-and-a-half-hour journey. The first stretch was shrouded in fog, concealing the landscape, but once the mist lifted, the scenery pulled me in.
Napoli, with Vesuvius looming in the background. Campania rolling past in sun-drenched hues. Calabria, where the tracks ran parallel to the sea, offering glimpses of kite surfers dancing with the wind.
Reggio Calabria is as close as you can get to Sicily without actually being on the island—just five kilometers separate the two. I had a little under an hour and a half before my next train, enough time for a quick lunch and to soak in the balmy air. In late January, temperatures here felt like a Nordic spring. No jacket required.
The next leg of the journey was slower—a regional train covering 60 kilometers in nearly two hours. But who could complain? The train snaked along the coastline, dramatic cliffs rising to one side, the shimmering Ionian Sea stretching endlessly to the other.
Palizzi is a small town nestled in the Aspromonte hills, home to just over two thousand people. It carries echoes of Greek, Byzantine, and Norman influences, and to my surprise, some locals still speak Greko, an ancient Greek dialect.
Technically, the train station is in Palizzi Marina, the coastal extension of the town. The temperature read 20°C, and it felt every bit as warm as it looked.
I had come all this way for one thing: to reach the southernmost point of mainland Italy. Yet, even standing in Palizzi, I couldn’t shake my doubt. From the map, Melito di Porto Salvo seemed just as far south—maybe even more so.
Had I come all this way only to stand in the wrong place? I checked and rechecked my coordinates, even googled it on the spot. My heart pounded as I compared distances, zooming in and out on my map. Finally, I was sure. I was in the right place.
Now, I just had to get to the actual point. A low-ceilinged underpass led me to the beach, and from there, it was only a short walk. The only awkward part was passing a private property that nearly extended to the shore. If the water level had been just a little higher, I would have needed to take a much longer detour. The resident dogs barked wildly as I passed. Hopefully, they were all bark and no bite.
To my surprise, two other travelers had also made the pilgrimage to this obscure landmark. I let them take their photos first, wanting to savor my moment in solitude.
Looking straight south, Libya lay 750 kilometers beyond the horizon. Rome was much closer, yet from this vantage point, the world felt vast and open. To the west, Sicily loomed. The sky was clear enough that I could see Etna, Europe’s largest active volcano, standing in quiet majesty.
I took my photos, let the waves and the wind fill my senses, and simply existed in the moment. There’s something special about being at the extremes—north, south, west, east, high, low. And once again, I had the rare privilege of enjoying it in solitude. The few locals nearby watched me with curious glances. A stranger, clearly. But I was used to that.
With limited trains passing through Palizzi, I had planned my return around sunset. Before heading back to the station, I stopped at a small supermarket for some refreshments.
My final stop for the day was Roccella Ionica, where I had booked a five-star hotel. The only problem? I had no idea how I would actually get there from the station.
Roccella Ionica was about an hour’s walk away, but I realized that getting off one station earlier would shave off 15 minutes. A taxi would have been the obvious solution, but in this quiet stretch of southern Italy, that was easier said than done.
When I stepped off the train at Gioiosa Jonica, the sun had already set. The air had cooled, and the streets were eerily quiet. Eventually, I made it to the hotel—but how I got there? Let’s just say it wasn’t the grand arrival I had envisioned. But that’s a story for another time.