Dots on the Map: Sicilia- A Misadventure for the Ages

Don't get me wrong. Sicilia was tremendously fun. But with that in mind, every plan Gina and I made went awry. More often than not, this was to our benefit. To explain this phenomenon, all I can offer is that Sicilia is a place unique unto itself, with a life and spirit of its one.

My Sicilian adventures started on easter day as I boarded my flight out of Portugal back to Milano and was informed by the lady at the check-in desk that I must check my guarenteed universal carry-on bag. Considering I was due to arrive in Milano at 6:30 and my flight to Sicilia boarded at 7:15 (with the bold printed warning on my boarding pass "IF YOU'RE LATE, WE WON'T WAIT), thus began my State Of Panic. I arrived in Milano, waited at the baggage carrosal for my checked carry-on, finally grabbed it, rushed toward the boarding gates and was told I must go back upstairs and go through security again. I ran upstairs, got through security and was informed with a very pessimistic tsk that I was in the wrong terminal and needed to catch a shuttle over to the second terminal located way out in nowhere land. By then it was 6:57. I ran through the rain, jumped on a shuttle and sat and waited for 5 minutes before the driver decided to drive at a snails pace across the airport to my terminal. Upon arriving I bolted out the door, ran (at this point feeling the burn) through the crowds, and was told at the security line that I must fit my "purse" inside my carry-on bag. 7:16- Purse stuffed into a now bulging bag, I ran up to security and proceeded to get chatted up by a very interested inspector. Looked up at the departure board (my flight was flashing "now boarding"), I tersely answered that yes, like my passport said, I was from America, yes I liked Italy, no, I'm actually living here, and was eventually rewarded by the returning of my passport and the reassurance, "don't worry, you have plenty of time." 7:23- bag in hand, boots back on, I flailed down the hallway toward my gate and arrived to see a que of people jostling onto the plane. Flushed and still coursing with adrenalin, I carried my bag up the steps and was on my way.

I arrived in Palermo to find the last bus had left an hour ago, and was forced to stomach the expense for a Taxi to Trapani where I was to meet Gina at our pre-reserved B&B. After driving around the streets of Trapani for 20 minutes, my driver finally agreed to talk/yell with the B&B manager and we eventually arrived at Viale Don Matteo, a street too small to drive on. Fortunately, my taxi driver needed to use the restroom and therefore accompanied me down the small dark alley, into the dank kitty-litter odored entry, up the steep, rickety, marijuana odored staircase into my reasonably cute, decent smelling, but chilly damp room. Taxi driver paid, keys received, I was left alone, in my chilly room, unable to contact family or Gina on Easter night. Fortunately, Gina arrived about an hour later, we laughed about our "charming" budget accommodation, and went to sleep.

TRAPANI...

We set out exploring the next morning, walked the beach, were appalled at the pervasive garbage, arrived at the ruins of an old villa and met some very friendly, very high German boys currently camping within the ruins.

From there we headed inward, purchased some blood oranges and olives, and set home. We somehow ended up on the opposite side of the train-tracks, which had no crossing point until well into the boringly ugly, utilitarian modern city center (ugly construction said to be the fault of the unchecked mafia presence). We crossed the tracks, followed sign and trudged along a long dusty road the desolate Industrial District. About a half hour, 5 car horn honks, 1 dead cat carcass, and much delusional laughter later we finally ended up reaching the port near our B&B. So overjoyed arriving and seeing water, we promptly sat at the waters edge and ate all of our groceries. As it turns out, part of the reason our trek through the doldrums of Trapani had seemed so forlorn was that it was siesta hour(s) and the town was vacated as all the locals had fled on post-Easter day-trips. Allora...

We recovered and rallied and explored the entirety of every nook and cranny of the very charming, very, very small historic city center in a few hours.

It has some pretty ocean views.

The locals started to emerge in the growing cover of dusk. We ate and with lack of an alternative and no desire to stay in our damp room, we headed back out to re-explore the city center, running into the parade of local young-people in cars and vespas at every turn. Apparently that is what they do for fun in Trapani, they drive around together for hours on end. That pretty much sums up Trapani. We were very excited to catch the bus to Palermo the next morning.

PALERMO.

We arrived in Palermo, found the entrance to our hostel without too much trouble, opened the immense outer doors and entrained into a dilapidated barren courtyard. Gina and I exchanged looks of panic, but dragged our bags up the four flights of stairs and rang the bell. We were pleasantly surprised to find a bright, clean, comfortable hostel with a very helpful owner who drew us up a map with all the highlight of the city. As per usual, Gina and I first set off to find some food, and ended up finding our favorite part of Palermo- the food market.

Fresh fruits, veggies, biscotti, cheeses, olives, meat and fish crowded the streets. We purchased our food and then explored the other markets and the historic cites of the city.

If it appears to you that Palermo is slightly dilapidated and showing its age, you are correct. Between piles of garbage on the streets and obvious neglect, Palermo is a city that is literally crumbling apart. It is a city that bears its heart on its sleeve and assaults your every sense with its essence.

That night, Gina and I met up with some friends she had made in Malta that were actually from Palermo. As it turns out, they were serious recreational salsa dancers, and very eager teachers. On the way home, we got pulled over at a National Police road-block. Yup, we are dangerous criminals needing deportation. After a full night of being twirled and spun every which way, Gina and I stumbled to bed and slept away the good part of the morning. The next day we once again hit up the markets, scoring tropo cibo, and visited the Catacombs of Cappuccini (that's right, we saw dead people). We walked around all evening and ended up hanging out with two Germans and an Irishman at our hostel. The next day we made our farewell visit to the market, I purchased 2 euros of oranges which ended up being more than I could carry (luckily the Germans ran into us and I unloaded a third of my bag).

CATANIA.

Note to anyone traveling to Sicily: the only direction you will ever get out of a Sicilian is "Siempre Drieto" or "always straight". Unfortunately for Gina and I, things are not always "siempre drieto", and we ended up dragging our overflowing bags up and down every curb in Catania in an hour long circle around town to our hostel that was literally within sight of the bus-station. This probably was the low of the trip, at one point we ended up on the right street, in a Piazza with half of the correct name, sitting on the curb looking at each other in near destitution. Thankfully, I couldn't have asked for a better travel companion, and we did make it to the hostel without any tears, swearing, yelling or anger toward each other. We explored the beautiful, Clean, city center, sampling local pastries along the entire way.

The next morning we rose early and took the only bus up to Mt. Etna at 8:15. The bus drops you off at the base, where Gina and I both quickly invested in another layer to stave off the bitter cold (our Spring Break clothing didn't quite cut it). We purchased a ticked and went up the venicular. This is what we found. A path cut through the snow.

Engulfed by clouds- very disorienting.

But onward and upward we trudged until we reached a refuge, into which we followed a paying tour group. We hung out for a bit until everyone left, and as we were leaving, one of the mountain guides, little Nino, noticed Gina's eyes (2 different colors) and we all became friends.

Little Nino, pictured above, took us on a free private tour of the crater. His brother Salvo was very chivalrous and gave Gina and I each a half of his coat (hey, it helped). We felt the hot spot created by the heat of the crater- and were very hesitant to move- cosy.

But we went inside and old Nino gave us some of the steaming hot pasta with fennel and beans the guides were eating for lunch! Best pasta ever. Then we got a tour of the crater, the old lava-squished refuge, and...

We got to climb into an ice cave! And After that, old Nino made young Nino make us coffee. Then they closed up for the day and we all went back down the mountain in their extreme mountain jeep, the guides singing and teasing us the entire way. OH, and yeah, all this happened while speaking ITALIAN. THE WHOLE TIME!

Gina and I spent the next day killing time as we were forced to take a much later train than intended, at a higher cost of course. We wandered through the markets and I learned that if you wear a skirt in Sicily the men will loveeee you and stare and chat and give you samples of everything whether you want it or not, and the woman will give you death glares. Somehow, we still had room for dinner and had a secret, apparently contraband, picnic dinner at a castello, got kicked out, and headed home to Milano.