OMINI and Donne. That’s all the signs on the door said- “Uomini” on one door, “Donne” on the other. A little context... I was traveling with my brother to the Sicilian town of Taormina. Chilled to the bone from a dip in the Ionian sea in October, I needed to use a bathroom. Prontissimo. The bathroom doors, however, didn’t have the universal pictorial label of the figure in the dress with narrow waist and broad hips to guide me.
With just Uomini and Donne to work with, it was hard to tell. Don Corleone, many Dons gathering- Donne Corleone and Umbrizzi, I thought. And Uomini sounded female. With such irrefutable logic, and pressure on the bladder increasing, I was about to storm into Uomini, when I remembered Giuseppe Verdi’s La Donna e mobile”, the aria to women’s inconsistency. One fickle Donna, many capricious Donnes? I was stumped.
Fortunately, Italian for the most part, was very easy to understand. Within a day of landing in Catania, a bustling city on the east coast, we were arrividerci-ing and prego-ing with the best of them. Most of the time though, we were exclaiming “bellissima”, and “yummy!”
Particularly in Taormina. The town is achingly pretty- perched on a hillside looking into the Ionian sea. The best view in town was from the ancient Greek theatre (Sicily was a part of Magna Graecia), converted to a Roman theatre from where we could see both Mount Etna and the sea below. As a setting to watch a show, it rather left poor old PVR in the shade.
The beach too was spectacularo, pebbly and picture postcard coloured. Leaning over from the cliffs, we could see all the way to the rocks at the bottom. On entering the water, we could swim with the fish, with one hand outstretched to grasp a fat tailfin. Of course, with refraction, and slow reflexes, we never touched any, emerging from the water muttering “Parallax error” before diving right back in.
Another attraction in the bay was Isola Bella, a former private island converted to a nature reserve that could be entered by special permission only. Joining a party of nuclear physicists we entered the island. It had been owned by a wild bunch of partygoers, and had such clever things as secret passages for lovers, concealed gateways, a private rocky pool, and a hidden crevice for a phone instrument. Of course, if it were built today and the lady of the house was carrying on with the pool boy over her cell phone, you would be perfectly justified in pointing at her and singing, “la Donna e mobile!”
From the James Bond setting of Isola Bella, we made our way to a more desolate landscape-Mount Etna. At over 10,000 ft, it is Europe’s highest active volcano. The drive up to Aetnea is unreal. The villages at the bottom are fertile and full of grape and lemon orchards. As we went higher, the lush greenery gave way to scrub, then grass, and finally sheets of black powder, with nothing growing. All the while, groups of cyclists whirled dizzily down the hairpin bends. The frightening part was the dull booming sound that came from somewhere up in the mist. It distinctly felt like entering Mordor.
Cars are parked at Refugia Sapienza, after which it’s a funicular ride up. Despite having only ash and no surfaces to scribble on, young Italians have managed to post messages to their loved ones. Pebbles were arranged to say, “Nicola ti amo” (I love you, Nicola).
From the funicular station, we could either take a bus up (wimps!) or walk. The Athale siblings chose to walk 10 km, roundtrip, steeply uphill, in the gathering mist. Passing the remains of huts destroyed by a large eruption in
2004, we trudged upwards, getting ever short
of breath. As the mist grew thicker, even buses were not visible until they passed right by
us. Trails were flattened by bus treads, but
though it was tempting to take a shortcut, with the featureless landscape and heavy fog, it could prove very dangerous.
We walked past the occasional group, fingers numbed, faces bend down. Strangel, the only living things on the hillsides were tiny red ladybugs. Pondering the mystery of how they got there, and what they could possibly eat to survive, we finally reached the top. A warm hut doled out snacks and drinks, while groups walked towards nearby craters.
We walked on the edge of one, feeling the warmth in the ground. The booming was louder and more threatening, but we didn’t see any lava erupt. Perhaps it was just as well, as we had to walk down to the funicular, before the last one left at 4 pm.
Q U I C K FACTS
Getting There:
Sicily is a mere 2
miles from the mainland, closest to
the “boot-tip” region of Calabria.
High season is June-September, when flights are difficult to got. April-May and late-Sept-October are good in-between times and November to March is low season. Sicily has no direct international flights, most of them usually touching Milan or Rome first. But it is plentifully connected from within Italy. Car journeys can be done but more popular are trains, that take one hour to cross via barges to eastern Sicily. The entire trip from Rome to Palermo takes about 10 hours.
Staying there:
As would nbe natural at such a popular tourist destination, there are plenty of places to stay in Sicily, fitting all budgets. Online booking is easy. And going around the Mediterranean island is also fairly easy, via bus or train; but give the sheer beauty of the countryside, the best way around is by car.
Doing there:
Start with Palermo’s Palazzo dei Normanni, Museo Archeológico Regionale and Monreale the mosaic-laden cathedral, then see Messina and especially Cefalù. Medieval Taormina is a must do as are Mount Etna and Siracusa. Further on there’s Agrigento and its Greek Valle di Templi (Valley of Temples), Piazza Armerina, Trapani, Ragusa and the wine-producing city of Marsala! And of course Siracusa (Syracuse) and historic Roman, Greek and Baroque buildings.
