Sicilian getaways
Sicily’s
rugged beauty and chequered heritage make it an attractive getaway – in the
romantic, not in the Mafia sense of the word. In fact, far from being a shadowy
underworld populated by secretive families and deadly vows of silence, this
beautiful Mediterranean isle – with its eclectic mix of history, culture,
cuisine and laid-back living – is a charming, if often crumbling, retreat.
December 2006
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©2006 K.
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Sulphur-breathing
dragons
No trip to Sicily would be complete without a pilgrimage
to Mount Etna. Ours began early in the morning to catch the one daily bus to
the foot of the volcano. The driver was late and had obviously had a rough
night. En route and to our chagrin, he stopped for a coffee and cigarette break
that was almost as long as the journey!
Etna looms proud, dark and imposing over the
entire region. One can see why so much mythology is associated with the
fearsome power of volcanoes, those forges of the gods. The climb up to the
summit was one of those singular experiences that we will probably be able to
recall vividly into our anecdotage.
The black volcanic rock and gravel on the upper
slopes of Etna made us feel like we were part of an expedition to an alien
planet – and the convey of wispy jeeps as they disappeared into the mist added
to that effect. The upper crater breathed gentle clouds of sulphur like a
sleeping dragon; and we sometimes its bad breath wafted into our nostrils.
Nearer the top, the landscape was shaded by
patches of other colours, including sulphurous yellow, pea green and various
shades of white and grey. Fissures in the ground of varying sizes released
various amounts of steam and we toured around peaking into various smoking
craters. Unfortunately for us, there was no minor eruption, as had occurred
last summer, and we were not treated to any safe larval flows.
As we walked down, the mountain belched several
thick chemical clouds as though a giant – or a nest of dragons – was belching
after brunch. During one particularly loud rumble, we heard a panicked voice
scream out: “Ahh, we’ve got to get out of here!!” This was followed by a chorus
calling out: “Run, David, run!”
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©2006 K. Diab |
©2006 K. Maes |
Walking through clouds is always something of
an ethereal experience. On the way up, we walked through some thin cloud for a
few minutes, but by the time we were heading the other way, it had thickened
considerably. Over the edge of the precipice, the clouds looked almost
substantial, like soft and fluffy sculptures made of cotton wool. On closer
inspection, as we walked through the clouds, they lost their substance and were
transformed into wisps of cold water vapour. Sometimes the air blew hot and
sometimes cold, while visibility dropped to just a few metres. Everything took
on a muffled and ghostly quality and we pretended to have been transported to
the spirit world.
The climb was not as hard as we had expected it
to be, although the constant stream of passing jeeps (carrying the old, frail
and lazy) whipped up enough dusts to be a nuisance. I’d also forgotten my
jacket in the hotel room and, in my T-shirt, things got a bit nippy. Although
we made good progress during our climb, one young man whom we began to refer to
as the ‘Buddhist monk’, because of the ease with which he conquered altitudes,
made incredibly light work of the mountain.
A young Spanish couple who had been on the bus
with us decided unwisely to climb all the way and we’d seen them far below as
we swept past in the cable. In the canteen at the midway point, we found saw
the girl sitting on her own looking miserable who, after a while, paid for a
full cable car ticket to return all the way down again without the privilege of
seeing the volcano close up. We kicked our heels for 2 ½ hours until the only
daily bus to Catania arrived to take us back.
ã2006
K. Diab. Unless otherwise stated, all the content on this website is the
copyright of Khaled Diab.