Sicily – pizzas and pandas

Etna schmokin'

I want to tell you what Sicily tastes like. It isn’t the pizzas that are eaten here for breakfast, lunch and tea; nor is it the lemons which hang heavy off almost every tree. It isn’t the thick, slurry like coffee that is cheaper and more readily available than water, nor is it the creamy gelato that come in every flavour imaginable. No, Sicily tastes of fear. A hard metallic fear that is actually blood from the freshly bitten hole on the inside of your cheek. The good, the bad and plain crazy of Sicily are all on display on the roads.

Our first taste of Sicilian roads was within minutes of arriving when we turned up at a certain crap car rental company (Budget, so sue me, I’m gonna sue you guys anyway – other crap car rental companies are available) to pick up our intermediate size car (Golf or equivalent, with five doors, air con and a boot for 3 backpacks and a tent). The nice Budget lady (Victoria V) told us we’d been upgraded from our Golf to a Fiat 500.

                ‘Wow, thank you’ said we,

                ‘No problem’ said she, ‘you deserve an upgrade, a smart car for 3 smart ladies’

                It took us 10 minutes to find the car. Imagine our surprise when we decided to locate it by using the remote unlocking system to see which car lit up.

A car for borrowers not humans!

                ‘There must be some mistake’ said we, ‘this is a smart car indeed.’

                But there was no mistake, and we had indeed learnt some Italian- Cinquecento = car for borrowers. We joined the queue at afore mentioned crap car hire company to argue about our upgrade. Cutting a long story short, an hour later we had been offered another upgrade. You know you are looking at a pretty rubbish automobile situation if a Fiat Panda is the better option. A Fiat Panda with no boot. I dragged Victoria V outside and asked her to try and fit 3 large backpacks, 4 small backpacks and a flight bag with a tent into a Fiat Panda. Well and truly defeated she relented and gave us a filthy Hyundai i20 (which I later wet wiped the exterior of, much to the bemusement of our camping neighbours), and so we were on our merry way. We were feeling pretty smug, until we realised there is a reason why everyone in this country drives small, crap cars – so they can fit two cars to each lane, so they can bump into each other without minding, and so they can drive down pavements to reach their destination those precious few seconds faster. Sicilian drivers don’t indicate, don’t park, don’t watch the road, don’t drive in set lanes, don’t wait at junctions, don’t follow one way traffic and often don’t drive in the right direction. The only rule of driving in Sicily is there are no rules. It is terrifying, exciting and exhilarating all at once. Imagine if you never had to wait at a roundabout again, you just ploughed forwards onto it, holding your hand out of the window in apology and honking angrily at anyone in your way.  The Driver has totally embraced Sicilian driving, The Photographer and myself are much more wary.

                After a three hour drive we arrived at the East Coast, and headed straight for our campsite, Camping Panorama in Acireale. We checked the facilities, all seemed in order- a boarded up mini market with empty shelves, 1 functioning (but leaking) toilet, 1 functioning shower (minus a lock). And one postcard perfect view, stretching north up the coast with tiny village after tiny village precariously perched on cliff tops, and a sea twinkling all the way to the Italian mainland. And that, my friends, is why we camp.

Camping in Europe allows you to visit places you would never otherwise see (and might never want to!), and it allows you to feel the essence of a country – the things which make a country itself, and not just an imitation of itself. Like the fact that in Sicily no toilets have toilet seats, and 90% of the businesses are closed. All the time. The other night we ventured into a town, and walked past 6 closed restaurants, 3 closed bars and an open hair salon. I could get a cut and blow, but not a beer. At Camping Panorama, the restaurant, bar and mini market were closed the whole time we were there. The pizzeria opened every other evening (just for us as far as we could tell). When it closed, we moved onto another pizzeria down the road, and were the only guests there (apart from a funeral party who arrived at 9pm one night).

So what can you see on East Coast Sicily? How about a live volcano?! Mount Etna dominates the landscape. She sits high above the vineyards and lemon trees reminding everyone that she could spoil everything if she pleased. She spews out a near constant cloud of ash and is permanently topped with patches of grey/white snow. She is perhaps best seen from a distance, Taormina, a slightly overrated town father north on the east coast has the remains of a beautiful Greek Roman amphitheatre (imaginatively called Teatro Greco), over which Etna towers. There is something powerful about these 3000 year ruins, all that remains of two of the greatest ancient civilisations, dominated still by the perfectly intact and breathing volcano. A reminder of the brevity of us humans in the history of the world.

Archaeology + volvanoes=happy travel bug. Just need a dinosaur now!

We braved a scary drive to Etna base camp (Refugio Sapienza) , where there is a huge car park, a few tacky souvenir stalls, and most random of all, a country bar which was holding a line dancing event. On a Tuesday lunchtime. There is just no predicting Sicilian businesses.What’s more it was packed. It seems the thing to do this lunchtime was brave the two hour terror of a drive up the largest live volcano in Europe and line dance. The base camp is close to a couple of small and dormant craters which we wandered around. It is not really possible to get an idea of the scale or danger of the volcano from here though. The best hint of this is the lava folds as tall as me, which remain frozen, lapping the outskirts of the car park. These have a very precarious feel, similar to a glacier, of something that is sleeping, but very much alive which could shatter the calm at any minute.

jumping on Etna

              The Photographer and I travelled further up in a wobbly cable car, but we were just specks of dust on this monster, and we couldn’t get anywhere near its mouth, so we headed out to the coast again where we could see Etna yawning down on the whole island.

                We also visited Syracuse, or Ortygia, to be more exact. This is one of many quaint medieval towns in Sicily. Each town has a huge Duomo, a sparkling square, palm trees, city walls and amazing ice creams. They also have free or cheap parking. I suppose if you are stupid enough to drive in Sicily you deserve some reward at least.

Ortygia has no public toilets. We headed to tourist information to try and locate some, and were shown into the Municipal Offices, where men in suits smoked and waited for us dirty, dusty backpackers to finish using their posh (but still seat-less) toilet. Embarrassed and flattered we decided to stop being tight and buy a coffee for our next wee.

                And so to Sicilians. On the whole we have found people to be kind and sweet (Budget Car Hire aside). We have been undercharged at almost every restaurant, and we have been offered help by many Sicilians – from bringing us a mallet to bang bent pegs into lava filled ground, to diving into the ocean to rescue my hat. Everywhere has checked for Uova (pretty sure I know the Italian for ‘Mum, the English people want to know if this has egg in?’), and often we have been brought delicious Italian starters whilst we wait for our food. They are also sweetly responsive to our odd British requests (‘Aqua Calda?!’ exclaimed our waiter, ‘but what for?’ I mimed drinking and my hot water arrived in a jug, with two lemons and a sugar sachet. The bemused staff watched, disbelieving, as I did indeed drink it.)

                The food defies belief. Incredible pizzas, desserts of fried pizza dough with nutella, and if you tire of pizza (and lets face it, that is possible after 12 in a four day period) you can have the local tax free alternative to a Greggs – Arancine, which is a bit like a risotto ball, dipped in breadcrumbs and fried – delicious.

                I write this blog in the sun, by the Mediterranean, near Cefalu, staying on a campsite with another soviet style mini market (empty and closed), clean toilets with no seats, a restaurant which opens every other night, and a site for our tents on a private terrace which literally overlooks the sea. All for E9 a night. You just can’t argue with that!