We done Mount Etna. Shouldn’t have bothered, you can see it much more clearly from breakfast here in Taormina. But it’s gotta be done.

You approach from the south and for miles and miles there’s just massive piles of black, volcanic rock. All spewed down in various, past spewages from Etna. Your first thought is: how would you ever get home insurance here? But generally it’s wonderful. And possibly explains why no one builds houses on that side.

The drive though is instructive. My previous journey in Sicily was from Palermo to our first ‘stop’. And what happens is; speed limits are just ignored. Completely and totally. Except in Palermo where, in fear of either the police or the mafia, everyone slows down and drives at precisely the speed limit. No one wants a ticket, and no one wants their mother kidnapped and ransomed without her ears.

On the highways from Cefalu to Etna, there don’t seem to be any police, nor any observable mafiosi. So you can see Italian drivers in more ‘their natural environment’. And I learned about their roads too. When you see a sign which reads ‘110’, you drive as fast as your car will travel. But if the sign says ‘60’, you apparently go even faster. ‘40’ means ‘as fast as you fucking can’, whilst ‘30’ is there merely for humour. And if you’re more than 6 inches from the guy in front’s back bumper you’re a tosser in any language.

And now we’re in Taormina, possibly the most stunningly beautiful town in the entire Mediterranean and, sadly, made famous by ‘the White Lotus’ tv show. Sadly? Because every day, to this amazing place, literally carved into the mountainside in a gorgeous cove, the Devil arrives. Immense, diesel-chugging behemoths floating into the bay, each causing its own shadow as it creeps in. The only sound it makes which can heard over the engines is that of 6,000 Americans shouting ‘Oh my gaahd, Harry, this is sooooo cute!!! Can we buy it?’ I stood on my hotel room balcony demonstrating, shouting “GO BACK TO VENICE!!!” Yet to no avail. Probably because they’re banned from Venice now. Because no one wants cruise ships. Except the local sellers of tut and souvenier rubbish who hike their prices in their honour. Which I don’t care about at all. But I worry they may inflate the price of ice creams. And that I care deeply about.

Cruising is not for me. One day, maybe, when I’m old…

Happy Thursday

A xxxx