Sicily was indeed beautiful. It provided many places for taking glorious pictures and allowed us ample opportunity to luxuriate in plenty of endless beaches, with stunning crystal-clear waters. Particularly that of Isola Bella in Taormina. Would recommend, 10/10.
We stayed in an area where actual Italians live. Crazy, no? So, there was a lack of the usual tourist lark. Which was splendid, up until the point where we were aware that we speak very little Italian. A tad foolish of us. But we muddled by in the only way a British couple could. With few words and loud voices. (We did try. Yet it was very clear that we should have perhaps rehearsed some more stock phrases before our arrival. Although, trying to communicate you want a salad with no cheese and ending up with a pizza with no cheese was certainly interesting, and you live and learn from your mistakes, it must be said).
There was much fun on our holiday, including a trip up Mt. Etna. The landscape resembles that of another planet or perhaps a post-apocalyptic scene. It was kinda breathtaking. Both literally and figuratively. I'm really not in shape to be climbing up mountains willy-nilly. Even if I did get the cable car up partway. I'm very glad I did it, though (always appreciate Ethan for making me do these things).
There was also a visit to Palermo. The city (and capital of Sicily) is certainly a mixture, one moment we were travelling along some of the scariest streets possible, the next we were inside the Church of San Cataldo watching a baptism take place. The history and architecture of the place was truly incredible. It's a city steeped in history and beauty and there was also a very good dog we met. What else need there be?
Thus, it was mostly a relaxing and beautiful time. Up until the very last day, on our return to Catania airport.
That's when things got a tad... stressful.
To say the least.
We had a rental car for the duration of our trip, a cute lil Citroen C1 that got us to the many places we traversed over the course of the week. It was fun and it did its job for us.
Apparently until we needed it to.
Picture this. Italian motorway, sweltering heat, lots of roadworks. We're travelling along. Everything is hunky-dory.
Until we realise that we need petrol. That's fine. We had already planned on getting as much as we could just before we got to the rental place. And we had quite a few kilometres of range left. It'll be fine. Right?
Ha. It wasn't.
Just a few kilometres in and we realise we're in a spot of bother.
No worries. We'll just pull over and call the emergency number. It's okay.
Ring bloody ring. Doesn't fucking work.
Okay. New plan.
I try waving down vehicles. Any vehicle. Given the fact we're on a motorway. Next to a cliff. In between two tunnels. The chances are slim. Nobody is even hinting at slowing down.
Sweet.
BUT WAIT.
On the other side of the motorway, a roadside recovery vehicle turns up.
And passes.
Okay. Well. He saw me. So. Maybe he'll turn back, right?
Meanwhile, Ethan is on the phone. The woman hangs up. Apparently we need to get to a quieter location. IF WE COULD MOVE FROM THE MOTORWAY WE WOULD.
But we can't.
Slight panic. (Ha) We only have an hour and a half to get to the airport. We're 46 minutes away already.
In the midst of our sadness, recovery man appears. He doesn't speak a word of English, and of course, our Italian is lacking. We communicate via Google translate. He speaks to said woman who previously put the phone down on us. He takes us to a petrol station. We thank him and leave him to bestow blessed recoveries on others. What a fucking legend.
We had a rental car for the duration of our trip, a cute lil Citroen C1 that got us to the many places we traversed over the course of the week. It was fun and it did its job for us.
Apparently until we needed it to.
Picture this. Italian motorway, sweltering heat, lots of roadworks. We're travelling along. Everything is hunky-dory.
Until we realise that we need petrol. That's fine. We had already planned on getting as much as we could just before we got to the rental place. And we had quite a few kilometres of range left. It'll be fine. Right?
Ha. It wasn't.
Just a few kilometres in and we realise we're in a spot of bother.
No worries. We'll just pull over and call the emergency number. It's okay.
Ring bloody ring. Doesn't fucking work.
Okay. New plan.
I try waving down vehicles. Any vehicle. Given the fact we're on a motorway. Next to a cliff. In between two tunnels. The chances are slim. Nobody is even hinting at slowing down.
Sweet.
BUT WAIT.
On the other side of the motorway, a roadside recovery vehicle turns up.
And passes.
Okay. Well. He saw me. So. Maybe he'll turn back, right?
Meanwhile, Ethan is on the phone. The woman hangs up. Apparently we need to get to a quieter location. IF WE COULD MOVE FROM THE MOTORWAY WE WOULD.
But we can't.
Slight panic. (Ha) We only have an hour and a half to get to the airport. We're 46 minutes away already.
In the midst of our sadness, recovery man appears. He doesn't speak a word of English, and of course, our Italian is lacking. We communicate via Google translate. He speaks to said woman who previously put the phone down on us. He takes us to a petrol station. We thank him and leave him to bestow blessed recoveries on others. What a fucking legend.
WE'RE ON OUR WAY.
But then.
A bush fire. A build-up of traffic...
No worries. Only about 36 minutes to go. We still have to check in and go through security. No worries. AT ALL.
As we get to the airport, I sprint to the check-in desk with all our baggage in tow, whilst Ethan deals with the car rental. I sort of push in the line. I am instantly met with angry people. I don't blame them. But I'm stressing. And I really need to get to the gate.
We make it to the gate with a minute to spare.
We get on the plane.
There were even people later than us.
All was well.
Never have I been happier to be on an easyjet flight than that moment.
And, in all honestly, despite the whole trauma of the nearly missing our flight experience, we had a beautiful time. So thank you, Sicily, you crazy, wonderful place.
