Undaunted we programmed Sergio, the mute navigation computer, for the hotel in Palermo. The drive was uneventful. We arrived in Palermo, the largest city on Sicily, Sunday afternoon. The city was:
“UGLY”, Dan.” Nazy said.
It was hard to disagree: our “4-star” hotel was located in a “0-star” neighbourhood. A used tire store was next door. The nearby residential district could best be described by the word ‘slum’. Determined to be positive, we took a city tour. It was a very unique tour as I explained to Nazy.
“Unique?” She asked. “In what way?”
“Most city tours pass by interesting sites.”
“But..”
“Precisely! There are no interesting sites in Palermo. The whole country is one large, multi-dimensional disaster. They have ancient ruins, medieval ruins, 17th Century Ruins, 18th Century Ruins, Baroque Ruins, Roman Ruins..”
“Dan..”
“… World War II ruins. Remember they showed us bombed out buildings…”
“So what?”
“Every other European city rebuilt. What kind of place classifies bombed out buildings from World War II as a ‘highlight’? This place revels in ruin. In fact it exudes a multisensory experience.”
“What?”
“They don’t pick up the garbage. The place not only looks like a ruin..”
“… slum..”
“…it smells like a ruin, eh, slum.”
We went back to the hotel to regroup. We had been looking forward to Palermo, the capital city of Sicily, because we would be able to get new passports and escape. Unfortunately, there was no American Consulate in Palermo. Worse, now no one seemed to know whether it would be possible for us to fly back to Zürich without a passport. Things were looking rather grim.
Bent, but not broken, we followed anniversary evening tradition and looked for a nice restaurant. We eschewed the hotel’s recommendation that we stroll through the centre of Palermo. We decided instead to drive to Mendello, a nearby resort city. Unfortunately, Sergio, the navigation computer, had not heard of Mendello. In fact, he had not heard of any city near Palermo. In a move of incredible bravery, we simply drove off trying to keep the sea to our right. The roads were crowded (our doors were locked). We dodged potholes, watermelon carts, motorbikes and meandering pedestrians and dogs. Eventually:
“This is what I thought Sicily would look like, Dan.” Nazy said. “Villas facing the sea. People strolling around the promenade. It looks nice.”
By some miracle we found a parking place right in front of a Michelin-starred restaurant. We were able to get a table on the waterfront with a wonderful view of Mount Pellegrino. The meal was spectacular. Sergio successfully navigated us back to our hotel. (Unfortunately, the neighbourhood was seedy; Nazy was afraid to get out of the car.)
By the next morning, it became clear that we couldn’t fly back to Zürich. We would have to stop in Naples to get new passports. Worse, it wasn’t clear that the Italians would even let us fly to Naples without passports.
Gloom threatened to invade our revelry. We simplified the invasion by heading into the city center.
Back at the hotel – as quickly as possible – Nazy asked the concierge for suggestions.
“Can you recommend a boat trip?” Nazy asked. “We need to escape,” I thought.
“You could go to Favigiana Island,” the clerk replied. “It’s lovely.”
“Can we leave from the port in Palermo?” Nazy asked. “Please?” I thought.
“No, you have to drive to Trapani.” “Happiness is Palermo in my rear-view mirror,” I thought.
We stopped in Mendello for lunch (it didn’t look quite as nice in the light of day) and then drove (2 hours) to Trapani. Nazy booked the hydrofoil to Favigiana. Using the Italian I had picked up in our negotiations with the police [], I located our departure dock.
The hydrofoil arrived at the, eh, an island. We got off. There was nothing on this particular island. We waited – a long time – for the return boat. At sunset, the boat back to Trapani arrived. After a 4 minute journey it stopped in Favigiana: the picturesque island of shops and restaurants. (This is where we should have gone in the first place.) It was, unfortunately, now too late; we couldn’t stay. We continued on to Trapani and drove back to Palermo.
The next morning, as we planned our escape, I asked Nazy if she was having trouble with the towels.
“The towels?”
“Yes. My towel gets wet, but it doesn’t make me dry.”
“It’s a miracle, Dan.”
The drive to Letojanni was smooth, but as we progressed, mobile telephone calls made it clear that we wouldn’t be going home on Thursday. The Italian police report had expired and the airline wouldn’t let us board. As we drove past Mt. Etna, the largest and most active volcano in Europe, I was of two minds. On the one hand, I hoped that Mount Etna would erupt and move Catania into the Ionian Sea. On the other hand, we were driving on the slopes of Mount Etna and I realized, given the way things had been going that it was more likely that lava would engulf Nazy, me and the Alph. However, I decided to ‘be positive’:
“This is supposed to be the most beautiful place on our tour, Nazy.” I began.
“That won’t be hard.”
“Mount Etna and the Ionian Sea: what could be better?”
“Hmm..”
“There’s a wonderfully preserved Greek Theatre.”
“Isn’t that where they used to perform Tragedies?”
“Well..”
“Sophocles would have loved writing about this trip.”
“Now, now..”
“I can easily imagine a Chorus chanting lamentations in the background.”
In truth, we enjoyed walking along the Sea. The setting was beautiful. Nazy had a great time collecting rocks that had been sculpted by the Mediterranean – a pastime that I wholeheartedly supported:
“Get as many rocks as you can, Nazy. We will take them back to Zürich. If enough people extract rocks from this cursed island, maybe it will simply vanish.”
We spent most of the next morning discussing alternatives for our return to Zürich. It was clear that we could not take the already scheduled (and paid-for) flight. We had to get to Naples and the American Consulate. Unenthusiastic about an overnight boat that might have gotten us there in time, we found help from a Swiss Travel Agent who happened to live in Letojanni. Flights from Catania to Naples and Naples to Zürich via Milan were booked. Aware that we’d have little time in Naples, we arranged to have our (replacement) passport photos taken in Letojanni. Nazy was not impressed.
“It is a terrible photo, Dan. We need to find another photographer.”
“It is a traditional passport photo, Nazy,” I replied.
“Traditional?”
“Of course. If you look like your passport photo, then you are too sick to travel.”