Palermo Fountains

We are on holiday this week.

My life-saving Aunt is taking care of the two hairy monsters and all that comes with being part of our household, while we live it up in sunny Sicily.

Unusually the holiday started on a Tuesday. We have never done that before, but it was designed to provide better cover for work. However, it meant that the day itself felt very strange as we collected our things together and set off whilst everyone else was making their way to their day job.

The flight was a story in itself.

We had to stop over in Rome for a few hours, nothing too sinister. But as the Easyjet leg landed late, our time between flights had been reduced and we had to collect our bags, check-in again and rush through security to board the Alitalia flight to Palermo.  The whole episode was a lesson in chaos theory.

At the check-in desk there was a line of helpful employees and not a soul requiring their help.

We walked up straight to the front of the queue and quickly got sorted out. Good start we thought. We had pre-booked fast track security, and walked up to the gate. The lady on the gate looked at us as if we had just fallen out of a garbage truck, and directed us away back to the queues and economy security.

We showed her our pass again, and this time she actually looked at it. She recognised the date and the flight and then “oh my god, they actually have a legitimate pass.” Grudgingly she let us go through the gate, muttering to herself in disgust.

We then made straight for the boarding gate.

In Italy they have a very different method for managing waiting passengers. Firstly, they don’t provide enough seats for everyone to sit down, or even half of the passengers. Then they create a sort of maze of barriers that everyone walks into to queue. Because everyone wants to be at the front, there is a lot of pushing in and not a lot of reading the signs.

Everyone crushed into the queue for seats 1-18 and no one queued in the 18-35 seat queue. The reason the airline split the seats is to board from the back, so being in the 18-35 queue is actually an advantage. But most people are not having any of it and jostle for position.

Meanwhile, life runs at a gentle canter in the Alitalia world. The plane was delayed and the people departing the plane slowly wandered around the terminal stopping to chat in the corridor, blocking all the remaining passengers from leaving the plane. Once, they had all kissed each other and said good bye, the queue started moving again and the plane unloaded. This took in the region of 25 minutes. When one compares that to Ryan Air who can unload and reload a plane in less than 15 minutes it really is very slow. But quite in keeping with the Italian way. Why rush to do something when you could take your time?

Slowly the waiting masses were let off the leash. Realising their mistake in queuing in the wrong place, many people swapped lines and jostled with each other to get to the front. The people in the original queue soon realised that they were being held back and surged forwards to ensure they were on first. So in effect, the priority boarders, back seat flyers and front seat flyers all boarded at the same time causing chaos and much consternation was had by all.

The aircraft staff seeing the chaos ensue, stood back and watched. They had clearly been here before – I suspect on every other flight they have boarded. Everyone had much to say, all of which we didn’t understand a word of.

Finally we got onto the plane. We had ordered extra legroom, but now we were in executive class. So that’s why it cost so much for a few extra inches!

Palazzi Di Normandi

Once we arrived in Palermo, the arrangement was for us to meet a man in the bar who would drive us to our accommodation.

We made our way to the bar and watched every man sitting on his own looking for a chink in their cover. Several stared back as if to say – what is your problem.

One man spotted us and stood up, saying something in Italian that led us to believe we were his client. We started to make our way out, when we mentioned our name again and he looked at us blankly. Sure enough, he was not our host. Just a stray taxi driver waiting for a ride and seeing an opportunity in two expectant English tourists.

After 20 minutes of waiting, and then phoning, and then more waiting, I wandered around the terminal. On the far side, looking at each arriving passenger with hope in his eyes, I found a man with our name on his clipboard. He had been waiting for us and we had been waiting for him, but in different places.  Don’t you just love airport arrangements.

Finally, we arrived at our accommodation.

Palermo Market

Climbing out of the taxi, the first thing that struck me was the piles of rubbish that lined the streets. This wasn’t just one or two piles, but mounds of it surrounded by scores of mangy cats and dogs all looking for their latest meal.

We were staying in the old town and the streets there are exceptionally narrow. So the rubbish was actually forming an obstacle for people trying to walk.

A kind of culture shock grabbed us. I hope the rest of the city is better than this. It seems so third-world in its rubbish culture.

We ventured out for a meal. As we sat amongst piles of rubbish, next to a generator we tried to put a brave face on it. It’s not so bad if you concentrate on the food.

The next morning said it all.

We were staying right in the middle of the main street market. The piles of rubbish were the left over remnants of the day’s business. Suddenly, the initial feeling was gone and the realisation of a faded grandeur took over.

The market was great. Everyone was selling produce that we would die for in the UK. Fish as fresh as the sea itself, vegetables that you can taste with your eyes and peaches the size of tennis balls and as sweet as sugar.

Palermo is not pretty, but it has a rugged charm and the architecture is quite magnificent.

Just make sure you know where you are landing if you venture there.

Mountain Region

This morning we set out for the next stage of our journey, Cefalu.

On the way there we decided to make a detour to a not well known cork oak forest. At first the road winded a bit and then climbed. Then it started to quieten down such that we were in no particular hurry. We had equipped ourselves with a couple of panini and two arancini.  I could write an essay on the quality of the arancini, something I hadn’t really discovered until now.

At last we came to a sign post for the forest we sought to explore.

Five miles later we realised that someone had helpfully turned the sign around and sent us off onto a detour. We retraced our steps and got onto the right road. I say road, but I really mean track. Because after a mile or two it turned from a paved track to a gravel track and then onto what I can only describe as a river bed on a hill.

We stopped at the top of a particularly steep bit of river bed and thought hard about whether we should continue.

I looked at the car, and then my better half. Let’s go for it was our mutual thought and we took the plunge. Finally, we found a visitor centre and stopped to consume our food. It is amazing how adrenalin makes you hungry.

Once we had eaten we set-off for a walk. We walked slowly for a mile or two through difficult terrain.

The place was alive with many, many insects. Butterflies we have never seen, grasshoppers and crickets, and lots of beetles. There is nothing like this in the UK. The vegetation was so different to home, and the views were magnificent. Although the walk was short, it was a good find by my better half.

Making our way back we noticed from a distance that the gate to the visitor centre was now shut and seemingly locked. The conversation with the warden now came back to haunt us. I had described a 1 hour walk in my best Italian, but I think he had agreed that he would shut the gate at 1pm, and therefore our understanding was rather unaligned. We both thought we knew what each other had meant, but in reality we were miles apart.

The image of sleeping in the car, and making our small bottle of water last for 12 hours came to mind. How would we cope without a decent meal and a good bottle of Nero D’Avola.

Thankfully on closer inspection he had just closed the gate but we could still get out. As we drove up the river bed towards civilisation, the car started to falter. At one point I honestly thought that the Fiat 500 was not going to make it, and we would be rolling back down the hill. Thankfully, much revving in 1^st gear had the ultimate effect and we escaped.

Cefalu

I had let my better half book ahead and I had not really read enough about what was to come.  Extra hours in Poland and Coventry had not allowed me the research I normally enjoy.

I hoped for a less busy place than Palermo, somewhere to soak in the sites and endure some great food and wine.

Well, we have not been disappointed.

What a place Cefalu is!

As I sat on the bottom of the steps in front of the cathedral, eating my three scoop gelato, looking at happy tourists eating their dinners, I realised that my holiday had really started.

I am not a lover of very touristy places, but there is a real charm about this place, and it will fill a gap in my schedule quite nicely thank you.

The holiday will continue next week, so apologies if you are expecting further adventures from the garden. That will have to wait until we come back.

To be continued ……..

Everything is Puffing ITs Cheeks Out

As always I have looked out some different music for the driving on holiday. Apple music has suggested many things, but I have downloaded “Hits of ‘77”, a compilation of records from a bygone era.

This classic is a one that is not played often because it is rather long. You get full marks if you can last the whole tune.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PMuePyV1nr8

 Have a great weekend!

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