Mountains

On the train between Catania and Taormina Giardini

It's a warm day and Etna is clear against a blue sky on my left and the sea on my right. I'm getting familiar with this route having been up and down this route twice before.

Beyond that medieval Hill town over there, that will be new country.

Already it's lusher and more fertile, lemons, plant nurseries, vines, like Nonnos garden.

Morning Glory grows like a weed over the trees close to the railway line. Lantana is grown as a pretty garden flower everywhere I've been so far.

But as I go I contemplate mountains. What compells me about them? Is it their presence over a place and the way it shapes life around it? It's ancient formation like Kunyani. Or more recent with Etna, the sleeping giant. It gives water. It gives soil to grow the best crops, that then become the wine and the food. Life.

Fiumefreddo station again now. All ahead is new.

But Kunanyi (Mt Wellington) has made an indelible impression on my soul.  LIke a body with so many parts to explore. The dry eucalypts of the Summerleas Ridge, the damp man- ferns in the valleys, the scree slopes and potato fields up higher, the snowgum belt, then the giant monoliths and wild winds that blow on top. The wind flatened plants and mosses around little pools. On days with clear blue skies you could see mountains, islands and estuaries for as far as the eye can see. Or on others be totally enshrouded in mist seeing only a few of metres in front of you at a time.

On top of a mountain I feel joy. I feel on top of the world.

My mind has slowed and I can just be where I am, in this environment, carrying just the sweat of my efforts to arrive there. There is nothing more fulfilling.

And somehow everything becomes clear. My life becomes clear. And the truth, or guidance, or God, speaks to me. Slowly, Clearly. Everything in my world makes sense. I know what is important, and what is not. I know who is important. And I see the pathways.

Kunanyi is my temple.

And it is no wonder that in a sheltered place under the organ pipes, in among the trees and shrubs and flowers and rocks with flittering birds darting here and there, are the ashes of Mum, and Lizzy and Helen. And one day my ashes too.

Now I am in Taormina, and I just wanted to finish thinking and writing about this 'montanaphillia' thing.

Because it's like a body. And Etna is in the making. However slowly. Sometimes she explodes with gas, and throws out rocks, then lava flows down her flanks, covering villages and roads sometimes.

Then over time lichen grows. It neutralises the acidity. And then flowers grow. And then later when there is enough soil to be made through the friction of water and ice, then birch forests grow. Then mushrooms grow. And sheep goats and rabbits roam. And lady birds visit.

And one day it maybe covered in lava again. It gives life and it takes away.

On Etna like Kunanyi, there were icehuts we visited. Before refrigeration, in the 1800s, they would pack ice into these hollows. Then take it to town to fetch a good price.  in Tasi they wrapped the ice in blankets. On Etna the pumicy rock provided a good insulation.

Now I've mused about mountains I will go out and explore the town of Taormina.

The Lightness of Syracusa

Compared to Catania's volcanic dark stones in their buildings, Syracusa is all about lightness.

From where I sit across the bridge that adjoins the island of Ortigia, what I see looks Moorish.

But then there's ancient Greek, Romans, Classical and beautiful Baroque churches too.

In one is a painting by Carravaggio. The theme is 'death', with a dead female martyr at its centre.  I think of Dad and his great interest in Carravaggio, and obsession with Peter Robb's book about him called " M" I remember Dad talking about Caravaggiio painting bruised fruit - capturing the real, not just the idealised.

The Piazza outside the main Church had those divine proportions and feeling of space as well as lightness from the soft colours of the stone and pavement. With some beautiful busking happening it just made me feel totally serene.

It started to rain. Luckily I had Rosie's umbrella in my bag. A couple in front threw their hands in the air and danced in the rain. Che Bella!

I found my way to an Exhibition of the inventions of Leonardo and Archimedes. Archamides lived in Syracusa 3rd Century BC, when it was a prosperous part of the Corinthian Empire.

An Eastern Scholar had replicated Leonardos inventions (all designed on paper) demobstrating how it all works, for machinery, for flight, for buildings, for war. Some of them you could turn a handle to see how these simple but clever machines operated. There was a children's room, where children could build and design with blocks etc themselves.

The last room was for Archimedes inventions. He was a master of physics. Weight and balance and he developed a screw to extract water,  and had a theory about people and corpses in water and at what point they sink

I particularly love the narrow allyways, that meander along in mazes with doors into compounds and peoples lives right in close.

My back ached. I really had enough walking for one day. Giangi picked me up from the bus station. We looked up tours to Etna by Jeep online. I ate at the Trattoria along the road with wine, chicken and salad for 10euros. Then crashed.

CircumnavEtenea

Circumnavigating Etna in a tiny weeny train. I was late getting up when Giangi drove me to Borgo to Take ll with the little train.

I caught it within a hare's breath, leaving 20 Euro on the counter, and the ticket seller, saying 'vai subito, dirito' - quick jump on!

As I did I realised I didnt have a ticket. (writing now from a Cafe in Fiumefreddo). The little train took off, with all its little seats filled, as it headed inland on its little tracks.

When the conductor came I said 'ho pagato 20 Euro al'ufficio ma non ho un biglietto' it was fine. He gave me a ticket and 12.50 change, purely on my word.

So we go into amazing country where we can see Etna beyond rolling farm country of pistachios and a million prickley pears in full fruit of reds and oranges.

I hear a man with a loud voice behind me informing a tall Quebec man about all there is to know. A bit Daddish.

He says the core of Etna goes down 145 kms into the earth. He says Etna is the son. The father volcano was much bigger but exploded itself, giving birth to little Etna. Have we got the gender right here?

The man says pistachio trees have long roots to reach the water. They grow wildly out of the sparse soil.between volcanic rocks. As do the olives.

In some places there are only rocks, solidified in their molten states. You can see the lava flow in their form. Others are more craggy.

As the little train climbs higher we pass many little towns, picking up and dropping off school kids as we go. The man with the loud voice says this town is famous for its strawberries, and this one is famous for its mushrooms.

When the train stops at Randazzo we alight and the Quebec gentleman skiddaddles. having missed breakfast my first priority is to find a Cafe.

Once sated, I can explore. as I explore the man with the loud voice turns to me, and we walk to the Norman Church together. We talk about the dark volcanic rock of this church compared to the lightness of Siracusa.

His name is Francesco. He was born in Sicily, lived in Rome, the ln returned 20 years ago. He is a researcher at the University of Literature in Catania, specialising in WW2 archaeology.

It is a lively conversation that goes in many directions, and I enjoy some of his insights. Like about love and fear being opposite sides of a coin, and our choices as a human race. I'm able to talk about Australia and our refugee policy playing on fear for political gain.

He asked the locals for the best place to eat so we go there together. I have a beautiful melanzana dish with baked provlone, which he said was a typical Arabic dish. And we share a litre of red wine.

Except I realise I have the train to catch to continue on, and he doesn't. I have 4 mins to run to the station. He said he'd foot the bill. I thanked him and ran.

What an extraordinary encounter. He gave me the names of musicians he loved, but I didn't have any info about him.

Only that he said 'everything is energy', 'our bodies are 70% water and music resonates with this'
Mmmm.

Well on my way circumnavigating Etna in the little train. Rubbing knees with a Yorkshire couple, so we strike up a conversation. They're regulars to Sicily.

The train then hits the coast. That means we must be near Fiume Freddo. I photograph like mad, not knowing if I will reach there.

Everything is so green and fertile.

The little train finishes at Gardia. I find it is easy to catch a train to Fiumefreddo from there, and I wait less than 5 mins. 10mins later I'm there.

I ask when the next train back to Catania is. Half an hour. I got worried it might be the last one, so I didn't stay long. I roamed along some streets, then headed back. Except the road was blocked because of the train and so I missed the train. There was another train in another 30 mins. So I hung out at a local Cafe and had a Cafe Freddo. I realise you always seem to pay someone at a booth and someone else serves you.

Fiumefreddo struck me as somewhere particularly fertile. Lemons galore. Nurseries. cane. Etna was there behind the clouds. And there not too far away was the sea. And somewhere was the cold river from whence it derived it's name.

This the home of the Catalano family, the Nicolosi s and others who uprooted to migrate to Australia. Another few years and the economy in Italy also lifted and there was more work.  But without this I would never have met Angelo and Nikki and Rosie would never have been born. Or maybe they would? Who knows?

But I am satisfied now, as the train finishes it's last leg back to Catania.

I have circumnavigated Etna.

Grrrr

Went to bed early. Woke up early. Sunny day. Going to catch Circumetenea, the little train that goes around Etna. Going to stop at Fiume Freddo.

I leave ample time. I stop for a Cafelatte. 1.5 Euros. Not bad.

I walk up Via Etenea towards the  Botanical Gardens, beyond which is Piazza Cavour. No signs of the little train stop.

I ask at a kiosk, and she points me in another direction, along some obscure streets. I think she's telling me to go to Central Station, so I turn back to Via Etenea.

I ask in a bar for dove partire il piccolini treninno per Circumetenea? He gives the same directions as the woman in the kiosk. I probably take a right turn too soon, so after 600m or so, I try to self correct.

I ask another man in a kiosk who tells me he has relatives in Adelaide, and he shows me where it is. Except that it's the backend of the station and its blocked off.

I try to get around it but as I sort through a myriad of appartments in dead end streets, I take a wider swoop, and Lo and behold there it is!
The little train station with the little trains.

There a 2 elderly women and one disabled younger boy/girl who say it is closed because it's Sunday. I am buggered from all the walking.

I think, I need to change my plans and maybe go to Syracusa instead but I'd need to get to Central Station. The 3 women offer to take me, in their car. The young one tells me Sicily is very beautiful but the organisation of everything  here is fucked.

I thank them for the ride and say goodbye. I find the ticket office and wait my turn in line - a first train leaving for Syracusa today leaves at 17.22.

Ah Rosie was right!  Nothing works out well. Now I'm in a dilemma. What to do? I know, arancini!

My legs are buggered. I find a seat to rest in a small piazzas. I'm conscious of a small African community here who are scrabbling to make a living here any which way. And so I can be an easy target. A man sits besides me and says 'ciao' and I say 'ciao' but continue writing this blog for a bit. Then I get up say 'ciao' and walk on.

I have my arancini which I eat in Bellini Park. By the time I get home I'm totally knackered. Giangi and Alex make some phonecalls for me and then take me to the bus station to catch a 12.30 bus to Syracusa.

CATANIA

I flew in from Istanbul this morning. Anneli and I arose at 4.20am and took a cab to Attaturk Airport. We've had 16 amazing days travelling together, and she's had to endure me snoring for 16 nights. She caught a later plane to Zagreb, Croatia (Game of Thrones), while I took the earlier plane to Catania.

Beautiful blue skies. Etna in the distance puffing white. And Giangi picked me up from the airport without a hitch.

He drove me to their appartment on the top / 7th floor in Via.Lago di Nicito, where I met Alex, his partner and Francesco, their 22 month old son. From the rooftop is a 360 degree view including Etna, the Duomo and the sea. They made coffee and gave a really good run-down of Catania and what is possible over the next 4 days. He drew a great mudmap and suggested 2 places where I could try granita and arancini.

This I did. Its day 1 and I'm speaking Italian!!  'un granito pistachio per favore - quanta costa?'' I take it to Bellini Park and the tastiness of it expands my sensorial Palette! Mmmm. These Italians know all about taste! In all guises: colours, fabrics, food, music, art.

I walk down Via Etenea, sensing my way around traffic and the African Street sellers, until I find my way to Stesicoro. This is a square with a portion of Roman  Amphitheatre being revealed underneath ornate baroque buildings.

See, there have been 8 eruptions of Etna over Catania, the last being in the 1600s. So the buildings we see today date from that time and are essentially baroque. No frills spared. Buildings have the fanciest decorations, some bursting at the seams with cherubs, and others with more expressive human forms.

From piazza del duomo I took Giangi s advice and took an open topped  tourist bus to explore the city for 15 Euros or $20.

This was well worth it, as we were introduced to the 2 symbols of Catania - The Elephant and Santa Agneta. There was an elephant fountain. Santa Agnetas story seems a bit like Santa Rosalia. She was married off at 12 and martyred young with signs of warding off the plague.

The bus took us by the harbour and up the coast to Aci Castello, where a Norman Castle was built on a huge rock or stack coming out of the sea.

Next stop was Acitrezza and this place is attributed to where Ulysses meets the Cyclops and the giants on the way back home from Troy.  The rocks out on the harbour hold those stories, much like how the Dreamtime Stories hold the stories of the formation of the Australian landscape.

I was thinking about that poem Music Teacher Stacey gave me @ the beginning of this Blog. It was about a journey. It was encapsulated in the outer journey as a reflection of the inner journey. My inner journey feels like bravery, travelling alone when we fear Sicily for Mafia and Pickpockets. But then I think is that any more an illusion than what people associate with Australia - sharks, crocodiles, poisonous spiders and snakes and idiots of ex primeministers. The more I walked on my own with my walking stick, the more I relaxed into it. Myself, the Tourist.

I've gained an extra hour and I'm quite tired now. I will go out to eat in the restaurants nearby that Giangi suggested, then I will turn in for an early night, ready for a mini train/bus trip circumnavigating Etna tomorrow.

Ho arrivato in Sicilia

Touching down in Sicily hastened my heartbeat with such anticipation. A place I've heard so much about, a place that intrigues me with its volcano Etna, its stratified history , and a place I'm inextricably linked to through my children's ancestory.

My Dad was in love with this place. He described reaching from the train to the blood oranges around Acireale. He read poetry about Greek gods on the slopes of Etna. And Midnight in Sicily by Peter Robb was a favourite book of his. Also dedicated to my cousin, Wanda Jamrozik.

But meeting Angelo and then  his family gave me a taste of something indescribable. In that block of land in Haberfield was  fence to fence edible garden with olives, lemons, persimons, macadamia nut tree, grapevine pergola, and vegetables galore, some of which he traded with other Sicilians around Haberfield. The only patch without fruit or vegies was under the Hills Hoist and Nonnas rose garden at the front. They were so resourceful and so industrious.

Nonno once told me 'they gave Angelo a pencil, but they gave me a shovel'. The Sicily they emigrated from in the 1950s was a hard one. Meat was a luxury and they had to produce their own food, and share their resources with their relatives in order to survive. Australia represented a golden opportunity to get ahead. The dream was to work an Orange Orchard on the Central Coast.

Nonna Vecchia had time to talk. Nonna was always cooking. She told me about the old days and the lava flows from Etna that came uncomfortably close at times. And I remember Nonno talking about the war and the Germans and how clever they needed to be. I also remember them talking about remedies, including special mud packs for conditions like Arthritis.

So here I am....here in Sicily. The land of my children's other half.

Princess Island and the leaving of Istanbul

Sipping Apple Tea in a tiny Cafe playing my favourite music in Istikal Caddesi, watching people passing by. Feeling the dream that was my life for the past weeks.

Anneli has gone back to Levni but I felt the need to walk down this street again, and to find Galata Tower.

I also wanted to try getting around on my own as this will be how it is for the next 3 weeks or so in Italy.

The apple tea is delish and I think it's just finely diced and dried apple in hot water. A good idea for Tasmanians.

This morning Anneli and I caught a boat from Kabasa to The Princes Islands. Our boat stopped at several but we alighted at Princess. I will FB the photos of the incredibly ornate wooden houses there, either stately or crumbling. Tourists taking carriage rides on 2 horse-power trotted by, and we wondered the story behind these once elegant homes

But lo and behold as we were walking down a little Street heading  back towards the wharf - there it was!!! The Mother of the Bride Dress, just looking at me. On Princess Island, no less. Rosie with her cappuccino colour, me in dusky pink and full of lace and texture. It fitted like Cinderella - well elasticity helps. Done! Very affordable - no more research necessary!