Catania, our furthest point south by boat this season, was weird. It’s the largest conurbation in Sicily and having parked La Fulica in the commercial harbour we took a walk through the dockyard to the centre of town. Maybe I’d had too much sun or alcohol or both, but this fantasy began to grow in my mind that Catania was like the Devil’s attempt to create a “normal” city in hell to make new arrivals feel more at home. At one level it feels like a normal town, but to me it had an uneasy dystopic edge. For one thing the town is predominantly black, built from lava and the streets are covered in what looks like coal dust. For another, there is a subtle but pervasive smell of sulphur emanating from Mount Etna on the northwestern edge of town. It was also hot, aggressive and noisy and on our way back to the boat I was intimidated by large dogs which roamed the dockyards. That night I slept in the cockpit to give Sue and Rosemary some respite from my snoring and was kept awake by fireworks going off into the small hours from several of the city suburbs and a thunder storm rolling over Etna. At one point I awoke to loud booms and a particularly strong smell of sulphur and began to think, “my God, maybe Etna’s blowing”. As well as strong images Catania left us with another little legacy, serious stomach upsets, from which Sue has only just recovered, courtesy of a cheap and cheerful little restaurant next to the fish market.
Having seen Rosemary onto the bus to Palermo at five o’clock in the morning we were met by Bernie and Anne in the afternoon and whisked in their air-conditioned hire car to their air-conditioned hotel. I hesitate to say this, but cruising can be emotionally and physically tiring (loud cries of “try working for a living you smug bastard”) and by the time we got to Catania we were, for a while at least, pretty well cruised out. As a result, four days of ensuite bathrooms, satellite TV and poolside cocktails was heaven. After a taxing day by the pool we would drive into the centre of Siracusa and wander around the Old Town before having a leisurely supper in the piazza under the town cathedral. All good things must come to an end and with Bernie and Anne’s departure back to the UK autumn set in - on 3rd September at 9.00am to be precise. We were in Riposto at the time, a fishing harbour at the very foot of Etna which now has a very smart new marina. Having gone to bed on a balmy and starlit summer evening we awoke to grey cloud and pissing rain and the weather has been stormy and changeable ever since.
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