It's only 11.00 am and I feel like we've climbed a mountain already. We are here in a little apartment in Zafferana which is the 'gateway' town to Etna, where people come to stock up on asbestos shoes, oven gloves, pith helmets...you get the idea.
We arrived here last night after a long ride up from Catania. It's only a couple of inches on the map but it took us a couple of hours to crawl up the hill, bikes fully laden. Mind you, for the first hour or so we were still reeling from our first experience of a proper Sicilian lunch.
We had dropped into the tourist info office at Catania to get a map, grab some wifi and identify the cultural must-misses. The wonderful staff had been super helpful, even though they laughed hysterically when they heard we were going to ride up Etna. 'No really' we said, 'We're from England.' As if that explained anything. Stupefied Sicilian silence followed. 'What? In the rain?' they said. Ahh..
I think the idea of lunch was their way of introducing us to how the Sicilians do things. Cue Jan.
"We were directed round the corner to Signora Nuncia's bar, where we had the most amazing meal, each ingredient carefully mimed and described by the signora. Had we been proper bloggers, there would be a photo of each dish. Suffice to say that we were already full after the primo (swordfish, giant prawn, slid, frittata, verdure and more) and shocked when secundo (pasta with fennel and cheese) appeared, and overwhelmed when our coffee was accompanied by chocolate tart."
And the wine Jan! After a couple of glasses of an excellent bianco, my zeal for the assault on Etna was reinvigorated. I just needed some tips from the experts so we went to visit the museum of the 1943 allied invasion of Sicily. Sobering stuff.
"Built within the ruins of a bombed-out factory, this was amazingly well done, with a simulated air-raid in a rocking shelter. Of course, it isn't frightening when you know that you are going to get out unscathed, but nevertheless salutary to think of the civilians killed by allied bombings, as we don't often encounter war descriptions that way round."
Back to the oh-so interesting two-wheeled assault. Since discovering that rain was forecast for the next two days, we had spent the evening working ourselves into a veritable frenzy of indecision about how best to proceed. In the event, on the basis that we would get wet wherever we went, it was decided we may as well do so ascending Etna as flitting from museum to cafe in Syracuse.
It started quite well dear reader, though the gradients were unremittingly tough. We ploughed on as the light drizzle got heavier, happily acting out our role as crazy English, waving merrily to the few cars and coaches passing us. No other cyclists seen.
Although Jan was, characteristically, forging ahead, I took increasingly frequent breaks to catch my breath. Even when the rain became heavier I wasn't too worried because I was already soaked to the skin and the exercise was keeping me warm. However as the rain, the hairpin bends and the wind all got worse our - no my - progress slowed to the extent that I was getting cold.
In the end it was the lightening that decided me. I'm not madly keen on being fried by a thunderbolt and sitting on a metal bike on an exposed road half way up a volcano struck me as ideal fry-up territory. Gunner Milligan called himself a hero with coward's legs - a description that seems to fit our situation - because, much to Jan's chagrin, I decided that a hot shower at the bottom of the hill was preferable to a cold deluge half way up.
And it was about half way up. We saw a sign saying that the top was about 10km away so we'll start again at that point next time...
ps Pics to follow later when technical gremlins are overcome.
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