People had warned me against Sicily. They had told me about the Mafia and con men. But my experiences are, at best, tame and universally occurring.
I landed in the port closest to Sicily in mainland Italy at 6:35 AM. Spending the night on the train with three other wonderful women (who spoke no English) had put me in a mood that wanted to take everything that came my way with a smile on my face. One of these wonderful women seemed to be going my way to the ferry. By dint of sheer willpower, she explained to me the next ferry would be at 7:15 AM. Along comes a mop-wielding man to clean the ticket office. While he sold me the ticket easily enough, he was insistent I didn't loiter in the vicinity for more than ten minutes before ferry departure.
So I lounged about a dilapidated escalator when a scatter-haired man offered, "Are you Indian?"
"Yes."
"I'm just coming from India."
Curiosity piqued, "Oh, where in India?"
"Delhi, Rajasthan, Orchha, Agra..." he goes on. He's the third European I've met who has told me they have been to Orchha. Some time, I really need to go and see for myself what's so attractive to tourists there.
Scatter-Hair showed me the luggage tag to prove he was indeed flying from Delhi. I squinted, but still couldn't read. Nevertheless, I swore requisite loyalty in vague and non-verbal terms. Encouraged, he informed me that the Strait of Messina is the only place in the world where the train is carried on board the ferry. If there was a big enough ferry ready to set sail when the train arrived, he said we could be lucky to see the operation in motus. But not if us lowly foot passengers were boring enough to take the first ferry out, regardless of size and train-carrying capacity. Turned out, we were lucky and were spared the ignominy of appearing insipid. The ferry was sufficiently massive and I could view THE sight (described for my purposes in How to Take a Train Across the Strait of Messina - thanks JetSetCD!). Man, I might as well have stayed on the train! But if I had, how would I have encountered the whirlpool Charybdis? Odysseus-like, I witnessed the ferry monster (though lacking the six heads of Scylla) gulping down our train. In fact, the meek little thing seemed to willingly submit itself to its fate as it slithered down the wide-open bow. I realised much later that I was on top of the prey. Which was cool, as I'd never before climbed atop a train.
On the deck, there was some ogling going on - at me. After several unheeded attempts, the man walked across and said something. I was still in the mood which wanted-to-take-everything-that-came-my-way-with-a-smile-on-my-face. So I went, "No Italiani."
"Non parlano Italiano?" he persisted. Just in case, probably.
"Si," when I meant No. But what the hell.
He scratched his unmentionables looking thoughtfully at me. "Tu solo?"
"Si."
More scratching. And then it started drizzling.
He motioned me inside the lounge area. Well, there was nowhere else to go. He sat opposite me. My photo session was getting to be bad business, as Mr Weather and Ms Luck had parted ways. Anyway, there's only so much that interests you from inside a ferry's lounge. He pointed at his wrist and asked something. I assumed he meant the time and began taking my mobile phone out to check. He walked up to me and tapped on the ganglion cyst in my wrist. Super sweet thing to do, if you ask me. I shrugged. He returned the shrug with a smile.
Scratch, scratch.
"Psst," I heard after a while. When I turned, he was pointing to his ring finger with another question. For what joy I told him the truth, I don't know. But I did. Abruptly, he asked in English, "You are my friend?" I conveniently assumed him to mean that he was my friend and replied, "Grazie!"
Scatter-Hair ambled in and there commenced a glowering contest between him and Unmentionables-Scratcher, shortly after which the latter disappeared.
And I set foot in Sicily.
I landed in the port closest to Sicily in mainland Italy at 6:35 AM. Spending the night on the train with three other wonderful women (who spoke no English) had put me in a mood that wanted to take everything that came my way with a smile on my face. One of these wonderful women seemed to be going my way to the ferry. By dint of sheer willpower, she explained to me the next ferry would be at 7:15 AM. Along comes a mop-wielding man to clean the ticket office. While he sold me the ticket easily enough, he was insistent I didn't loiter in the vicinity for more than ten minutes before ferry departure.
So I lounged about a dilapidated escalator when a scatter-haired man offered, "Are you Indian?"
"Yes."
"I'm just coming from India."
Curiosity piqued, "Oh, where in India?"
"Delhi, Rajasthan, Orchha, Agra..." he goes on. He's the third European I've met who has told me they have been to Orchha. Some time, I really need to go and see for myself what's so attractive to tourists there.
Scatter-Hair showed me the luggage tag to prove he was indeed flying from Delhi. I squinted, but still couldn't read. Nevertheless, I swore requisite loyalty in vague and non-verbal terms. Encouraged, he informed me that the Strait of Messina is the only place in the world where the train is carried on board the ferry. If there was a big enough ferry ready to set sail when the train arrived, he said we could be lucky to see the operation in motus. But not if us lowly foot passengers were boring enough to take the first ferry out, regardless of size and train-carrying capacity. Turned out, we were lucky and were spared the ignominy of appearing insipid. The ferry was sufficiently massive and I could view THE sight (described for my purposes in How to Take a Train Across the Strait of Messina - thanks JetSetCD!). Man, I might as well have stayed on the train! But if I had, how would I have encountered the whirlpool Charybdis? Odysseus-like, I witnessed the ferry monster (though lacking the six heads of Scylla) gulping down our train. In fact, the meek little thing seemed to willingly submit itself to its fate as it slithered down the wide-open bow. I realised much later that I was on top of the prey. Which was cool, as I'd never before climbed atop a train.
On the deck, there was some ogling going on - at me. After several unheeded attempts, the man walked across and said something. I was still in the mood which wanted-to-take-everything-that-came-my-way-with-a-smile-on-my-face. So I went, "No Italiani."
"Non parlano Italiano?" he persisted. Just in case, probably.
"Si," when I meant No. But what the hell.
He scratched his unmentionables looking thoughtfully at me. "Tu solo?"
"Si."
More scratching. And then it started drizzling.
He motioned me inside the lounge area. Well, there was nowhere else to go. He sat opposite me. My photo session was getting to be bad business, as Mr Weather and Ms Luck had parted ways. Anyway, there's only so much that interests you from inside a ferry's lounge. He pointed at his wrist and asked something. I assumed he meant the time and began taking my mobile phone out to check. He walked up to me and tapped on the ganglion cyst in my wrist. Super sweet thing to do, if you ask me. I shrugged. He returned the shrug with a smile.
Scratch, scratch.
"Psst," I heard after a while. When I turned, he was pointing to his ring finger with another question. For what joy I told him the truth, I don't know. But I did. Abruptly, he asked in English, "You are my friend?" I conveniently assumed him to mean that he was my friend and replied, "Grazie!"
Scatter-Hair ambled in and there commenced a glowering contest between him and Unmentionables-Scratcher, shortly after which the latter disappeared.
And I set foot in Sicily.
