Volcano Erupting

We had an odd experience on our Sicilian travels – M and I were in our lovely hotel room hearing perhaps  thunder – there was an incredibly loud ‘huffing’ outside.  I opened the door and gasped (lots of gasping on this trip). “Mama Mia!” (Okay, my exclamation was in English and more explicit). “M get out here!” I cried. “There are  (another bad word) flames coming out of that volcano!” We rushed to the reception to find out if we needed to scurry for our lives. A hotel employee told us Mount Etna suddenly erupts with flames many times  a year, but agreed that it was frightening, before going back to casually serving drinks. Be still again, my Canadian heart. 

By morning the flames had stopped and (more scariness)  we drove up, up, up to view the rich black lava rocks high on Mount Etna (with a zillion tourists), hiking over red and black lava rocks. Some believe the volcano is the gateway to the underworld, others credit it for making the hills down to the sea a Mecca of fertility. 

M’s Italian barber back home insisted we must visit the town of Taromina – we wound our way there next, more narrow roads, speedy drivers, ridiculously steep climbs with switchbacks – so more freaking gasps. (Of course). 

   M swears it hasn’t been intentional but we’ve saved loads of Euros by always being in the villages from 12:30 to 4 pm when shops are locked up. But nothing closes in the tourist meca of Taromina. With enough lemon printed linen I focus on the perfect Italian leather hand bag, explaining to M how it’s too well priced to NOT  buy it. Prego. Time to wind back down away from the volcano – a few chunks of lava rock in my new bag.