Etna Excursions

Morning in Sicily's volcanic city, and we are out on the pavements early.  There's a cool freshness to the air, and although the sun is already shining bright, it's as if Catania's atmosphere has been thrown in the icebox.  Today we escape the city; today we become more intrepid; today we explore Etna National Park, in the company of Go Etna tour guides, Francesco and Davido.

Our drive up to the national park, in the company jeep, is via Giardini Naxos, a nearby resort, to pick up our other travelling companions, a couple from Vienna.  Davido doesn't speak any English, but along the way we chat with Francesco about our trip, Etna, and our lives.  Where do we live?  Why did we choose Catania?  Are we married?  Why not?  Francesco is Sicily-born, but moved to Germany aged just four when his father found work in Dusseldorf and Cologne.  Making a conscious decision to return to his roots several years later, he took the job as an Etna guide when the company was founded by a businessman from Hamburg.  His past means that, despite being a son of Sicily, his German is better than his Italian and, whilst he tells us that we will be his "English translators" for the day, in truth his English is almost flawless too.

Our jeep

The spirit on our drive up the volcano is jovial and exciting, despite the fact that we are pulled over by the Carabinieri for tourist papers and documents to be examined.  These are Italy's military police, a step above the run-of-the-mill state police, and with a reputation to match.  Machine guns in hand, they speak with our guides, whilst everybody in the jeep sits, plays the dumb foreigner, and tries very hard not to look suspicious.  Five minutes later, there is laugher as we drive away and, having cleared whatever security arrangements were required, we breathe-easy once again.

The Etna scenery is not to be missed, and if anybody here makes it to Eastern Sicily, I strongly recommend you take an excursion up here.  The land, black from volcanic activity, holds a greater variety of life than you would think, and plants, in a testament to the strength of nature, grow out of a seemingly dead landscape in abundance.  Under our feet, a gravelly, crumbly covering of lava rock suggests the park is bone-dry, but less than an inch underneath, the soil is moist and rich.  This has enabled plant life to establish itself here, whilst water access for animals is harder, and the park supports no creature larger than a fox.

Etna National Park

Plant life on Etna

We make many stops along the course of the day, and Francesco is very keen to point out old and new lava flows, and the vast variety of plant life.  At one stop, equipping us with flashlights and helmets, we are taken down into a lava cave, created by a previous eruption.  It is now hot in the open air, but inside the cave the mercury drops to freezing, our breath clearly visible in the chill.  In days gone by, the locals used these caves to store ice, picked from further up the mountain, and it comes as no surprise to learn that one of Italy's finest exports, gelato, has its origins in this very region.

In the lava cave

Back outside, we are taken to part of the Etna park called Monti Sartorius, named after a German scientist who created the first geological map of Etna.  A steep walk ensues and we scrabble up a crumbly volcanic cone, 1,667 metres above sea level, whilst the wind gets violent around us, and the stench of sulphur makes it difficult to breathe.  Twice I nearly get blown from my feet, and with little to hold onto except Lizzie, it's a frighteningly exhilarating experience.  At the summit, two craters, both dormant, but not extinct - as Francesco points out, nobody knows exactly where the next eruption will be up here, and with 150 separate networks of underground lava tunnels running in the park, it could occur anywhere.

In Monti Sartorius

Volcanic cone, Monti Sartorius

Our fascinating hike over, we are driven to a traditional Sicilian farmstead - an agriturismo - for lunch. An experience I don't ever expect we'll have again, the six of us sit around a little table in a little hall, enjoying an antipasto starter, a second course of long macaroni and delicious fennel risotto, and a third course of meat and salad (we never worked out quite which meat it was, but it came served under an aubergine slice, covered in a tomato sauce and cheese), all washed down with a glass of Etna Rossa wine.  Francesco knows the owners of the farm, and they are proud that everything they serve is grown, or reared, on-site.  After lunch, we have some time to look around, to see the long field of vines, the fine view of the mountains, and the beauty of silence.  I'm not entirely sure where we are, but it's way out in the wilderness, far away from the city smells or the noise of traffic, and probably as close as we'll ever get to that sun-baked, unchanging Sicilian lifestyle so beautifully portrayed in The Godfather films.  The farmstead also has a little shop selling produce, and from here we buy a jar of local honey, and I try the local liqueur, Etna Fire, which at 70% alcohol, leaves me gasping for breath, and everybody else in fits of laughter.  Not to be perturbed, our Austrian friend then goes and buys a bottle of it for his 92-year-old mother - "You know what will happen," Francesco says, and makes the sign of the cross, to even greater laughter.

Enjoying traditional Sicilian food

Vines at the agriturismo

After lunch, we travel through the hills, looking down on remote towns like Linguaglossa (so called because its layout resembles the shape of a tongue), and eventually arrive at the Alcantara River, which forms some impressive waterfalls, fast-flowing and dangerous.  The Alcantara rises to the northwest of Etna, and flows around its north face, eventually meeting the Ionian Sea at Giardini Naxos.  Up here, it has carved through rocks with such smooth grace, resembling a fibreglass film set, almost too perfect to be natural.  Further down the river, at a safer location, Lizzie and I eschew our shoes and socks, and go for a paddle.  The river here is absolutely teeming with life - there are thousands of tadpoles, abundant fish, and water-skaters that flit all across the water's surface.  In the shadow of the hill town called Castiglione di Sicilia, it's a refreshing fun, memorable end to our excursion.

Paddling in the Alcantara

Castiglione di Sicilia

After the fresh air and natural beauty of Etna, the busy, ugly city of Catania comes as something of a shock.  Entering the city in rush hour, we are treated to more chaotic traffic scenes, but Davido picks through them with a cool, calm head and, after some time, we are dropped back at our hotel, exhausted. Exhausted, but thrilled, for I think I've understood something about Sicilian identity today - they feel about this volcano, and indeed its surroundings, rather like we Devonians feel about Dartmoor, with the same love, fear, respect, and deep-rooted attachment.  It's this attachment that brought Francesco back here from Germany, and despite its menacing presence over Catania, it is everything to the identity of the city.  I get that, I like it, and I respect Sicilians for it.

Etna at sunset