Poem
When you sail into TaorminaYou can anchor just off the shore
You take the bus to the old hill-top town
With its arches and lanes to explore.
You are not the only ones here, of course
The crowd bustles up and down
You can idle and watch it all go by
With the painted, miming clown.
When we sail south to Aci Trezza
We tie between fishermen
Mandie flies in from England to join us
And make us feel younger again.
The man at the bus stop called Bruno
Is our self-appointed guide
Of the buildings and squares of Catania
While Mount Etna stands smoking beside.
At Siracuse we tie on the old town quay
Alongside some vast power boats
The passegiata (evening stroll) comes right beside
To inspect everything that floats.
We go on a tour to the old baroque towns
At Nota we sample granita
There's Ragusa's tiled dome and the heights of Scicli
After chocolate and lunch at Modica.
Further south down the coast's Marzamemi
We sail with a gentle breeze
They just fit us in at the end of an arm
It's August and often a squeeze.
To enjoy the old town La Balata
We ignore spray paint desecration
Then we round Cape Passero to let Mandie off
At the downtown Pozzallo bus station.
You must find time to visit Marsala
Garibaldi's the place to dine
Walk the limestone paved streets, see the tapestries
And then taste some local wine.
And why not then try the Isole Egadi?
Favignana's a tourist-strewn town
But slip off to tiny Levanzo
You can jog, have a swim, just slow down.
As I sit here and write this the wind has died down
The rocks are now bathed in soft light
Life's decisions don't seem very difficult here
So we stay for another night.
When you go to Trapani be sure to arrive
On a Sunday, to hear the church song
Then walk the town streets, find a good place to eat
And delight in the town sing-along.
The singing and stage seem part of life here
The hymns could get you to mass
And as well as good singing the town square produced
A tiny Maria Callas.
We motor-scoot up to the Erice town
Walk its beautiful stone-paved streets
Then we tear down to San Pantaleo
Whence Phonecians beat their retreat.
When we drop anchor just off Scopello
The wind comes up from north-east
We must shelter at Terrasini
(25 knots of wind, at least).
It drops next day and we head further east
To Isola delle Femmine
We do some boat chores, swim, paint and walk
How better to spend a day?
The mafia must be on holiday
When we tie in Palermo's port
The old town is grubby but it grows on you
There are no signs of crime to report.
Our highlight is Monreale
With its fabulous biblical scenes
Done in gold trimmed mosaics, and Christ presides
Looming large,with his lit face serene.
The market exudes its enticing smells
And the sounds of strife and laughter
The veggie man wraps in a paper cone
The gadget man has the magnet we're after.
Cefalu is a medieval town
That is beautifully preserved
We anchor off Porto Vecchio
But the swell spoils the sleep we deserved.
Now we're off to explore the Isole Aeolie
Filicudi's the first place to stop
We find a free mooring and run up the road
Almost, but not quite, to the top.
At Salina the boatman insists that we move
(But the mooring turns out to be free)
An Australian flag doesn't help here as much
As it did back in the Aegean sea.
At Lipari the boatman restores our faith
In the friendly Sicilian way
A welcoming smile is all that it takes
For us to be willing to pay.
We bathe in the Volcano thermals
We walk in Lipari's rain
We soak up some archeology
We stop at our cafe again.
Panarea's a tiny car-free isle
As if Greek, it's white and blue
We enjoy a drink at the Raya Hotel
As the lightning flashes through.
The water out here is a marvellous mix
Of all the blues in the pallette
It's a joy to dive and swim in it
(an American would sell it).
Stromboli gives us a farewell display
As it belches smoke and fire
As we sail away to the mainland coast
It sends smoke ever higher.
August 2008
