Sicily (1) - Airport Mayhem and Motorway Madness
Spring 2010
As we set off for Catania, on the east coast of Sicily, my inclination was that the most southerly island in Europe would still be a bit cool but at least it would be quiet on an April Monday lunchtime.
Wrong and wrong.
The airport was sardined with hordes of grumpy Europeans bashing into each other with over-sized cases.
Outside the sun was scorching. 20 degrees always seems much hotter in the Mediterranean than in the UK.
The car hire area, carefully hidden away from the airport terminal behind a coach park, was where tempers really ignited. As I hauled my bag, accidentally of course, over a Polish foot, it’s owner glared, then snarled as I produced a piece of Hertz Gold which claimed to give me instant wheels. The man behind the counter rolled his eyes and told me to wait. The Pole’s face settled to a satisfied smirk.
Although I was assured I’d prepaid for ‘everything’ Hertz still managed to find extra essentials to sell me. Resisting pre-paying for fuel on return of the car was a tussle as hard fought as declining Ryanair’s travel insurance. I did accept an upgrade to a larger car – a ‘Croma’ he announced, for a further €20 a day, a worthwhile move I considered as a journey of some 300km across the island lay in waiting.
I’d no idea what a Croma was and set off to bay 3521 to find out. The word ‘Brown’ on the key fob was another concern. A Fiat badge popped out of a faeces coloured mound. Thank God for anonymity.
I’d printed a selection of Google maps, street views and directions to guide safe passage from the airport. What did we all do before Google? Buy maps I guess.
The Sicilian motorways are surprisingly good – only two lanes but no potholes and very straight. Endless signs advise that the speed limit is 110km which drops to 80 on the occasional bend. As I cruised at speeds touching 170, signs warning of police speed cameras flashed by but not as quickly as other cars which I reckoned must have doing in excess of 200km/hr.
The journey took us through Palermo, a sprawling metropolitan mass of concrete sandwiched between the sea and stunning mountains. I’m sure there are pretty old parts of the city but we weren’t stopping. 150 minutes after leaving the east coast we arrived in the west.
At 4pm we were baking in the sun, sipping fine Sicilian Prosecco. The sun remained hot until it set around 7.30pm.
Wrong and wrong.
The airport was sardined with hordes of grumpy Europeans bashing into each other with over-sized cases.
Outside the sun was scorching. 20 degrees always seems much hotter in the Mediterranean than in the UK.
The car hire area, carefully hidden away from the airport terminal behind a coach park, was where tempers really ignited. As I hauled my bag, accidentally of course, over a Polish foot, it’s owner glared, then snarled as I produced a piece of Hertz Gold which claimed to give me instant wheels. The man behind the counter rolled his eyes and told me to wait. The Pole’s face settled to a satisfied smirk.
Although I was assured I’d prepaid for ‘everything’ Hertz still managed to find extra essentials to sell me. Resisting pre-paying for fuel on return of the car was a tussle as hard fought as declining Ryanair’s travel insurance. I did accept an upgrade to a larger car – a ‘Croma’ he announced, for a further €20 a day, a worthwhile move I considered as a journey of some 300km across the island lay in waiting.
I’d no idea what a Croma was and set off to bay 3521 to find out. The word ‘Brown’ on the key fob was another concern. A Fiat badge popped out of a faeces coloured mound. Thank God for anonymity.
I’d printed a selection of Google maps, street views and directions to guide safe passage from the airport. What did we all do before Google? Buy maps I guess.
The Sicilian motorways are surprisingly good – only two lanes but no potholes and very straight. Endless signs advise that the speed limit is 110km which drops to 80 on the occasional bend. As I cruised at speeds touching 170, signs warning of police speed cameras flashed by but not as quickly as other cars which I reckoned must have doing in excess of 200km/hr.
The journey took us through Palermo, a sprawling metropolitan mass of concrete sandwiched between the sea and stunning mountains. I’m sure there are pretty old parts of the city but we weren’t stopping. 150 minutes after leaving the east coast we arrived in the west.
At 4pm we were baking in the sun, sipping fine Sicilian Prosecco. The sun remained hot until it set around 7.30pm.
Be Frank: agree or disagree? What do you think?
