15 July to 30 July

After my roadtrip, I returned to Palermo for a few days before heading to Ustica. I’ll include my time in Palermo, and an encounter with four firemen, in my next post.

Ustica is a tiny volcanic island about 60 kms north of Palermo. The one road that circumnavigates the island is 9kms long. Its natural marine reserve is a mecca for divers, but its rocky coast with cliffs, thus lack of sandy beaches, keeps the tourist population low.

Ustica has only one town where one finds several shops for food, clothing, swimming/diving gear, excursions, and daily necessities. There is also an ample selection of cafes and restaurants offering granita, gelati, pastries, pasta, seafood, and lentils-the local specialty. In the piazzas, the typical group of men pass the hours in conversation. Women, although often tending to the shops, are less visible. Houses and agricultural fields dot the island.

I decided not to book ahead, but to find my accommodations upon arrival. Pippo’s taxi/van was already waiting for passengers as they disembarked from the hydrofoil. The steep incline from port to town virtually guaranteed a thriving business.

I inquired about lodging options. Pippo directed me to a man loading a couple’s baggage into his station wagon marked with a hotel logo. I asked if he had any apartments available for the week. He offered to take me into town and show me a “favoloso(fabulous)” apartment with view. Needing to attend to the other guests first, he suggested I have lunch while I wait, conveniently, in his restaurant. I was hungry and happy to oblige.

After a lunch of pasta prepared with swordfish and tomatoes, I was driven to the “favoloso” apartment which overlooked a parking lot. The refrigerator was oddly placed in the middle of the kitchen, there was no living room and the bedroom was small and dark. It was 70 euro/night. I decided to keep looking.  My inquiries led me to look at several options, none of which I found as charming as the residents who directed me from place to place. It was nearing 6pm and I considered returning to an apartment that displeased me the least.

Fortunately, I spotted a pretty balcony with a For Rent sign and phone number. I sent a text message and moments later a man with a shy smile showed up and offered me a lovely, spacious duplex in an old, but well-kept building for 30 euros/night on a quiet street in the center of town.

Days on the island were very hot and humid. Hiking any time after 9am or before 6pm, I soon learned, was foolish.

The pace of the island was slow and peaceful, but the days passed surprisingly quickly and enjoyably. So much so, that I extended my stay.

Although scuba diving appealed to me in theory, I’d never been tempted to actually give it a go. But given the pristine waters, the islands’ reputation, and memories of Jacques Cousteau’s glorious films, I decided to try it. The diving company referred to my first dive as my “baptism” (The term seemed to raise no eyebrows, other than my own, in a country predominantly Christian.)

I went to the port an hour before my lesson to get my gear and to be briefed. Getting on the wetsuit was a lengthy affair involving considerable contorting and tugging. (Getting it off again was an even greater challenge.)

The brief instruction I’d been given was quickly put to the test. Unfortunately, it seemed completely unrelated to Nicolo entering the water lickety-split: backward, fully geared up with tanks, mask, and mouthpiece, with his hands placed here and there just so.

It took me much more time to adjust all the unfamiliar equipment, compose my thoughts, take the appropriate steps, and follow him. Nicolo had warned me of not swimming too far ahead. There was no risk of that. Despite my many years of swimming, I was suddenly an ungainly land beast striving to gain a modicum of equilibrium and momentum in open waters. My efforts did not improve the situation. And Nicolo’s instruction to alleviate the building water pressure, as I submerged a few meters, literally fell on deaf ears. I learned later that it’s preferable, and more common, to practice all the necessary steps prior to needing them all at once. Needless to say, my hour or so outing did not result in much appreciation for the sport. But no regrets. It was an interesting way to spend a morning.

I returned to the clear sea that afternoon, blissfully unencumbered. My goggles alone revealed multicolored fish and an underwater world even Jacques Cousteau would undoubtedly have found beautiful.

Looking up one evening, expecting to see the full moon I’d seen the night before, I was surprised to see it markedly less round. I had no idea there would be a rare and magnificent lunar eclipse that evening. I spent the next few hours on a piazza gathered with some residents and a few tourists gazing at the spectacle feeling humbled by our solar system.

My walks, swimming, encounters with residents and travelers, visits to various sites, including an archeological museum (previously a prison), and of course the eclipse, created memorable moments and a delightful respite before returning to Palermo.