Our hotel proprietor had graciously made reservations for us to take the Etna tour today. He advised that we pay only to go to the first level since, if the weather was not good, pushing on to the upper level would be useless. Etna would be hidden in fog. He told us once we were there, we could see if it was worth going on. We heeded the suggestion.
The morning, miraculously, dawned crystal clear. During the night, the tramontana (north wind) had blown away all the dubious clouds. We were elated. On the street early at the designated pick-up spot, it wasn’t long before we spotted the unmistakeable double-decker bus lumbering towards us. Once again we found ourselves heading up the hill to Taormina, stopping here and there to pick up random riders from hotels until our group was complete.
In the background, a patch of green survivors mingle with
their not-so-lucky crispy cousins.At 10,801 feet, Mount Etna is the highest and largest active volcano in Europe. The Italian writer, Leonardo Sciascia, refers to it as “a huge house house cat, that purrs quietly and awakens every so often.” As we ascended this sleeping giant, aqua blue skies strikingly contrasted with purple-black lava. In a double-decker bus, the ascent was especially hairy. But we felt secure as the driver deftly managed the tight hairpin turns while the sea dazzled far below. At one point, we met two buses heading down, and we had to stop and back up in order to allow them room to pass on the narrow road.
On we went, through forests with overhanging tree branches that scratched the roof of our towering ride. As the road curled its way upward, we passed groves of silvery-green olive trees and hillsides of vineyards heavy with purple grapes. The trees eventually gave way to the bleak but beautiful landscape of Etna. Our destination smoked in the crystal clear distance.
Along the way, the guide chatted with us over a microphone, telling us what to expect and what we would be doing. He warned that the temperature could be 75 degrees down at the beach while on top of Etna, it could be 40 degrees, not counting the wind chill! We were glad we had bundled up. Our first stop would be the 1800 meter level, where we could opt to purchase tickets for the separate jeep trip up to the second level. Almost everyone on board wanted to continue up to the 2800 meter level which would land us along the slope of the large crater. And for yet another ticket, you could procure a guided 2.5 hour round trip hike up to the very top of the highest crater.
As we jumped down from the bus, we were directed to a small hut from where tickets were being sold. It was complete chaos — only two people were dispensing tickets and they could not handle the horde that descended upon them all at once. Two Australian women, dressed for heavy hiking, had been given misinformation by their hotel and thought they had already purchased tickets to the very top. Not so. They argued with the ticket vendors, they argued with our bus guide. Finally, yelling loudly in disdain, our guide spat, ”This is NOT Vesuvius! This is ETNA!” Gino and I laughed quietly to ourselves. A heated exchange ensued and after a few minutes, the unhappy Australian women forked over the extra Euro.
Gino and I took advantage of the pandemonium to dash to the restrooms before they divided us into groups of 25 and assigned us to the waiting four-wheel jeep-buses. Our jeep took off first and we ground our way up through the lava flows. Only intermittent clumps of yellow-green shrubbery broke the constant chunky gray. Occasionally, white skeletons of trees stood like scarecrows against the black, gray, and sometimes red fields of lava. The roads were merely wide trails carved out of the slippery volcanic rubble. Crunching and sliding our way to the second level, the jeeps convened on a wide space of the mountain’s shoulder. We got out to survey the scene.
In 2002, a huge eruption on this side of Etna destroyed several structures, including a restaurant and the funicular (cable car) that used to carry people up and down. Now, nothing is left but mangled melted steel, the cables strewn down the mountain like spaghetti spilled from a cauldron. Our guide informed us that only five days before our visit, fountains of lava had poured forth from the crater. At such times, all tours are stopped until it is deemed safe.
Oohs and ahhs were abruptly replaced by Eek! as we skirted this foreboding
hole. Just beyond it, the remains of a once busy cable car lie in a pile of twisted
metal, its sister arch standing alone further back towards the right.
Sturdy four-wheel drive buses lumber across one of Etna’s vast lava flows. These “Funivia Dell’ Etna” transport the brave from the lower level up to the next.The air was indeed markedly colder up here. At the first level, coats and boots are available to rent, but we felt we were equipped well enough with coats and walking shoes. Despite the clear morning, the sun was periodically obliterated by blobs of fog and smoke that danced through the sky on wisps of wind. There was the peak! Then it was gone.
As fog and smoke swirl about his shoulders, Gino, one of the brave,
stands triumphant at the highest level vehicles will go. The rest
of the ascent, should you dare, must be on foot. We didn’t dare.
Volcanic blocks cascade down the steep slant of Etna while
breaths of smoky fog obliterate the sun over the crest.
A dramatic bird’s-eye view of Etna as it appeared during its last
eruption in 2002. As we studied the photograph, we glanced over
into the fog-filled distance and realized…we’re actually here!Everyone streamed towards a vast crater and after peering in, breathless, for several minutes we heard the jeep engines fire back to life. Returning to our steady wheels, we churned onward.
