WorldTripping.net - Sicily travel writing and travel articles.

WorldTripping.net - Sicily travel writing and travel articles.,WorldTripping - Simon and Leah tour Sicily by bicycle. Read the Sicily travel journal. Peruse the online travel articles. It's all about cycling in and around Sicily and traveling by bike.,worldtripping,world tripping,simon,leah,simon green,leah ingham,cycle europe,bike europe,bicycle europe,brighton,cape town,overland,brighton cape town overland,uk,sa,overland,uk sa,uk sa overland,coast to coast, coast to coast overland,cycle sicily,bike sicily,bicycle sicily,travel sicily,traveling sicily,travel writing sicily,travelogues sicily,cycle touring,bike touring,bicycle touring,cycle travel,bike travel,bicycle travel,cycle traveling,bike traveling,bicycle traveling,publishing,publishing online,travelogue,online travelogue,travel writing,travel writing online,diary,diaries,online diary,online diaries,weblog,web-log,web blog,web-blog,blogger,blogging,

"Glimpses" extracts from Leah's journal.

Crash Bang Smack.

Godfather shores. I was feeling fit and confident. Surrounded by ferry men and truckers, I dashed after Simon, out of the ferry, and onto the dock. A lorry blocked my way but nothing was going to stop me. I manoeuvred my bike like an expert. Dodging in and out of fag smoking Italians, I was nearly clear. Tram lines. My front tyre slipped nicely into place on the track and as I feebly attempted to slide the tyre out, my back end swung round and I flew, along with bike, smack into the concrete. Knees then hands then chin. Within seconds, an elderly gentleman lifted me high in the air, clear of the debris. I muttered an embarrassed, "Grazie," and, determined not to cry, inspected my bike and remounted. Simon, alongside by then, asked me how I was and as I muttered, "Lets go," he whispered, "just like a cat." I slunk off, pretended to tidy my hair and then swung out of sight to lick my wounds and my pride. After the event, Simon, harking from Blackpool, the land of the trams, told me you should always hit the lines at 90 degrees. It's great having hindsight.

	Pizzas and ice cream.
	There was no way that I could cycle to Trapani from Palermo as planned. My knees were swollen and my wrists sore. The cuts to my face and body were minor but I was shaken. We decided to spend a night in Palermo and travel to Trapani by train. We hunted out a family run hotel in the back streets; and then sat spying from the balcony. Palermo wasn't a disappointment. Designer shops by day; street market paradise by night. We ate hungrily from street stalls and stocked up on beer.
	Trapani taught us what a real pizza should taste like and we finished off our evening there, wandering its elegant streets and eating delicious ice cream.

	Simon's Bits and Pizzas.
	The Godfather Influence.
	You may intend to leave the overactive imagination at home; but what exactly is that old man doing sitting outside the cafe greeting people with a smile and a handshake before showing them into an unmarked door, or why did that young bloke in a suit just palm an unidentifiable package to the patron of that restaurant. Take 'Rear Window'; set it on a balcony in Palermo with two time-killing, conspiracy-theory English travellers, and 'Godfather' plotlines are never far from mind.
	Not understanding a word of Italian helps to increase this feeling of subtle concern. We are aliens here; visitors passing through a culture we have embellished with film scripts. As it was, we didn't meet Don, though we were polite to everyone, just in case.

Train.
After leaving our hotel at 10.00am and finding the net cafe closed, we while away the hours wandering, cycling and shopping in the backstreet markets of Palermo. A mixture of Arabian and Italian, we find street pizza, coffee-shops, air fragranced with cooking meat and spices and little supermarket stalls which have all the supplies we need for the train journey (i.e. beer, bread and cheese). The traffic is neither as manic nor congested as it was yesterday and we cycle around taking photos and doing the tourist thing for a few hours.
After coffee outside the station, it was time for the train to Trapani. Armed with all our tickets; including the tickets for the bikes, we manhandle our beasts up the massive step onto the train and settle in our seats. The ride takes us past stunning beaches on one side and mountains with brilliant looking ridge walking on the other. I sit in the guard's compartment with the bikes, drinking beer and smoking fags and keeping an eye on our machines, which keep wobbling about.
And after hours, other people's fumes, and wonderings as to whether we would have made it over those mountains in two days, we arrive in Trapani; to cuboid pizza, huge gelatos, and with hindsight, the last time we would eat properly for several weeks.

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Before here we were in Sardinia. After here we were in Tunisia.

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