This beautiful lump had been staring at me from the terrace for two whole weeks, tempting me with its luscious peak (phwoar etc.). I am still somewhat at a disadvantage walking-wise, due to a bad knee (long story, third dislocation last year, turns out healing is much slower when you’re advancing in years) but I love a good walk and it was far too beautiful a prospect to refuse. So I went.

• An alternate view, this photo taken moments before two very angry dogs evaded their fence and ran at me. Ever cautious, I bravely ran away (away, away)…

It started well. A long main road, replete with road traffic accidents, entirely useless pedestrian crossings (why do you bother with them, Italy?) which culminated in some lovely steps and a sudden, steep incline. I was puffed out already, still at the foot of the hill. ‘Oh dear,’ I thought.

Onwards! I was emboldened by this sign detailing the history of the area. Valuable information, and it made sense as I don’t think the pathway had seen any maintenance in about two thousand years.

A sign below it, less informative in some ways but fascinating nonetheless. Google Translate told me it means ‘FUCK BUT NOT DIRTY’. Excellent. Such a romantic place.

The view became very beautiful very quickly, so I thought I’d get in the way by planting my awful face smack bang in the middle of it.

Upset by the disturbing reality of my reflection, I took a nicer photo. There was a splendid haze all around which blended the sea and the sky in an eerily ethereal manner. Truly gorgeous. Worth noting that it was the first fully cloudy day in two weeks; the hill would have most likely killed me if it’d been the blazing Mediterranean sun I’ve experienced of late.

In the ‘on season’ there’s a funicular (oooh laa dee da, it’s a cable car) which makes the ascent a little less rigorous, however as this is off season, and it was blowing a fierce breeze, enough to make me question my life choices at a few points, it was out of action. The wind caused much clattering of metal and ominous ‘woo’ing noises, giving the whole area a distinctly creepy feel.

Apparently determined to terrify, at the peak of the hill is an abandoned, half-built hotel. Hotel Ermione was once destined to be a luxurious resort, with a massive terrace overlooking Trapani, a swimming pool, ample parking, all mod cons. Alas, as with so many construction projects in Italy, the money seems to have run out and it’s now a shell, slowly rotting in the Sicilian sun. It’s my assumption that building a massive hotel, at the top of a fiendishly impractical hill with only a sleepy medieval village for company, turned out to be a bad idea.

What’s that? Not creepy enough? Have an abandoned minivan, why not. A real shame, having been systematically destroyed by the four Main Elements (sun, wind, rain and vandalism), it was once a beautiful bit of kit. Possibly beyond repair, although I’m not a mechanic so take my diagnosis with a pinch of the proverbial.

• One of the worst shots I took from the top. Not sure why it made the cut. Still, you get what you’re given. I had transcended from ‘tired and achey’ into ‘Lord, if you’re listening, HAYULP!’ territory so aesthetics weren’t really a priority at this point.

At the summit, alongside the set of Italian iteration of The Shining, were a hum of communication towers. I’m not sure what the collective noun for communication towers is, but a ‘hum’ seems fitting. Bearing in mind I had only seen perhaps four people on the whole two and half hour journey, the permeating low end buzz of electrical energy gave the whole area a thoroughly spooky ambience. Conditioned by years of purposefully upsetting video games, I very much enjoyed it, although I could imagine it’d be a bit disconcerting for ‘yer average punter ehh’.

A portal to another world. Seriously, Erice is stunning, it’s maze of ancient cobbles, narrow alleys and sun-bleached buildings, it’s like something out of a fairy tale. Albeit a bloody freezing one.

The history of the site. Cool, eh?

Fantastic.

Beautiful.

Stunning.

I have run out of superlatives. Blimmin’ ‘eck!

Crikey!

Christ on a bike!

Ah, the man himself. Soz about the ol’ sacrilege, I reckon you’ll forgive me. You don’t seem like the kind of bloke that would unnecessarily persecute others for arbitrary reasons.

Now, I love a beer as much as any one person ever could claim to. From a freshly poured pint of Asahi in a frozen fatty of a glass (big up Japan, standard) to a dusty, tent-warm can of cheapest Aldi piss on a festival Sunday afternoon, I love beer. Even the bargain basement filth in one litre plastic bottles that costs 1.12€ and leaves you feeling like your head’s going to explode like a volcanic bum (big up Euro Spin, your ‘Best Brau’ was certainly a ‘Brau’, but you take liberties with ‘Best’) but there is nothing, nowhere on this earth, more indulgently glorious than that first sip of amber heaven after three hours of absolute missions up a massive hill. It was fortunate in the extreme, as I reached Erice town for 1:30pm, the exact time, to the minute, that almost every business closes so that the owners can have a wee nap until four. The big man was truly smiling upon me, as I stumbled upon a bar on the main square. I was warned by a charming Italian lady, whilst perusing the menu, that the food was dire and should be avoided at all costs. An angry, bald man was debating the bill and his family were leaving, a fair few notches below ‘impressed’. Lord, please bless the owner of the establishment, for she had the vacant, haunted stare that only a restaurant owner who has just fielded a severe complaint can ever have. It’s why I have always resolutely rejected customer facing work, especially the service industry. I’ll happily take abuse if you feel upset about my practice as a teacher, and I’ll do all I can to provide the absolute best for my students, but come at me for a plate of spaghetti that isn’t to your liking and you can get tae fu… (-No. Ed.)

I miss Babu, Brixworth’s premier refugee street beast, as she’s the most beautiful, loving and genuinely gorgeous creature I think I’ve ever met, dog-wise. So it’s always lovely to meet another canine babe. This little thing was a joy. Perched by the door one moment, coming in for scritches the next, scampering around the square upsetting other dogs after that, beautiful and mischievous and gentle as anything, I’d have taken her with me if it wasn’t technically a crime and an ‘All Round Bad Idea™’.

See. See! D’aww…

There were many cats. Gorgeous little beasts too. They gave it the biggun, their finely honed cutest faces on display, but it turns out they only wanted me for one thing and one thing only. Brazen fiends. That ‘thing’ was a cheesy ham arancine (deep fried rice ball), and fair play, if it wasn’t so obscenely delicious, I would’ve shared some, but it was, so I didn’t. Poor little guy bottom right had terribly sore looking eyes, to the point where I wished I was an animal opthalmologist so I could’ve helped it, but I’m not, so I didn’t.

There he is again, having a good ol’ ‘judge’, no doubt. Look, I’m sorry, alright. I’ll do a few ‘hail Marys’ on the bus to Marsala.

That’s better. A bit more ancient architecture. Strewth! (That’s enough Aussie-isms. -Ed.)

I probably don’t publish enough, ‘Stickers in the Wild,’ posts, and I should publish more, I love ’em. So much to unpick, I think I mused over the toilet in Osaka in a previous entry, and I just think they’re neat. Every one lovingly conceived, designed, printed and stuck. This sticker, what does it mean? What does it tell us about our place on this earth? Why bother? Great questions that I frankly can’t be arsed to investigate right now. I do love a good sticker though.

More lovely repurposed mineral deposits. Ooh, yeah, reallocate those earthly resources for me, yeah, yeah!

Right, at this point I’m going to make a concerted effort to be heartfelt and genuine for once. The view from up here was utterly spectacular. It moved me. I felt blessed to be there, taking in a view that would have been taken in by a soldier thousands of years ago, a view so beautiful, a moment shared with myself and another over the course of millennia. Simply astonishing.

Castello di Venere in most of its glory. On the plus side, it was off season so I was largely alone for the walk. On the down side, nothing was open, but it was glorious enough from the outside and time was lurching onwards, as it tends to do.

I mean, really… It was ludicrous how beautiful it was.

So beautiful was it that I thought I’d whack my hideous fizog to the left of it.

Right, nice one for following thusfar, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d ditched about a hundred tedious photos ago, but this is where it gets Interesting™. To the right you can see the new gold standard for ‘lads’, to my mind anyway. Tuna Teleco (https://instagram.com/tunateleco?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y=), a band of roving absolute legends who play traditional Spanish music in traditional Spanish getup. Sometimes, quite often actually, I happen, entirely by chance, or by dint of being an all round legend, upon incredible things. This was one of those things. They were filming some promo material for Instagram, and I just so happened to be in the exact right spot at the exact right time to capture it. They were really friendly, from Genova I believe, and it was the ultimate uplifting finale to a thoroughly joyful day.

The beastly wind knocked over a cup of wine (boo) but they turned it into a theatrical photo op (wahey).

Alas, the sun was setting and my time atop the hill was at an end. I was hoping, feebly, for practical public transport back down. Of course, Sicily isn’t really ready to embrace reliable public transport just yet, so the next Great Challenge commenced – Race the Sun to Sea Level.

You can’t beat the sun, you’d have to be some kind of bearded, hobbling, bespectacled simpleton to assume you could.

And he’s off! Undeterred by such trifles as self-preservation and adversity to mortal risk, I began my descent. As luck (and a bit of judgement) would have it, I planned it all perfectly, navigating perilous paths and crumbling crevasses (crevassi? I’m not really succeeding at plurals today) and made it to the ‘Road With Lights On™’ with barely a second to spare. It was exciting. Well, it was sketchy as all hell and foolish to boot. But, when you choose the life of the foolish, sketchy wanderer, you gotta do some foolish, sketchy wandering.

It was at this point that the fear started to set in. I could definitely have navigated the paths by torchlight, but it was treacherous enough with sun up, and I was exhausted, my gammy old man knee screaming ‘Please! No more! Lord! Have mercy!’

Oh. You again. Nice of you to show up. Two days late mind. Where were you when I needed you, eh? Ah?!

It wasn’t that bad. I’m hamming it up for the craic. I made it to streetlight just in time and, as if the aforementioned Lord and Saviour was genuinely watching out for me like the legend that he is (Praise be, he’s alright really), I was guided to safety by this heavenly beacon. Although, as postulated by Bill Hicks and probably many others, I’m not sure he’d be thrilled at the implement of his destruction being illuminated in such a garish way. It’d piss me off, coming back from two thousand years absence to find crucifixes everywhere, having been nailed to one previosuly. I reckon he’d prefer a big ol’ beer, or a bit of pizza, to welcome him home.

Speaking of which, I had a lovely big ol’ beer and two slices of the greasiest, most decadent pizza to welcome me home. No one likes a food blogger, well, no one with any self-respect, but this pizza, 1.80€ per slice, is something I will cherish the memory of to my dying day. Mazzara Salvatore, (https://maps.app.goo.gl/S7PduGqapa1UgSeZ8) I love you. Your brusque service endeared me all the more. I will wear your calorific deposits with pride.

There you have it, my adventure up a hill and back down again. It’s lucky I’m hilarious, else that could have been a painfully tedious bit of non-news. Anyway, arrivederci ragazzi. I love you all x