The Day trip to Taormina

12/9 - Taormina Day Trip

I had to make a decision on this second day, of whether to walk down to Taormina and back up, or to take a day trip by train and keep moving. I chose the latter, as it is one thing to take a one-day detour, and entirely another to take a four-day one. So, leaving my backpack at the hotel, I boarded a train to Taormina, and reached the city in no time, or at least a lot quicker than walking.

Even the train station was absolutely beautiful, charming and well-appointed with carefully preserved period furniture. There was even a 1st class waiting room, though of course it was closed, no longer in use. Finding an open (!!!) tourist information office, I received a wealth of information from the representative, who had traveled extensively throughout Sicily and was eager to help. He even gave me a map and a book of all the accommodations in Sicily, which though five years old was still the best I had seen since Liguria. He even helped me locate a number of shoe stores in town, as I was not ready to brave one more hour of rain with my current shoes.

Taormina has a fabulous ancient theatre, built on high and overlooking the sea, so that the audience could enjoy nature's spectacle while they viewed the man-made one. I had heard a great deal about this landmark, and planned to give it its due share of my attention, but the practical consideration of footwear took priority, and I spent half of my time in Taormina visiting every shoe store. I went 0 for 7, and was greatly disturbed, but I had also come for some sightseeing, and so put the shoe problem temporarily out of mind.

The town itself was a sparkling little jewel, completely out of place with what I imagined Sicily to be, as flashy as luxurious as it was. Another victim of tourism, I thought, and wondered if it had always been wealthy: not every Greek colony could afford a hilltop theatre with a view. The threatre itsdelf was what I had hoped it would be, though I must admit I was bound to be disappointed after hearing about my Dad's visit in the 1960s, when it was deserted, unkempt and absolutely free. Even at the end of my journey, I am still unable to reconcile the fact that tourism and fences spoil the magic of ancient ruins with the fact that the same diffusion of information and modern technology that brings tourism and fences also allows me to travel. There is no solution except a form of time travel, available only to me and those I select. I am hard at work on the invention of it, one beer at a time.

I sat at length in the audience section, picturing past performances, recalling my own days on the stage, and realizing with satisfaction that I was one of the few people here. At least it wasn't like the Coliseum.

Somewhere between a video speaker phone conversation between a 40-something man and his mother (can you see the stage, mom? No, it's all fuzzy. Tilt the phone! OOOOOOHHH, there it is! Pretty!) and the appearance of the landscaper with weed whacker a whackin' full blast, I decided that the magic was over, and it was time to move on.

As I walked down to the bus, I stopped in one last shoe store, and after some fast sales-talking, a good fit, and an uncharacteristically snap decision on my part, I found myself in a pair of snazzy leather shoes, which though not in Goretex had been personally guaranteed by the salesman. Desperation trounced discrimination, and with a ride to the train station as part of the sales pitch, I made it just on time tocatch the train to Messina, and back to my cozy little hotel room.