We were promised dolphins, just for one day. The promise got broken like flowers in no time. Snapped in half by Jarmusch’s Don Juan—well, the version we met that day. Definitely not from California; don’t you dare get him mixed up with a random weirdo from the Golden State. You know how these people are! New York. New York it is. Also, far neater than that dull city of Catania (his words). Oh, and the dolphins? Sparkly like stardust, and just as unattainable. Unless you’re Major Tom—or at least a minor one—floating in your tin can. Also known as boats on this blue void in the midst of land.
“I, I wish you could swim. Like the dolphins, like dolphins can swim.”
Well, that, at least, we did. Enough for the stream of consciousness; let’s embark on a sail on the relatively streamless Mediterranean Sea around the familiar places. Assuming, of course, that you’ve browsed my previous Sicilian posts.
Dolphin spotting is inherently tricky, in any case. There’s no guarantee whatsoever. Just like when we chased after mouflons in one of the Prague forests and ended up on a spooky Halloween trail instead.
Anyway, not everyone knows that up until a tad over 5 million years ago, the Mediterranean Basin was just a savanna with dwarf elephants and similar cute species. Not kidding; just google it! A biblical-style flood washed that all away when Gibraltar was breached and the waters of the Atlantic captured the lowlands. I wish I could have witnessed that, although the flooding took months, if not years.
Sicily, like most Mediterranean islands, is basically the tip of a prehistoric mountain range, so its limestone and igneous cliffs peek out from the sea resembling mountains for a reason. Over those five million years, the sea eroded the rocks, carving caves you can explore on the cruise. Unlike those elusive dolphins, these are not flighty at all; you only need to withstand a boat queue occasionally. Some have a history; others have a past. Took part in naval battles, hid submarines, sheltered refugees when the towns were besieged. One of them hosted rendezvous, allegedly.
Cave of Lovers
Grotta Azzurra
Coral Caves
Crimson coral peeking from beneath the sea’s surface
O Captain! My Captain! Not that Lincolny, yet quite Abrahamy indeed, was our captain. A true, wind-beaten, salted to the very bone, skin-cancer-mocking guappo. Spitting English words out like olive pits. All softened when wine-and-sweets time came. Swimming first, though.
We were taken to the far side of Isola Bella and allowed to jump from the bow, a privilege @honeydue seized more than once in her quest to fly, though it was still merely falling. Succumbing to gravity, though with a rather smooth landing. Don Juan took the same leap into thin air upon realizing that he had little to no chance of charming the two stern ladies at the stern just to impress the bathers with his Don Juany adventures while floating above the slopes of prebiblical mountains. Would the dwarf elephants have believed him? We didn't really buy it, so we gave Catania a shot later on. But that’s a completely different story.
Isola Bella
Enjoyed this one? Stay tuned for my next Sicilian post!