Journey to Sicily

We bagged the first funicular of Sunday morning as we waved goodbye to the lovely Orvieto above. Train one (a rattly but reasonably empty regional train, nearly on time) took us on a gentle and enjoyable journey through the Italian countryside to Rome, following the Tiber for much of the way. The Umbrian hills turned wilder as we moved further south and we were treated to distant mountains and a couple of hours of rising skylines and green, green views. The train gives you a grandstand view of landscapes, bringing these beautiful places right to your window while you sit and relax. It’s genuinely the nicest way to travel.

Next up, a transfer across Rome between stations. Dead simple – one metro line, four stops, 40 minutes to manage it. Simple, right?

I’m going to throw in an aside now, and confess that Rome and I have history, so there was no way this was ever going to go smoothly. I’ve been to Rome three times now. Visit one: a full-day coach tour from Sorrento, when we were on honeymoon and too young and naive to know that this would be an awful way to see the city. Long, hot hours on a packed coach and too little time to appreciate anything much except a crush of people in a July-sweaty city. I threw the obligatory coin into the Trevi fountain, which was clearly to blame for … visit two. Within a day of returning from honeymoon I was despatched back to Italy for a work trip which, for a series of reasons not worth sharing, pushed me so far over the edge that when I was then sent almost straight to Ireland to cover the Omagh bomb, broke me hard enough to pretty much spell the beginning of the end of my career in journalism. Which explains the  20-year gap before visit three in 2024, travelling through on a rail trip across Europe for my 50th. We’d been in Florence and planned enough time in Rome to enjoy an afternoon walk and a good dinner before getting the night train south. Short, managed, lovely. Alas. I arrived unwell into a city under such torrential rain that the streets were running with rivers of water. The walk was cancelled, and we spent the time wading through puddles, looking for a pharmacy, and hiding from the weather. The promised dinner was good, but then the night train was delayed by nearly two hours, leaving us sitting on the floor in a closed Rome Termini. At this point I realised that this city has something against me, and vowed not to return to Rome.

This time I planned to slip through, stealthily and unnoticed. Sadly, Rome clocked that I was coming and closed the metro for the day. Upstairs by the platforms, Rome Tiburtina is a beautiful modern station, lots of space and light. It was quiet and calm and I was feeling optimistic about success this time. Outside … chaos. Crowds of people trying to get to information and/or tickets from the one tabac open on a Sunday morning. A crush of people filling each bus that arrived in seconds – people clearly with inside knowledge, since we couldn’t find any signs to show where each bus was going. We failed to locate anyone to ask and, with our 40 minute transfer window ticking rapidly down, decided it was time for a rescue mission. We’ve worked really hard on this trip to stick to either public transport or two feet – but in Rome, we gave in and took a taxi. Whisked to Rome Termini quietly and quickly, made our train, no regrets. Maybe I’ll try Rome again properly one day. Maybe.

Train two of the day was a lovely Frecciarossa – one of Trenitalia’s fast express trains. We’d booked seats in the quiet carriage, thinking we might need it by this stage. The train was lovely – comfortable, clean, tea and coffee delivered to our seats. Of the six people in the small quiet carriage, three spent most of the journey on their mobiles, but it was calmer than everything to follow.

The revelation of this train for me was mountains. My knowledge of Italy south of Rome is woeful – and I had no idea that I could expect snow-capped mountains and some stunning, dramatic views. The whole route to Salerno was a joy. In and out of tunnels, each time emerging to a new valley, tree-covered hillsides and bridges over gorges and high mountains alongside. After Naples, add in thrilling snatches of views of the sea as well. Just lovely.

Our next transfer was in Salerno, our on-time train giving us the chance for a quick walk to the sea front. It was a sunny, blustery day and there were people sitting out in a pavement cafe – bundled up in coats, but still sitting out. A marina opposite and then, beyond, stunning views to the dramatic Amalfi coastline. It was windy and the waves were absolutely crashing in, smashing against the rock breakers alongside the harbour. By now it was mid-afternoon and we’d been travelling since 7am, so this little burst of air and freshness was so welcome.

From here, another couple of hours down the coast to Lamezia. A joy of a journey – the train sits so close to the sea for much of it, I felt I could lean out and feel the salt spray on my face. The line is astonishing, cutting through the coast-side hills with so many tunnels; in and out, sea then darkness, sea then darkness. Big sweeping bays, people walking on beaches, views of distant headlands.

We were starting to feel it by Lamezia. Travel-weary and ready for a coffee which we couldn’t find. Instead, a vending machine and a Snickers bar, which we ate sitting on an empty platform in the fading light.

The final train of the day was a beauty. The regional trains in Calabria are a bit of a revelation. Modern, clean, smart – power at every seat, big comfortable chairs.  The regional trains all across Europe have often been the least comfortable – many of them old and fairly battered. These were definitely the best we’d ridden so far.

There were about five of us on the entire train, which set off in now-darkness on our final leg to Tropea. No views, stations so tiny that we often couldn’t see the platform or any buildings from our carriage.

Tropea station was pretty much in darkness too when we arrived. We followed an equally dark road under the tracks and into town, down the hill – and emerged into a square of thoroughly unexpected pumping music and bars. Walking through the old town past some beautiful churches, into cobbled streets, past a couple of restaurants with people sitting outside under heaters. The sound of waves crashing somewhere ahead. Tropea looked lovely.

One funicular, one taxi, four trains, two long walks – and everything had worked. Even the chase across Rome was ultimately successful. I guess our luck had to run out at some point. Take a bow, tonight’s accommodation.

We’d booked a quirky but lovely-looking apartment right on the cliff edge, looking out to sea. The aim: stay two nights, have a lazy day recovering from the long journey, and then be ready to go again. The signs weren’t auspicious when we found the entrance to the apartment down a dark set of broken steps. With the help of the torch on a phone, we managed to find the key safe and wrestled open an old, battered iron gate guarding the front door. The door also needed a hard kick to open and then we were in.

In parts, the apartment was stunning. Probably in summer, in the light, the apartment was lovely. However. If this had been a horror film, you’d definitely have been yelling at the screen by this stage. Freezing cold, wind howling noisily through the shutters – and, as we later discovered, through a balcony door in bedroom two, left open to the air from the sea which was crashing and raging below. Dark, dusty stairway to a rickety balcony which felt like it was hanging over the cliff edge. Bare rock wall in the bathroom, damp. The living space: freezing cold with one wall-heater to try to do fruitless battle with the sea air. And, as we discovered the next morning, enough hot water only for one shower.

Tim managed to rustle up some pasta and we ate in our coats, hoping it would warm up. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. After 5 weeks and a journey from the Arctic, this was the first time I’ve needed to sleep in my socks.

We took a short late-night walk through a now-quiet town. Pretty streets and a few walkers out who all said hello. Too tired to take it in, we retreated to bed, debating on the way whether it would be safer to lock the iron gate behind us or not. Back in horror movie land, you’d definitely say not!

I’d love to say that we woke up the next morning to a different world: a warm apartment and a stunning view. Sadly not. It was still freezing and it was time to cut our losses. If we had to move on anyway, our rest day was blown, so we may as well get back on the rails. It was time to go to Sicily.

From here on, the travel was huge fun.  Unplanned, last minute, chaotic – and fun.

We headed back to the main square in Tropea and grabbed a coffee with an hour to spare before our train. While we were sitting there, I found an earlier connection. Tim downed his latte macchiato faster than a man should have to drink his first coffee of the morning and we half-ran up the hill to the station as fast as our rucksack-laden legs would carry us. Today would definitely be making up for yesterday’s station Snickers.

A lovely ride in another impeccable regional train took us into a world of orchards and sea views. Cacti by the line, oranges on the trees. Unbelievable that we’ve come all the way from the frozen Arctic forests to this.

We arrived into Villa San Giovanni expecting a 10 minute walk and then an hour’s wait for the ferry to Sicily. What we found was a fast hydrofoil leaving in just a couple of minutes. Cue another dashed run, this time to the ticket office to grab ferry tickets for the grand cost of €2.50 each.

We’d left Tropea in the rain – but by the time we got on the ferry, the sun was shining and the hills of Sicily were looking beautiful across the water. It’s such a short crossing here, it feels more like crossing a lake. The hydrofoil was gentle and quick, and in no time at all we were disembarking onto the port side in Messina.

It took a good 30 minutes for the bus to fight through the traffic of the busy port town. Messina is big, densely built and populated – busy, working town. I was glad that a bus driver was tackling the traffic chaos while we relaxed and caught our breath.

Once out of town, the road pulls up and up, to sit way above the sea on the side of the hills. Views to high, tree-covered mountains on one side, and down to a gorgeous turquoise sea below.

It seemed like no time at all until the bus picked its way down the hillside and stopped at Taormina Giardini station. A few of us got out – the majority continuing to the airport in Catania. Outside the station, the sun was shining and warm enough for us to take off coats and soak in the feeling of sunlight on arms and faces. Gorgeous.

The walk from the station to the hotel was just under a mile. With just the one small impediment left – Taormina town sits 500 feet above sea level. The station: right by the sea. And so, for the final piece of this crazy journey, we followed a main road, which became a side road, which became a broad track, which became a dusty single-track trail. Winding its way steeply up the hillside, rocky under foot, yellow flowers alongside, the occasional rustic wooden fence where the path turned through 180° degrees to snake up the cliff. A lizard ran across the path ahead of us. Each hairpin bend gave us more thrilling views back down to the turquoise sea below.

Eventually we arrived at the top. Red-faced and shattered but oh, what a view. Sea on one side and on the other, a thrilling view of a magnificent, snow-topped Mount Etna.

If this has been an episode of Race Across the World, there would have been a book to sign at the top. Instead: vibrant flowers, green trees, gardens spilling down the hillside and a grand villa hotel ahead. Possibly the most crazy 36 hours of travel we’ve taken. 5 trains, 1 funicular, 1 taxi, 1 bus, 1 ferry. A gentle 1 mile walk through the quiet streets of Orvieto. An uphill run through Tropea, a ferry dash, a bus dash. A 500 ft climb. All worth it to emerge into a southern Italian winter that feels like another world, with its sunshine and colour and vibrancy.  Time to relax!