The picture is the rim of the volcano of Stromboli, I am one of the figures. Sulphur fumes affect your breathing, I had a puffer, another guy had forgotten his, I leant him mine and struggled to the top, worth it.

Travelling alone, December, having crossed the Straits of Messina I had to take one of the few usable roads across the mountainous centre of Sicily. I’d done it before, it was mapped, but had disappeared. An earthquake had carried it down the hill, nobody had restored it. However, there was a beaten earth dual-carriage way seemingly through the fields, seemed the only choice. As Sicily has been invaded for thousands of years nearly all towns were build high on hills for security, countryside empty. Then I came to the town of Marionopoli, joy, civilisation, right road.

In some relief I arrived at my destination, Mussomeli, been going there for years, nearly all our farm staff came from there. The only hotel was still upright. However the earthquake had warped a few things, and you had to lift the door to get key and keyhole to match. A young man loomed beside me, could he help? Sure. Then do not know how, we were BOTH inside my room. English scorn and a lot of swearing got him out. At breakfast the next morning I complained bitterly that I should be importuned in this way. But the proprietress was upset for the young man, his pride was hurt, I was not ‘sympa’. You bet.

Caught up with old friends, did some useful research then next stage, Switzerland, where I was in search of special fennel seed. I arrived at Palermo in good time for my boat. Not a sign. Rumour that it had just left Africa, would depart next morning. I had bronchitis, lost my voice and it was December. I settled, a bit scared, in my car, Four young men appeared, for the boat, they worked in Germany. I could not stay alone; they would take me home to one of their sisters. Although I thought kidnap, I felt that they would keep me alive and warm to get the ransom, so I went. Such kindness! She put me to bed in the child’s bed, the young men arrived at 4 a.m, we had coffee and went off to the actual boat.

We landed in Genoa at 5 a.m the next morning, to drive to Switzerland. In Wadenzwill I asked directions in the Post Office, the young assistant was proud of his English, but got his left and right wrong. I had to drive some kilometres up a closed mountain road before I could safely turn round. The hotel was in German speaking Switzerland, but the maid was Italian, reception girl French, so we managed. Then Switzerland was closed, black ice causing accidents. I had to get to Paris, nearly lost my nerve, going to call to Mr G to fly to Zurich and drive me home. But nil desperandum, how hardy are you?

The Gardener

A Moodscope member