Day 81, Sunday 18th of October. Messina to Catania... Hazel

105.79km in 5hr

Averaging 20.9kmph, max speed 49.7kmph

Odometer 6213km

"Nice Morning" Mr Buffon the Italien goal keeper who has signed up to Kelloggs beams at us. "Nice Morning" appears to be a pale (literally) imitation of bran flakes which they've teamed with a name attempting some mild quaint englishness. There is no depiction of tea, sausages, marmalade on the pack so Nice is really all one could expect.

The bikes are hovering nervously at the side of our dining room,oh how things have changed from cramped hotel room/ bedsit living. After weeks of rain, off road mud, gravel, sand, freshly laid tarmac, and now the greasy mix of diesel fumes and sweat the handle bars are looking really quite grubby. So in the true spirit of procrastination we re-do all our bar tapes in our delightful Starlight/ canary yellow. The process becomes a little distressing towards the end when our exclusive lock ends are too exclusive for our bikes. Loud thumping with various limbs and culinary wares are heard from Alice's quarter accompanied by much huffing, puffing and cursing. But the bikes are now resplendant in their team lemon bars, with bar ends half wedged in.

We then squeeze into Schindler's Lift. Bike up ended, head tangled between handlebars and brake levers, a quivering hand emerges through the frame to jab at the lift's button. The hotel lobby clutters, the receptionist sighs before we are out onto the busy Sicilian streets.

I have still neglected learning how to drive, but as we pedaled out of town I wondered how anyone in Sicily would be able to learn. Or perhaps that's the key- no one can drive here!

Firstly the road surface in town is so blighted by pot holes, overzealous and inaccurate tarmacing, wobbly skewif drains jutting out, deep crevices and ridges, with of course no pavement. (It is also a wonder why we have seen so many carbon fibre bikes zipping around the shop!)

Secondly there is no logic as to right of way, giving way. At a junction you poke your bonnet out, pray, then wave and pull out into whatever oncoming traffic there maybe. This is true for pedestrians also, but bearing mind they have no defined pavement area to walk upon why should such matters as crossings be of concern either?
And lastly tooting. A toot for any item of intrest be it dangerous, frinedly, comic, grave, alerting or simply out of boredom. And sicilina precedence indicates that once one person toots, others vechicles should chorus this.

I wonder if we'll ever escape the city, but Colby expertly navigates us out. Apprently it was one straight road, but such is my appaling sense of direction (After a year working at any hospital I will still struggle to get from one side to the other) I was really quite impressed with her.

So out of the city and it's buildings shielidng us from the cloudy wet, grey sky. Welcome to your summer holiday girls!

The coast line bobs along and the kilometes tot up. With Sicily being a big Volcano it's not entirely flat, and again we find ourselves slowly winding up hair pins of a "cliff face". Unfortunately our pace was to slow for the Fiat Panda crawling along behind us who stalls around the corner and is unable to muster up the engine power for a hill start. Quite a tail back is building with fellow drivers getting out to push. Alas the hill is to much for the poor panda who is turned and rolls back down the hill. All this as we slowly climb away from them.

Taormina nestles up on the hillside some 50km in. Our spirit guides tell us this is the most wonderful, idlyic location in Italy. It's also a detour up a very steep hill apparently so we won't visit today. The area is awash with tourists and hotels bragging of their constellations. Quick pit stop at the railway station, and a long sit on the wall opposite, munching lunch and guessing what nationality the collective of people looking lost at the bus stop is (we settle on Dutch). The rain starts again and we press on.

Cycling through olive groves and lime trees, and back along the beach before we must again climb up over the headland before we can hit Catania, which must be close by!

Up over the hill and we start the roll down. The local government has seen fit to tackle Italien overtaking (reckless at best) by installing yellow barriers betwee the lanes. Of course this policy hadn't anticipated cyclists, let alone bulky cycle tourists and so the cars need to squeese down between us and the yellow barrier. Breathing in to make ourselves as narrow as possible helps and we make it down safely only to find ourselves in a fast and confusing 4 lane intersection. McDonalds realising this is a confusing place have sensibly set up resturant (or Mc Cafe as they are more approriately called on the conitinent) as a haven for weary travellers, and seeking shelter from the grey drizzle we allow the Golden arches to cover us.

There is a large, and high pitched children's party running amuck inside. We appear to be the only ones eating, the only ones not connected to the party, and also we seem to be the oldest people there!

Not letting this put us off our snack (full scale big mac meals) we finish, and again resort to the iphone compass to guide us to our city centre, on the duomo door step, hostel. We are unfortunaltey informed we are as far away on the northern outskirts of the city, with the Duomo firmly seated in the south of the city. Sighing we mount our bicycles once more, but now warmed and fed are able to negogiate our way around the coast to the Duomo, with help from a delightful Bulgarian lady on the way (who initially addressed us in German).

We step out for dinner, and after fruitless search for a working bankomat head to the cheap resturant on the Castello square for dinner. It's seven thirty, which in Sweden would be too late for dinner, but here we are among the first in the resturatnt. The waiting staff easily outnumber diners, but in remarkable inefficiency scurry from one station to the next without actually doing any waiting. Apart from at the tables where men with slow telling looks, and firm holds of arms steer the waiting staff to serve them first and not present them with a bill.

We wait an age to pay, despite our coats, raised eyebrows hopeful looks. But after an hour we pay and then run (which is the first time for some weeks) through the streets as the heavens open and the thunder rolls in.