The Galacon/Sicily Trip, Part 9: Agrigento: Rainbow Dash Non-Appreciation Society · 5:07pm April 29th

In the present, I've been trying to focus on a future which, in the best case, is more than a year away. The possibility of making it to Tokyo for their MLP convention in (approximately) May of 2025, and the gradually-advancing marathon run of trying to reach the required total.

I haven't started full-scale nightly photo essays in the chat server: that was what happened for Sicily, and I was comfortable in playing tour guide for everyone because hometown. It's just been a few pictures, a video or two, and spamming the tip jar link an average of once per day. The final day of each month is a State Of The Convention Drive talk, so there's going to be one tomorrow.

It's too early to have any real hope of reaching the goal, and I try not to be obnoxious about pushing for it.

But I do have to put the Ko-Fi tip jar link in where I can. Just in case. Because maybe a few people will want to read about that trip too.

(And the Patreon one. That's more towards dark comedy.)

The trip of a lifetime.

At least I'll be carrying some lessons from the last one. (How many outdoor staircases do you figure Tokyo's got?)

In the present, look towards the future. In the past, turn to face deep into the dusty centuries.

I wanted to revisit my deepest memory of the island.

It's time to go honor some gods.

September 26th

This is a rare state for me: recognizing that it's too early in the morning to go walking, and that I have to hold off a bit.

I'm also trying to figure out how much longer I can keep walking at all.

Predawn in Trapani. I can leave the B&B at any time: the keys just get dropped on the front desk in the entrance hall, and Catania has reminded me to be very careful about packing out. My feet want me to take caution with everything else. The right one has some swelling at the inner curve, and the fact that the swollen section isn't tender yet... there's probably a blister forming, a few layers under the skin. And when it comes to the shoes which tried to make me skate towards the Erice cable car...

The treads have just about been vaporized. The bottom is very nearly a smooth surface. Not yet at the point of completely wearing through, but... I am now wearing gliders, and any truly low-friction surface is going to become a hazard. I can potentially skid out on dried paint. Pebbles will make themselves known as I step on them. Vimes Sneakers.

I'm carrying emergency shoe money, but... where do I even shop? As much to the point, when? Because right now, I have to prepare for another city jump. And I'm sure not seeking out a shoe store on the other end of this one. I have higher priorities. Literally.

I'm going to see the gods.

What do I remember...?

Sometimes I feel like it's surprisingly little, especially when compared to an entire childhood. At others, I realize that I tend to keep the gates closed. Let one trickle of recollection through and the full river will try to rush in behind. It's too easy to drown.

But when it comes to my sharpest memory of the island...

...I have a tendency to call Mount Etna 'the old god'.

But a child cared about the fallen one.

'Atlas' may not be the best translation, especially when his display quantity went way into the plurals. Multiple giant statues which helped to support the roof of a temple. The Valley Of The Temples, in Agrigento. Because the island went through so many invasions, and some left behind their gods.

'Valley' isn't the best term either. Agrigento, as with so many Sicilian cities, went for a defensible position. It's pretty high up in the mountains, and the Valley doesn't forfeit a lot of altitude. You go down from the main area, and then you go up again. It's a long, sloping hilltop jutting out of a dip and surrounded by taller peaks. But there's multiple old temples there, I saw them as a kid, and... a fallen fifteen-foot statue sort of sticks in your head. I have carried Atlas across miles and years. That which I remember best of all. The gateway to so many other memories.

He fell. A child felt sorry for that.

The adults are trying to get him standing again.

Atlas, as with everything else in the Valley, used to be out in the open. Walk by, examine at your leisure, touch. He's been put behind protection. New layers are being added between separated sections. Ancient art was consulted to see where everything should go, and then restorative stone was placed atop his head.

They're giving him his face back. They'll stand up him soon. The giant will live, because so many of us remembered.

He'd been fallen in the same place for centuries. Even a god might struggle to recall all those who passed by.

But I wanted to see him.

He's being restored. I don't know where. He probably won't be there...

...crap. It's gonna be Flixbus again. For three and a half hours of ride, which seems rather long for the relatively short distance being crossed.

I didn't book this one until recently. The jump from Catania to Trapani -- one bus per day, so I had to make sure there was a seat for me and I didn't even get the one I paid for. Trapani to Agrigento should have been more flexibility, and I'm still stuck with this bus company. At least it isn't AST. And when I call up the map...

...huh. I thought I was going back behind the sports arena again. I'm not. The pickup side is down by the harbor area, within sighting range of the salt processing plant and museum. But thanks to yesterday's exploration, I know the route either way. It's just a matter of getting there.

...on bad shoes and what may be turning into a bad foot.

Well, I do have temples coming up.

'Pantheon, heal these sneakers' feels disrespectful.

Check the weather. There's a chance of rain in the early afternoon, clear after. Good enough.

Last view from the window.

...well, they can't all be spectacular.

Head out of the B&B, use the cramped multi-door little elevator for the last time. Going onto the sidewalks finds me skidding on wheelchair ramps. Carefully move west...

I can't wait for the linked cafe to finish setting out its stock for my 'one food item, one drink' card. Instead, I manage to find bread. Food has been a problem for the whole trip -- somehow -- but if I couldn't find fresh bread at 8 a.m. in a Sicilian city, then the world was broken.

Getting to the pickup site too early reveals that it's just a little signpost along the sidewalk. Other buses flow by, doing their part to hold the island together. I verify that I've got the right address, then walk around the area until I reach the point where a too-early bus might consider the load-and-run. There's also an indoor waiting area, but that's mostly for those taking tours of the little islands.

Get the ticket up on the tablet's screen, which basically means finding the email proof of purchase. Wait it out...

...the bus is almost on time. Just a little late. Hardly noticeable. The driver looks at the tablet's screen until he sees the QR code, then doesn't bother to scan it: I'm just waved on with instructions to Sit Anywhere. So naturally, I immediately pick the wrong part of Anywhere. My seat goes too far back, and the controls to bring it forward again are broken. A man takes the seat behind mine, and drapes part of his arm across the back of
my seat.

...I swear if he tries to touch anything, he's gonna lose that hand at the wrist --

-- no. Just switch seats. This one's going to kill my back and if that passenger makes a move, possibly also kill him.

No wifi. No USB port. I have to start on one of the too-weak external batteries immediately.

More time lost as the bus loads up. Pull away from Trapani...

...oh, there's the circus tent. So that's what the rolling announcements were trying to generate business for.

The bus weaves its way around for a while, reaches Trapani's airport. It's clean, but small. How small? Put it this way: one Euro to park. A few people get on. Back to little two-lane roads and micro-highways. We're mostly passing through the low-population towns, and this is why the ride was set for three and a half hours. Local speed limits, stoplights, and probably a few more pickups.

I get to look at small businesses. Little stories, tiny cafes, the local supermarket brands. A photography center goes by. It names itself as Lolita Studios, and I get to be somewhat disturbed --

-- short tunnel through a bit of mountain. A red light guards the bus entrance, and does so for fifteen minutes before letting us through. Maybe that's part of the expected travel time.

...the car accident up ahead, however...

More lost time. (Everyone at the accident site seems fine. There's an ambulance, but no one's being visibly treated. It's having a city road go down to one lane, added to Sicilian drivers, which made it take so long to inch through.) At this point, we've definitely slipped well back of the forecast arrival and -- I'm not sure what this means for the day. I'll have to find my B&B in a hurry no matter what, but -- if we get in too late, I can't reach the Valley. I'm not even sure what the distance is between my bed for the night and the resting place of old gods. It may not be possible to cross it --

-- tomorrow. Tomorrow was meant as the jump to Palermo, and that's just a train ride. If necessary, I can leave somewhat later than planned and do the Valley in the morning. It'll just mean... towing the suitcase. Joy.

Has to be done. I'm not going to miss Atlas.

I may have already missed him. He's not going to be --

-- the bus keeps moving. Eventually, we begin to climb. Highways appear, and do so for just long enough for the bus to pick an exit ramp. Then another. We're weaving and curving and picking up height with every turn, until we finally make our way into Agrigento's main bus station. Well over an hour late, and just about everything is going to depend on how quickly I can find the B&B. The Valley does have a closing time, and while that's a ways off -- it's just after 1 p.m. now -- I don't need to be walking along the curbs of Sicilian roads in the dark.

Siri?
...tell me you're kidding.
Those first words are not 'take the staircase'...

...they are.

I have to climb out from the bus station. Agrigento extends vertically above me and, in a particularly vicious touch, the bus station is situated somewhat below the local Old Town. I am going to be staying in the somewhat more ancient part of the city, and that means the staircases are back. Same for the lack of usable sidewalks. And the stairs themselves are rough. I have to keep steering the suitcase past missing sections, and I once again think about how this is not the life which a pre-closeout intended high-end piece of luggage signed up for.

(Maybe it'll go to Japan with me. Maybe I can reach Japan...)

Passing old buildings. Little posters on the walls. I stop to look down every so often, because I'm on the edges right now and there's a lot to look down upon. I can't see the Valley, but so much of Agrigento and those curving ramps is stretching out below me. Increasingly below. See Sicily, Do Cardio.

Old Town is reached. The streets narrow further, reach the point where a smartcar can just barely stumble through. More staircases appear. I have to keep lifting the suitcase over and over and...

...oh no...

...it's an old multi-story apartment building, an ancient one. Oversized brownstone, almost, only with the Sicilian iron balcony rails. There's a modern keypad next to the door. On the second story, a door is open, and an old man shaves next to the mirror.

There are cars parked here: everything flares out for a bit in front of the building. Another staircase is off to the right.

Everything else is cats.

I get stared at by feline eyes as I approach. Nothing runs. A darker cat comes up to the edge of the balcony and stares hello.

There's a keypad at the door. This is the address and for once, there's even a tiny sign to indicate a B&B is present. But I don't have a code for entry.

Knock. No one comes. Try the bell. Nothing. I look up the phone number for the B&B, and no one picks up -- but I leave a message, just in case. The old man notices the noise, comes to the balcony, and we communicate just enough for him to explain that he just lives there and can't go get anyone. The cats, watching from the warm roofs of cars, are collectively unhelpful. That's their job.

I've spent so much of the Sicily trip waiting for the one check-in I couldn't intercept. Maybe this is it --

-- my phone rings.

It's the B&B owner. She's on the way down.

...okay: this is a converted apartment. The woman is running the place out of her own kitchen, and I caught her in the middle of cleaning the guest rooms. She doesn't collect the city B&B tax from me, possibly because that would tell the city that she's running something. But the room is clean, the shower is still larger than Taormina and I won't find out about its little trick until that night: namely, it takes about eight minutes for the water to heat up. What counts is that I now have the keypad code and a key for the inner staircase door: the one which leads to the B&B portion. And in an advance spoiler? That key does not work. When my wounded self gets back that night, I'm unable to slide the door aside. If not for someone who was going out as I was coming in, I would have been stuck with the cats.

But for now? Secure the suitcase. Check the time...

2:15 p.m.

Can I?

I check with Siri. It's about 2.2 miles to the Valley, and it looks like just about all of that is downhill. Which is going to mean two miles uphill on the way back, but... it's just two miles. There even appears to be a bus running along part of the route, and naturally I'm never going to see it...

...go for it. No day but today. Keep tomorrow clear for Palermo.

Start the clock.

I head out into the city. Staircases move me through Old Town, and then back to the more modern section. Buildings covered in full-surface graffiti have their giant portraits watch me pass: previews of Messina. A sign advertises a McDonald's which I can't reach. And then there's more staircases, some of which are still in rough shape. Vertical changes in the residential section mean giant staircases. Period.

The residences drop away. Fenced-away forest on my right, highway on the left. The temperature is moving up again, and a gas station helps to keep me alive. Mineral water from vending machines: the stuff of the gods --

-- I can see a temple.

It's right there. I just passed a museum -- this is where most of the artifacts from the Valley wind up, and the #1 candidate for where Atlas went to get the plastic surgery -- and now I have a direct line of sight on the temple. And there's the bus stop, people waiting to go back up into the city, and the gate...

...I make directly for the gate.

The security guard stops me.

Where are you going?
In.
This is the exit gate.
...oh. So how do I get to the entrance --
-- not my problem. Leave.
Excuse you? Look, I'm willing to pay my way in. I'm just asking for directions.
Don't care. Get out.

...oh, you dumb @$#%. You have no idea what you're doing to yourself, do you?

You're gonna be a character.

...not much point in telling him that now. I can't divert the moron from the one-way path of his petty power trip. Instead, I go out the gate, then check with Siri -- who still says I've arrived. I need a better source for directions, and I saw a side road a little up the hill. One which goes to a hotel and spa. Maybe the front desk will help.

And that? Is how I got into the only five-star of the trip. Just walked up the driveway and went right in.

Great place. Fantastic view of the Valley. Incredibly helpful staff. Turns out to go into the Valley itself, you have to proceed down past the gate, turn left, watch yourself through a couple of roundabouts, hike below the lower lip of the main area -- although you do go directly past Vulcan and a really nice tomb, which are separate from the main group -- and then climb a long, winding uphill to reach the tourist gate.

And for distance, that's...?
Another three and a half miles.
...the Valley's just big.

I force myself away from the five-star. (For legal reasons, they can't let me cut across the property.) Return to what turns into a shoulder-free road.

It's a very nice view of Vulcan, which is otherwise closed off for repairs. The tomb stands out.

Then the rain starts up.

It doesn't last long. More of a sun shower than anything else. But by the time I finish climbing to the entrance gate (as cars pass and stare and no one says anything about how I'm clearly going to die), it's 4 p.m. The Valley closes at eight. And I am not in the best of moods.

But I made it. I'm here.

...I'm back...

For the first time all trip, tourist pricing takes over. Thirteen Euros to get in. Three postcards? That's nine more. (My fault for taking the lenticulars.) Water prices rise to All You Can Afford Is Water. My tablet bag gets x-rayed, because it's a historical site and some people do stupid things.

They let me in.

There's so much in the Valley, and not all of it is ancient. There's a couple of houses here. Why? One of the archaeologists wanted to live close to his work. Also explains the gardens off to the sides. But I'm here for the temples. and signs guide the way. People are walking everywhere, taking endless photos and focused on either the homes of old gods or each other. Humanity flows down the paths, and the only sacrifice being made is time.

I'm hearing English again. I'm not sure I like that.

The rain comes back for a few minutes. Just a sun shower. I'm moving between temples, mostly focusing on keeping the tablet dry --

-- wait.

Sun and rain.

...maybe?

Have you ever tried to make people notice a miracle?

That rainbow hung around for most of an hour. People were moving around the Valley, taking pictures of the temples. And I kept pointing up. You want the perfect backdrop for your shot? Look what I found!

...just look.

...please look?

I may have gotten three people to briefly glance up. That was it.

Somewhere, a pegasus is fuming.

Moving through the Valley...

I don't feel the same weight of time as Erice. Maybe it's because of all the tourists. Too many smartphones out for fully slipping into the past.

Not that the past isn't trying to push.

If I'm here past sunset, the temples will light up. Which means hiding the lighting. Poorly.

Pause at the ruins of Zeus...

And then I find him.

I find Atlas.

He's been fenced off. But it's flexible plastic between metal bars. I can look through it. I can reach, and -- he's so close to the edge, on his tilted platform.

Close enough to touch.

It's possible to reach over the fence. Some extremely awkward angling ensues.

(Hey, moron guard! I'm taking pictures of your stuff!)

...he's getting his face back.

Close enough to touch --

-- I can touch.

I do. Work an arm through. Brush fingertips against stone skin.

I came to see you.
I came so far just to...
...I've been carrying you with me for a lifetime. A burden somewhat lighter than the sky
I missed you.
I feel like I'll always miss you.
I...

I just stand there for a while. No one notices. People flow past. Everyone has their own agenda. Rainbows aren't important, so how can I compete?

I wish I could tell him that I'll come back again. Check on him, when he's whole. But I can't make that promise. It's... enough that I saw him again. That we touched.

Maybe that's all I could ask for.

He'll be standing again soon. He'll still be there, when I'm not.

...maybe that's enough.

I glare at the guard as I go out the gate, and he doesn't notice because the drink he isn't enjoying is much more important.

Forty seconds before I reach the curb, the uphill bus goes by.

...perfect.

Start the hike. And my legs are weary now, with everything being done on the uphill. I'm exhausted on multiple levels, hydration is fine but I haven't eaten since the morning bread, it's over two miles back and now that I'm getting back into the city itself, here come the @$#%ing stairs. I need to keep the tablet out so I can monitor directions and it's one endless set after the other, when it feels like I can barely lift my legs --

-- the edge of a poorly-maintained step, and a body which has possibly been asked to do a little too much.

I don't get my foot up enough. Catch the ridge.

And then I go for an unscheduled flight.

...ow.

I got my arms out. (At least I fell forward.) I was also in short sleeves, so now my arms are not in good shape. I've got to clean up the damage, quickly. The stairs have more than the normal share of passage dirt.

...tablet! The --

-- took the impact on a corner of the typing case. Tablet's fine.

I force myself up to the next landing. Sit for a minute, examine the scrapes. Glare at the staircase.

It could have been a lot worse. I've climbed a few hundred feet at this point, with nearly a thousand to go. If I'd gone backwards...

Adrenaline slowly fades. I push myself upright, try to keep going. Siri is bringing me back along a slightly different path, and I still don't have the option to call a taxi: too great an expense, plus only certain car sizes can get near the B&B anyway. And I'm tired and hungry and now I'm wounded on top of it. Blood sacrifice to the gods. Is it so much to ask that I can find one restaur --

-- that's the train station. I wanted a --

Ginger?
Really?

...it's open, I have rollover food budget from the past -- everything -- and if they'll just be so kind as to let me use the bathroom...

They do. The scrapes are shallow, but needed cleaning. My hands sting.

Time to check the menu.

Here. Why don't y'all order?

You can say that hunger is the best spice and to a degree, that's absolutely true. What follows is still one of the best meals of my life.

The staff keeps asking if I want to try things and at this point, I don't care if they're running up the bill. I need food. And they start with a juice blend: pineapple, lemon, and ginger. It sends me thousands of miles in a different direction. It's got that ginger burn. And would I like some bread?

I don't care about the price. I'm not even looking at the prices any more. Just give me food. Please. The boiler needs fuel. And it starts with me as the only person there, but more customers start to arrive as the night closes in. Families show up. This is clearly a popular place and as I eat, I start to wonder why there isn't a line stretching back to the Concordia temple. Everything except the ice cream pie has that touch of ginger, it's all good and solid and I'm starting to feel human again. Less tired. More...

...home.

I probably couldn't live in Agrigento. The stairs would get me. But it's taste and smell which bring us back and for this city, I now have a second anchor.

You're generally not supposed to tip in Sicily, because it can be seen as an insult. Food servers make a living wage. This means I have to get up at the end of the meal, find the chef, explain politely that he and his place may have just saved my life, and insist. Also, you were all so patient with me while I was trying to recover enough Italian to order normally. So... thank you. Please take it?

They do. The bill would have been 38.18 Euros -- but that's for card payments. Using cash brings it down to 35, and I manage to talk them into rounding up to 40.

Worth.

I can climb again. More stairs await.

Eventually, the cats stare at me as I go in.

Palermo lies ahead.

Palermo, and the patient regard of the dead.

More Picture Links Which Will Break In Mere Days.