Pedro was chafing at the bit. Tranquilo bello, it is only a short run downhill to the port.
Hannover 86 had beaten Palermo 4-1. I wondered how my German friends would be feeling when they woke up?
One more thing about the motion sensor in the bathroom. When you were behind the shower curtain…guess what? Yep…the sensor couldn’t see any motion and promptly left you in the dark. And sitting still on the loo..? Well, one could go on.
The town was quiet for once. Just the cicada sound the traffic lights make when it’s safe to cross. But what if there was an actual cicada sitting on the traffic light? Dodgy for the visually impaired.
Outside the Grand, four very beautiful 488 Ferraris were parked up with rally numbers on their doors. Not a squashed fly on their bonnets yet.
I woke the sleeping parking attendant and rolled the lil donkey to the port where the gates were shut. I had been warned to arrive early as this was a popular route and the only one for a week. Even with a ticket you could get bumped.
Eventually someone opened the gate and directed me to another entrance down the street.
Very much a commercial port I had to stop and ask directions several times. After a couple of kilometres dodging the usual craters I found the ship. A big lad.
Pedders had a grand view for once from the car deck. But getting there was hairy.
We went up a steep and slippery steel ramp. Egged on by the deck capo I made the mistake of following the car in front too closely. When he got to the top he stopped to have a look around. Oblivious that someone might be behind him. Brilliant.. if anything was going to test the clutch this would. And no weight on the front wheels.
But he was the one with the problem. He stalled his ancient Passat. Then ordered everyone out. Four big people exited and walked up the ramp. The deck hand came and chocked his wheels. Shit!
Pedders rolled defensively back down the ramp.
He restarted the engine and tried to climb but went straight over the wheel chocks towards me. Double shit!
Finally his handbrake held and he stopped a few inches from my bumper. OMG that could have been curtains for Pedro. I was furious.
I gestured helplessly to the crewman and he stopped all traffic behind us and raised the ramp to horizontal. Now we were suspended in the air on a plate of steel metres up in the air with nothing behind us.
He tiptoed down like a tightrope walker and said with a grin. ‘Sempre ditto. D’accordo?’ I understood alright. But spotting my plates he said ‘We only go forward now. Agreed?’
‘Totally dude!’ I warbled which made him laugh.
Finally parked on deck I approached the Passat driver and his passengers. He looked a bit defensive until I told him he’d left his lights on.
At the last minute I had upgraded my ticket and got the Francis Drake suite for only £17. Shouldn’t that be Sir Francis? Very nice double bed and lounge with portholes.
One looked out to port under the bridge wing.
The other gave me the captain’s eye view.
Not bad. Especially as this line took a dim view of putting up your tent on deck.
Just beyond the harbour wall. Three men in a boat no more than 12 ft long were fishing. We passed closely alongside and an inbound freighter on their other side. Madness. They were so vulnerable. Only on a brilliant clear day like this could you get away with it without being run down.
We passed Mondello where I had my abortive beach trip. The weather now hopefully set fair.
We rounded the western cape of the island before turning north.
I always think of Corsica, Sardinia and Sicily stacked vertically above each other. But here we were closer – and on the same latitude as – Tunis than Cagliari in Sardinia where we were headed.
