Travel Biography - Week 33.

Concluding the Etna Ascent.

It was deserted at Spiaggia di Fontane Bianche, or White Fountain Beach, despite its turquoise sea lapping gently on the sun-drenched sandy shoreline. Whilst staying at Hotel Aretha in Siracusa, I decided to spend a day at this beach, which was a 30-minute, 22 km, or approx 14-mile bus ride south of the city bus terminal. 

Spiaggia di Fontane Bianca may be classified as a holiday resort, but very quiet and sedate compared to, say, Tossa De Mar on the Spanish Costa Brava, (visited in 1972) or the lively Lido di Jesolo near Venice, or the loud, boozy nightlife of Ibiza. Rather, White Fountain Beach is more of a local community, and in 1982, what I saw of it, apparently devoid of tourism. Yet, it was one of the best beaches on offer, a sandy strip curved to form a wide bay, and sloping gently into the clear water of the Mediterranean. It was served both by buses (which I took) and also has a railway station on the south branch line to Siracusa (which, at the time, I wasn't aware of.)

After a relaxing swim, I sauntered past a beach cafe and made my way to a footpath along a cliff south of the beach, from where I had views of some limestone stacks further out to sea. I then finished the day at the beach cafe for refreshments before boarding the bus back to Siracusa.

White Fountain Beach, taken 1982.

While I was in the cafe, I encountered a bit of unexpected drama. At the counter, I became acquainted with a couple who were seated next to me and also enjoying a coffee. He told me that he was a geologist, a subject which spurred my interest. His partner then left her seat to visit the latrine while I remain talking to him.

I told him of my visit to the Central Crater on the summit of Mt Etna a day or two previously. He then began to rebuke me, even raising his voice slightly, saying how stupid and thoughtless I was to undertake such an endeavour. I knew that he was right, although I felt no regret. On the contrary, to stand on the lip of such an active crater, with the ground I was standing on literally shaking like an endless earthquake, the explosions within, as the giant plume of steam rose, accompanied by a strong whiff of sulphur. All that gave me and one other person an unforgettable experience.

By checking the photos in a guidebook I bought at Refuge Sapienza, and more recently, the reviews and photos written, taken and posted on the website Tripadvisor, there seems to be evidence that, since the major 1971 eruption that destroyed the old cable car and the observatory, we were two of the very few who managed to venture to the main summit vent. All the other tourists, whether individually or in a group, were kept well away from the summit craters. A couple of reviewers, both independently, wrote that all guided ascents end about a mile from the summit, hence proving the geologist's point.

I didn't answer back or tried to justify myself. Instead, I acknowledged my stupidity to keep the peace. However, I always believed that a bit of risk-taking does lead to a sense of achievement, along with a sense of excitement and purpose. For example, in 1995, just before my life's second hike into the Grand Canyon, a church friend of a singles group I was in warned me of dangerous wildlife I was likely to encounter during the remote desert hike. And he tried to discourage me. My answer to him was if that was the case, I might have well stayed at home! Dear me! Little wonder that some of these churchgoing graduates look as if their dull, sedentary lives were devoid of any form of excitement and lacking a sense of adventure. Did the geologist's rebuke at Spiaggia di Fontane Bianca arise from an unexciting yet envious heart? Just a thought.

Blown away on the way down.

And so, after such a scary experience on the edge of Central Crater, my new friend Miguel insisted that it was time to return to the group, after an extra loud explosion within the crater. Fearing an imminent eruption, we found the start of the trail that would take us to the right place without getting lost. A strong wind was blowing, and as I was packing away my camera, the wind caught the inside of the leather lens cover, and like a parachute, the wind snatched it out of my hand and was driven along the upper cone of the mountain, and I left the trail to chase it.

The strong wind proved an advantage to us, as we stood at the crater's edge, since the wind was behind us, it also drove the steam plume away from where we were standing, thus avoiding engulfment into the cloud. Now, it was a race with the same air current to retrieve my camera lens cover. Treading on virgin basalt sand, I managed to retrieve the item after it landed to rest about a hundred metres from where Miguel was still standing, looking rather shocked as he waited for my return.

Near the basaltic wall, just before the hike.

A group of tourists was about to leave the basalt rock wall to board the jeeps to take them back to the refuge. As they were boarding, we joined them, and no one was aware of us or where we came from. The jeep took us safely back to the base where we handed our weather jackets before having refreshments in the refuge cafe.

A lesson from the Catacombs of St John.

I'm one of the fortunate to be born almost exactly in the middle of the twentieth Century. That explorative travel was idealistic during my twenties and thirties was proven during a visit to the remains of the Church of St John with its neighbouring Catacombs. 1982 saw my thirtieth birthday, and as one who was still unmarried, an ideal age for travel and exploration. This particular attraction in the heart of Siracusa was, in 1982, a template of how travel should be, and I have a degree of pity for anyone in his prime of life who had in mind to visit the same site during the present-day.

However, that's according to personal opinion. Some tourists feel more comfortable following an escort in a tour group. However, in researching Tripadvisor in preparation to write this blog, many reviewers who visited the catacombs within the last year or so were impressed with the history of the caves, but many also expressed dissatisfaction with the tour itself. Examples of this include the forbiddance of all photography, an apathetic escort who only wanted to rush through the tour as quick as possible or who was overcome by repetitive boredom, poor communication skills, especially with a foreign language, the tour being too short for the expense, shortcuts, or the sense in being treated like children. Not to mention the waiting room, non-existent during the eighties, where every visitor must now wait there before the escort decides when to lead the group through.

How different this was in 1982 when I came across the church and catacombs by chance whilst walking through the streets of Siracusa! Back then, a toll booth gave me full access to the site. Both in the ruined church and the catacombs I was free to wander around at my own pace, alone, and taking as long as I like. And that was what I did back then, wandering through the catacombs with the camera in hand complete with a flashgun, as this was a necessity in the gloomy dark catacombs.

The catacombs consisted of a main corridor with passages branching off it, a dendritic layout, hence, not that easy to get lost, as one might think. Once an ancient Greek aqueduct, all the walls and even the floor had nitches cut out of the rock. In these, the bodies of dead Christians were laid to rest between the fourth and the sixth centuries AD. However, when I arrived in 1982, all the human remains had gone. They were removed and reburied elsewhere, as the catacombs served as a bomb shelter during the Second World War.

In 2006, my wife Alex and I returned to Siracusa to celebrate our 7th wedding anniversary, and we visited the Catacombs of St John. It was then that we had no other choice but to go on one of these ranger-led tours. To be honest, although my spouse enjoyed it, I hated it! Especially when we had to sit in the waiting room for around twenty minutes until our escort was ready to lead a group of up to twenty people. As I cast my mind back over 24 years, the whole site had lost that explorative spirit. It wasn't the same any more and it will never be the same again.

Below, I post a few photos I had taken both of the church and within the catacombs in 1982. Having just bought a slide viewer, it was possible to "take a picture of a picture" and reproduce it here. They show the nitches cut in the limestone tunnel walls which served as resting places for the departed.

The Church of St John, 1982.

Main Corridor, Catacomb of St John. 1982.

Catacomb of St John, 1982. A detail.

Catacomb of St John, 1982. A closer detail.

The Tears of Our Lady, 1982 and now.

Another phenomenon that marks a big difference between 1982 and the present is the Madonna delle Lacrima church which is also in the centre of Siracusa. Literally built around a small, privately-owned ceramic statuette of the Virgin Mary, who on August 29, 1953, began to shed tears, and kept on shedding tears for three days afterwards. This was declared a miracle by the Bishop of Siracusa, and endorsed by the Vatican.

When I arrived at the church for the first time in 1982, only the crypt was built with a wide, circular platform just above ground level serving as the roof. Its construction began in 1966, and by 1982, the edifice remained unfinished, as there was some disagreement on the height and shape of the intended shrine, hence, it wasn't completed until 1994. Thus, the a big difference between 1982 and 2006. The finished structure, seen from the air, looks very much like a serrated ice cream cone that was accidentally dropped, with the cream scattered around the upturned cone. Actually, the structure is meant to represent a teardrop hitting the ground.

The Madonna delle Lacrima, unfinished, 1982.

Inside the crypt, then used for services, 1982.

The finished Madonna delle Lacrima, stock photo.

In 1982, what was meant to be the crypt served as the main church. Above the altar, the small figurine was placed, having been donated to the Church by its original owners soon after the miracle and its ecclesial verification. In 2006, both Alex and I visited the main structure with images of the Madonna displayed around the sanctuary. we then went downstairs. Indeed, this part was the crypt, as originally intended, but this time it looked tired, lacking the freshness so characteristic of 1982.

By describing the Neapolis Archaeological Park, the Catacombs of St John, and the Madonna delle Lacrima, I have covered much of the mainland city of Siracusa. To me, it was an ideal place to stay, especially with easy access to the station.

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Next Week: the Island of Ortigia, then onward to Palermo.