(text translated with google translated)
The alarm clock rings at dawn, after a night full of electricity for the day that would begin shortly thereafter. The Nordic woman did not sleep very well, as she was taken from reviewing each step, the list of things to bring, the facts and the things to do. The autochthonous Sicilian tried to play down, giving lightness and the calm that distinguishes him … but below he followed her in all his nocturnal delusions, giving here and there ideas and ideas to mark last minute on the precious notebook. The blonde Baby slept soundly, waiting to spend Sunday with her grandfather.
At the crowing of the rooster, everyone stands up and the time, until then so still, decides that it is time to start running. Having overcome all the obstacles, even the 18 alarm clocks put in order not to forget to go and collect the bread, in the car you can already breathe an air of celebration. The meeting point is at the historic Rifugio Citelli, comfortably nestled in a clearing surrounded by a forest of Etna’s birches and gorse. Luca, our volcanological guide, gathers the group and finally we leave.
Etna smiles at us puffing from the south-east crater then the top hides as soon as we begin to enter path 723, apparently a common mountain path were not for that land so black that it creaks under our feet, which it winds in a continuous ups and down between birch trees, gorse and mother-in-law cushions. The group is a mixture of young and old, trekking shoes, sticks and hats.
The Nordic opens, the Sicilian in the center, the guide queues. Walking we discover that we are being observed by the “eyes of the birches”, we learn not to touch those very soft cushions actually full of thorns, we discover unexpected corners that reveal the presence of man in ancient times, we drink a drop of water and take some photos.
And then the first real stop: the Serracozzo cave awaits us, a harmonious gift from a recent flow, with vaults and light points that give the impression of being in the presence of a submerged church. The temperature keeps us there, enjoying the coolness, while we absorb the explanations of the guide and imagine how, even 50 years ago, that river of fire that was able to model this wonder with such grace must have been. But it is time to leave. The hardest part is waiting for us, says Luca. “Yes, but how much is missing?” Someone asks. “We are a third of the way away, but don’t worry, a little more effort then it’s all downhill!” The Nordic and the Sicilian hide a smile. They know very well that, even if the words of the mountaineer are not really true, what will come shortly thereafter is enough to make everyone else forget. Backpacker and let’s go!
The path climbs severely, the stops become more frequent and the vegetation subsides, greeting the trees to make room for bushes and shrubs. The volcanic earth takes the leading role again until, at the end, it leaves the stage to her, the majestic caldera of the Valle del Bove. Silence is sovereign, discreetly interrupted by some exclamations of amazement and by the rhythm of our breathing, which slowly resumes its regular motion. Here everything is dark. Apparently everything is motionless, like in a desert. But incredibly, and those who love deserts know very well what I mean, everything is movement, life at the same time. The dark streaks of the different flows, the craters that struggle not to be submerged by them, the skeleton of the ancient volcanic building that reveals itself, shy, and lets itself be understood. And up there the southeast that continues to smoke behind the clouds.
The light today is incredible. The gaze is lost, dance, gently caress every curve, grab a line and follow it to the end, where Etna gives way to the sea. Luca’s explanations help us understand what our eyes are rummaging about. They make us feel more in harmony with the landscape, with Mother Etna herself, as if the awareness of understanding her soul and moods brings us closer to her, to our land. It is magic, pure. Emotion pampered by a fresh wind that expertly moves the soul’s strings.
But it’s not over. The show continues along the ridge that will take us to the beginning of the sandy channel where we can finally slide towards what has now become our main goal: the sausage and the fresh wine of the farmer!
The price to pay is a last half kilometer that climbs between rocks, ladybugs and sand, caressing the side of the valley up to the mouth of the gully.
From here begins a carefree descent that emulates the movements of skiers. You go down the run, or almost, regardless of the shoes that are filled with sand and stones, laughing like children, until the road turns right to rejoin the woods: this is the last part of the ring.
Someone shouts satisfied for having identified the exact point where the path rejoins. Someone else masks tiredness with the proud smile of those who made it. Still others are hungry and thirsty, and chase away the melancholy that takes you when you understand that an adventure is coming to its epilogue with the image of the upcoming lunch. So lunch either!
We are tired, satisfied, drunk with joy (and at this point, even a little bit of wine), and even this part of the day can only be a success. The group has compacted. We laugh, tease each other, retrace the funniest scenes and confess the unspoken thoughts of the whole experience.
Then, after the dessert, the embers go out, the table is cleared and what remains is the promise of a next time. “Maybe not right away, but soon!”
That’s how you win everything. Second experiment of Events “Etna on Tour” : successful!
We just have to say thank you. And see you soon, you can bet on it!
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