It was about ten minutes to the hostel. I stayed in the same place that I had stayed before. I was not nervous about the check in and whether they let older people in. I focused on my task of arriving. This was a chore, a job, an event. Something I had to psyc myself up for. I was a woddling, sweaty mess, overburdened by the weight of my belongings. Silently I inventoried my possessions , evaluating what next would make the cut list, estounded that it was still has heavy as a dead man on my back. First thing to go is the man sweater I thought. If a homeless man stopped me for a euro on the way to the hostel, more than likely I would have just handed it to him saying "This is all I have to offer sir, sorry" Then run so that he could not hand it back. It did not happen. I walked with it in the crook of my sweaty arm. Scratchy and damp, my annoyance with the man sweater started to mutate. I hated it. I hated that Christine thought it was a good idea. I hated that I did not say no. i tried to shove it under my stretched bungie cords but was needing frequently to stop and readjust. I had to look backward before bending over to fix it for the fear that I would potentially knock someone over with my back pack. "surely this is making my ass prettier. now there is something to think about marianne. Ah still an optimist. This is good. This is very good." I imaged my butt as hard as stone and picked up my pace a little.
Everyone walked like they were late in Catania, which surprised me, and they knew exactly where they were headed. They always looked straight ahead, rarely making eye contact with a stranger. My and my rolling case was walking in the pariphary of their vision. My little rolling suitcase wobbled back and forth over the volcanic brick as I walked, I squeeze the hand to try to stabelize it, trying to keep an eye on the man sweater, making sure it did not touch the ground. It is the same routine as the last visit, just day light, alone and not as long. Still fairly miserable. I try to focus on the fact that nothing is up hill and that I am suffering with luggage in Sicily. Technically a luxury problem. All my friends at home are shlepping wood and getting there winter ducks in a row. Basta Marianne. Just get there and be happy. Rock hard bottom or not, I was sweaty and out of breath needing to slows to a snails pace. I parted all the on coming pedestrian traffic like a leaper. Couples holding hands loosened their grip to part, one on the street, the other to my side, twisting with there backs to the buildings to make more room always looking forward, mothers picked up their small children moving widely away from me.
For a moment I was proud that I had remembered a short cut away to the hostel from the main streets. Unfortunately the ground was covered in detritus from the market that day and once you are on this path you had to stay there. Wet piles vegatables, meat scraps, fish juice, inviting packs of abandoned dogs to eat and then release pooled in the cracks of the pavement. Now my little wheels were starting to splash, creating a mist of this horrible concoction to dampen the bottom of my suitcase and the bottom of my pants. I tried to avoid the deeper mirky puddles but avoiding wet entirely was complete impossible. I leaned against thinking more about the wet like it was a door that the bad guy was trying to get through. I did not what to think about it. I was trying to find my optisim but unfortunately reminded myself that I was walking with all my possession in a puddle of crap, pee, and rubbish. I just tried to image my brain was in a sand storm stopping what I was thinking and focusing just on arriving. AT the hostel, I arrived with a grunt and a slam of the door. I used my foot to lift my scummy bag over the door jam, into the lobby with more force than I intended causing it to smack face down on the floor. Everyone in the lobby turned. Red faced and shiny, I smiled and asked for a room, ignoring the attention. the sweet girl with a simpathetic cock of her head replied. "Si si, I remember you", rounding the counter to help me. "You can have a private room for a special price, it is only 7 euro more. Would you like it. It has a shower only shared with one other room and no one is in there? the whole place to yourself." Well I was exhausted so I would be snoring like a truck driver tonight. I did not want thinking about that in the company of a stranger to keep me awake. I splurged with a big "YES".
Kate had spent the day on Mt. Etnea and after listening to her adventure, Allan and I wanted to also go. I knew after this evening that i was going to need to be very careful with Alan. I think he is probably one of those brilliant people that can't remember to tie his shoes and he has NO self esteem. I am aware that I can be curt and i do not have a poker face. I just knew that I might be able to make him piddle and that would be bad. Alan was staying at the same place and I knew I would have to manage my time with him carefully. Kate had an early day so we parted company. 
Alan and I headed back to the hostel to see if we could make arrangements with a guide for the following day. We were greeted cheerfully by Alessandro, the man that checked me in the first time was at the desk. I felt a little embarrassed about him knowing my age. There is this nagging thought that i am too old to be 
doing what I am doing. "Ciao Marianne I was happy to see your name on the book. How have you been. Tell me what you have been doing." "First we must try to go the Mt. Etnea." Alan looked at him, his eyes squinted, his mouth a little small. the arrangements were made with one phone call with the guide. After I started to tell him the readers digest version of my adventures. Alan slipped away like he had interrupted something. 
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