The plan was to meet the guide in the lobby at 8. to tell you the truth at one point i had a lovely little flier that described him and his business partner with their names and the name of their business but along with my colorful and difficult to read maps and tickets stubs, it was lovingly placed in the recycling bin in an effort to lighten my load. I think I might even have to make up a name for him as well because for the life of me I cannot remember it. Lets call him Marco. I think his name was a little more exotic and that is contributing to my lack of memory.
He is sinewy, short and tranquil. He spoke fast but moved his body as though he had only so much energy to spend, like he was holding out for when it was really time to spend. His English is an exact translation from Italian. he would say things like Have hunger you? or WE make a stop here so i make a look for you. he confessed that he learned most of his English trying to communicate with clients and from listening and singing Pink Floyd, the doors and the Beatle's songs. Never in school. Never from a book. He only did the school that he needed nothing more. His first love was the mountain, his second love was his wife and family, third music. I wish I remembered his exact pattern of speech so that you would maybe have the chance to enjoy it as I did. I will pay more attention to these kinds of things now when I can. I am not skilled enough as a writer to recreate the cadence of an italian accent influenced by rock and roll. maybe some day with lots of practice. 
We traveled from the hostel to the mountain in his Land Rover. Generally I hate these kinds of vehicles. But I will state here for all to see if he picked us up in a Hummer I would not have been mad. After being where he brought us the use of this kind of vehicle is sound judgment. If automobiles came with teeth, this one would have them. They would be stained, maybe chipped a little but sharp and firmly planted in the gums. Again i find myself in a car with an Italian that would under different circumstances be a white knuckle experience but here I am cool and calm, knowing that I am in very good care. Streets here are incredibly small. Most of the streets in the center were basically built for horses pulling chariots and coaches. They are narrow and very bumpy. he drove this mountain beast like it was a tiny Smart Car, weaving in and out of traffic, making sharp turns left and right. High in my seat I glanced down at people's laps high, feeling like mountain man chariot could crush everyone else like a bug. Our voyage in more traffic was story time Mountain man style. I love story time. 
He started trekking the mountain with his dad when he was an infant. His dad would strap him on his front by using long pieces of fabric. When he was a little bigger on his back until he was big enough to walk. then as a toddler it was the combination of walking and riding on his fathers back. At the age of ten, his father dropped him off on a Saturday morning with his back pack full of enough food for eight days. The following Sunday his father picked him up near the town where they live on the mountain. The route was decided on but not with a map. I asked him why he did not use a map. "Well the mountain changes all the time. One day you draw something, then next day it could be gone. This is not any ordinary mountain. It has fire inside. Any moment it could belch out rivers of molten rock in a stream strong enough to swallow homes, automobiles anything. The biggest thing you can image can be covered with lava in seconds, completely erased, leaving behind ash, and red glowing rock. A hotel here with 5 stories was completely destroyed by the last big eruption. he made this trek alone for eight days completely by memory alone at ten years old. I take a moment to think about all the ten year olds i know and frankly i would almost not trust them to get out a neighborhood let alone down a volcano. 
At the very least it is a fascinating, incredibly specific life experience that I feel lucky to have brushed up against. Especially fortunate considering I am and Italian American raised in Philadelphia suburbs were nothing like this ever can happens. For fun we just didn't climb volcanoes. Another moment that I am tingly with WOW, how did I get here?
Now Marco is 36 years old, already with almost 30 years of trekking experience. Like his father, he became a guide at 18 years old. People seek out his guide service from all over the world. this is not a fact that I learned from him but from others. he did not boost this to us. Now he treks with people for as long as a few weeks at a time, sometimes using a helicopter to be dropped off with his party of guests at a remote point, and then they climb down. i feel like I am pretty brave and I have done some fun things but i just don't know if I will ever do this. (maybe my mom said PHEW and smiled with relief when she read this). Marco has two children of his own and has carried on the same tradition. During an overnight camping trip with his wife, four year old daughter and five year old son there was an eruption. it was small and distant but the lava burst from the ground with a bang like a cannon. His daughter was hysterical and his son shrill with excitement. Too dark to climb down, they spent the night in a tent with a sobbing four year old. After comforting her, she would fall to sleep only to wake with another bang and a new fit of crying. His son was so excited he could not sleep. I don't blame her. I think I would have piddled and cried myself. five years later, his daughter still has never wanted to return to the mountain, and he can't keep his son from wanting to be on it. "it is that way. You either need to be here or away from here. It is in some peoples blood. This mountain can become your mistress. I have never forced my daughter to come back. She should be where she is comfortable, but I am teaching my son everything I know like my dad did. He wants this mountain. He is almost ready to be left as I was." continuing he said in his rock and roll italian accent. "Maybe I will die on this mountain. I do not know. Everyday i do not know but everyday is as likely as the next. We have science for the guessing but we don't know when or for how long or how big." the last big eruption scientists estimated would last for a few days, it ended up erupting continuously for over a year. When this happened Italians went up the mountain to light their cigarettes on the lava and to cook sausages. "Cooking sausages is not a good idea. The gas is poison. Lighting cigarettes is fine." Shrugging his shoulders. "You cannot stop them from doing it."
We drove through a few mountain villages before ascending. He pointed out one saying that he once had a family vacation house there but it got burned up by lava. "We also lost a car to lava. Well I lost a car to lava." Much to my surprise did not ask any questions. To tell you the truth I had to get accustom to his cadence in speech before i could get him to talk about something i thought he might really get excited about.
It took us about 45 minutes to arrive. if there were no cars it would have been about 20. My ears popped like mad. the accent was fast and direct. The day was cold and overcast. This was a surprise. For the most part when I was in Catania the weather was well into the 60's during the day. I left the hostel with my man sweater and frankly I was glad. At the top of the mountain there was snow, in between was probably in the 30's The road was pretty normal for a little while. He spoke about the more recent eruptions and some of the lava science in preparation for our first stop. He explained that the lava flows at different rates. One flow form is rivers or streams or lava flows in explosions or mad burst of red hot lava into the sky then falling down to the ground forming lava rubble. When the lava flows in rivers the surface cools faster than the lava inside. the result are tunnels with a lava ceiling and a lava floor. the tunnels are sometimes shallow, other times hundreds of feet deep. He explained that many of the deaths and injuries are caused from unguided hikes on the mountain. "People forget that this is not a mountain. It is a volcano. It is very different. Things happen here that you can't write on a map. If you don't know what you are looking at you could basically be walking along and then fall hundreds of feet into the mountain. Like being swallowed, never to be found again." he stated. it did not feel like he was trying to boost his sales. It is an absolute truth that more information is needed to fare una passagata on Mt Etnea.
Our first stop was one of the holes that could swallow you-a tunnel. He handed us helmets with head lamps and explained that we should stay close to the opening. the danger is that the tunnel could collapse. "Do you still want to go in Marianne?" he asked. "Sure do." Silly,silly man. Why aren't you asking the fella. I thought. I could stand when I was inside but Alan had to bend over a bit. I do not think that he was more that 6 feet tall. It was light less and seemed endless. I proceeded away from the hole we entered in down the tunnel. He grabbed my shoulder like a dad would a child about to walk over a ledge. "There is always one in the group." he said smiling, explaining that he had not idea how long the tunnel was or if it would open into a larger one. This tunnel was formed from a lava flow in the 1800's. Later he promised he would try to take us to a different one that was formed in the more recent eruption and also take us to a place where lava from the 1800's and lava from the more recent eruption overlapped. he reminded us to go to the castle in
Catania with the mote filled with lava. It was from an explosion in the 16th century, I think. The castle was unharmed but the lava flowed from the top of the mountain to the city.
When we ran out of road, He switched his monster into gear and we were off. This is were I would make a car noise if I were telling you in person. It sounded like a hot rod, throaty growl of the motor climbed, bouncing us around like kernels of corn in an air popper before they pop. I clenched my muscles to stop myself from being tossed around too much, but could not stop smiling. . "do you get sick in teh car. this is where some people they have problems. Oh not you marianne", he said laughing, " How about you Alan. You sick now. We can go another way but you will miss somethings. I will stop here in a few minutes so that I can make a look for you about the mountain." We all agreed that we were just fine. When I kept my mouth loose my top and bottom teeth slammed together.
With my bouncing eye spy eyes i noticed a grave marker and a pile of rocks. I asked for more information. Apparently an Italian man lived on the mountain and during the second world war was a great help to American soldiers. I think this man's name was Bruno. this man spoke English. "How did a guy from the mountain learn English to speak to Americans." I asked. "I don[t know maybe his mother was American." I tried not to laugh but I knew my eyes were smiling. Bruno told the Americans that he would like to see Catania. he had lived his entire life on the mountain and never saw the city. They agreed and took him with them. On the way to the city they were in a crash. Bruno was the only person that died. The american returned his body to the mountain and he was buried where I saw the tomb stone. Poverino, died without ever seeing the city.
As we continued Marco pointed out varying tree growth. the reason there was a difference he explained was because where there were new trees there once were farms where people raised families and had farms with animals and grew vegetables. "Now people don't want to do that work and they don't want to live on the mountain." One point in time, less than a hundred years ago, hundreds of people lived and worked on the mountain. Now people have migrated down to villages around the mountain and to larger cities. As we proceeded we could see skeletons of walls dividing property as well as homes and barns. He pointed out various types of trees and patterns of growth that are evidence that the land was once inhabited by a farmer. What was amazing to see were thick veins of black lava and in the middle of it were islands of bright green grass with trees. Often fruit trees. When I was in Noto I ate Mt. Etnea apples and they were about the size of an apricot and the appleiest apple I have had in my life. We climbed to the where the terrible souvenir shop is. I skipped buying a lava charm but had the best hot chocolate I have ever had in my life. It was like warm chocolate puddling. You could not drink it really you had to eat it with a spoon. The milk and the chocolate were mixed together in a metal caraf and heated with a steamer. I did not look up from my cup until every drop was finished.
anyway. the wind blew cold and the snow was coming down like I was in New England. "Can we go. this snow gives me the willies." I asked. Alan was already in the truck. he was from L. A. and had not interest in the cold. This stop was brief. Foul weather interrupted some of our plans. If the sun was shining we were going to go further up to see a crater where an eruption had separated the mountain. It was a little disappointing but we did get a good look at where lava had overlapped. Marco told us to follow close behind and to only step were he was. Don't wonder off and make your own path Marianne. This is very important." "Maybe we will be swallowed?" I asked. Yes. The ground was like gravel. Large and small lava stones crunched under our feet. After about five minutes we stopped. he pointed out the different color of rock, we were looking at lava from the 1800's. He found a hole. "Put your hand in there Marianne." Excited and willing I did exactly was he told me to do. "Unbelievable it like a sauna in there." Thermal heat from a flow that is 200 years old is still putting out enough heat to make you sweat if your entire body was down in it." he smiled, satisfied that he made his point and that I was the right puppet to demonstrate. As Alan had his turn at blunging his fit under the surface I watched mountain man finger some rocks. Finding two he seemed to like he place one in each of his hands. I felt like a kid watching a magician. "Marianne open your hands." i pushed up the sleeved of my man sweater, opened my palms to the sky and let him plop two lava rocks into my hands. wide eyed again I was amazed that one was as light as cork and the other as heavy as granite. "You try Alan" I said. He tried to take the stones from me with his index finger and thumb. "aw no Alan, you will be missing out if you do it that way." I said reaching for his hand and opening them up to the sky. " ready." I asked. Raising my hands to my head i plopped them into his hands. "Wow." he sparkled a little bit for a moment. "Why do you think this is like this?" I bit my tongue trying not to blurt out the answer, i wanted to give Alan a chance. I was feeling like being female and also enthusiastic about these kinds of things was orienting the day in my direction. Alan just cast his head down and said nothing. It made me sad. I knew the answer but let Marco explain. The second lava flow pushed the lava that was under the surface up to the top creating heavier stones. The lighter stones are from the more recent flow. These stones were formed and cooled on the outside, on the surface where there was exposure to oxygen. Now there is a mine what uses heavy equipment to dig into the ground for this heavy lava for paving and tiles. In Catania the rock is not so solid because it was rock that was dug and cut my hand. Now it is easier to go hundreds of meters deep and extract lava stone. ding ding ding i would have been right but sometimes that is not important. 
We visited the mine where they bring up the lava stone. This was our last stop before leaving the mountain. Marco continued story time. he brought up the car loss again. "In American when you tell someone you lost a car it means you can't find it. I have a feeling here you mean something very different." he smiled. "Well yes." he had just passed his drivers test. Fresh with the enthusiasm of driving freedom, he begged the keys to the car from his dad and went for a drive up the mountain with a friend. They stayed passed dark to see the stars. hearing an explosion close by, Marco and his friend hurried to start the car. the lava arrived before he was able to move it. Quickly he was in a the middle of a flow of hot lava. The sudden rise in temperature blew out the windows of the car. He and his friend climbed to the roof and jumped over the river flow onto grass. They ran away from the lava to find a "safe" place to wait. Feeling warm liquid drop from his finger tips he looked down at his hand and realized that he had sliced open his thumb from the tip to his wrist when the windows blew out. He and his friend would wait the night on the mountain for the sun. he raised his hand to show me the scar, raising his brow. he needed almost 30 stitches in his hand. "Holy cow." I gasped at the map of white lines on his hand. Shaking my head thinking about all the different moments that could have ended everything differently, jumping from the car and missing the grass, not putting your hand in front of his face when the glass burst, not knowing the sound of an eruption close by. I would be dead. Period.
"oh Dio." He said " I am so comfortable I almost took you two home with me. I will take you home now."
I smiled with my feet on the dash board and looked down at the laps of the people in cars who had probably had a very ordinary day.
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