The rain came down in sheets. The sky was ice-grey, with darker clouds chasing each other across the horizon. An occasional break allowed the sun to come through now and again, lighting the scene with an eerie, unnaturally brilliant light.
The sea was angry, with large, uneven waves topped by white-caps. The ship was lurching its way forward, rising in the air above the waters, only to come down with a loud thud, then rising again to one side, rolling to the other, and coming down with a fresh thud. There were just two ways to survive on board: either by being glued to the porthole, looking at the wild scene outside and trying to get in sync with it, or lying flat on the bunk, with eyes closed. The big challenge was making it to the bathroom without being sick. This torture lasted not for a few minutes or an hour, but for fourteen and a half hours.
Were we crossing the Bering Strait, or rounding the Cape of Good Hope? No, my wife Marjorie and I were on a ferry going from the island of Sicily to the Italian mainland, returning from a first hopeful, but then hopeless attempt to escape the worst of the winter in Europe.
The trip going out was a bit windy, but the famous Sicilian sun was out when we got close to this southern-Mediterranean island. The ship moved forward with a few majestic undulations as the Northwest tip of Sicily swam into view: the sheer face of the mountain that rises from the waters at San Vito la Capo, and then the giant rock emerging right from the sea, known as Mount Cofano. Half an hour later we were in the harbor at Trapani, greeted by friends and taken to the seaside villa they had prepared for us. The sun was shining and we settled in for a warm and cozy few weeks to rest, read and write, and visit the fabulous archeological sites of Sicily, reminders of the multiple conquests of this island—by the Phoenicians, the Greeks and the Romans, then the Arabs and the Spanish. Each conqueror built its own monuments on their sacred sites, mostly on the coast, with a breathtaking view of the sea—usually a mirror-smooth surface, dark blue, melting into the lighter blue of the sky, warmly welcoming.
The next day it started to rain, and it rained all day—and it rained and rained. Nor for a day or two, but for practically all of the weeks we had put apart for our jaunt to the sun. When it didn’t rain—as during our foray to the fabulous remains of the Greek colonies near Agrigento (the Valley of the Temples) and near Castelvetrano (Selinunte)—the wind blew at gale-force. At Selinunte Marjorie and I had to hold on with both hands not to be blown off the open electric cars that took us to visit the principal sites. We would have renounced this risky mission were it not that the mayor of Castelvetrano as well as the archeological superintendent of Selinunte were waiting to escort us. There was no way we could beg off.
During the five weeks of our hopeful trip, instead of relaxing under the Sicilian sun, I ended up giving lectures and seminars, attending social functions, and eating delicious but endless meals, tangible evidence of the famed Sicilian hospitality. Instead of a nice suntan, I acquired a few pounds across the waist.
Then the time came to board the ferry for the return trip. Departure was scheduled for one minute before midnight on the 9th of February, but when we arrived at the port of Trapani, there was no sign of the ship. There was nobody on hand to tell us what was going on. Finally someone came and said that the wind was too high for the ship to dock. When will the ship leave, then? Sometime in the next few days, came the answer. We went back to the villa, fighting our way up the steps in the gusting wind. The next day we went to the port again and were told that the ferry will come in tonight, although not in Trapani, but in the larger and safer harbor of the principal city, Palermo. Departure was to be around midnight.
We left by eight in the evening for the 100 km (62 mile) trip from Trapani to Palermo, allowing extra time for roads obstructed by rain and falling branches. We arrived in good time, but again, there was no sign of the ship. Just before midnight someone showed up to say that it’s coming, but nobody knows just when. It did arrive around 1 am, and it left at 3 am. We drove up the ramp and took possession of our cabin, right in the front of the ship. Little did we know what was awaiting us—and that in the front we would get extra lift for rising up, only to come thudding down. We were in for a fourteen-and-a-half hour roller-coaster ride to the mainland port of Civitavecchia.
Freak storms and heavy rain do occur, and this adventure would not have been so remarkable except for two things. First, that it took place in Sicily, an island that knows little rain and lots of sunny dry weather. Nobody we spoke to could remember a rain-and-wind spell the like of what we had. And second, that it recalled something that climate experts have been talking about: what would happen if and when the Gulf stream no longer reached Europe. (The Gulf stream brings warm waters from the Caribbean, together with the warm air that makes the climate in Europe milder than that of northern Canada, although England, for example, is on the same latitude as Labrador.) If and when that were to happen, Europe’s weather in the spring, instead of turning warmer, would lapse into the chilly climate of Labrador. Has that happened already?
Another week of rain—snow over most of middle and northern Italy—and the weather turned milder and the sun showed up between the clouds. Labrador didn’t arrive over the Mediterranean. Not yet? We had a foretaste of how it would be if and when it did arrive; a not-so-subtle reminder that the climate is changing. And that we had better wake up and think what we might do to avert the worst of the change while we still have the time.
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I was in Palermo when you were talking at university about akasha and contemporary science. I have just read Cosmos, it’s fantastic. I am sicilian, and I feel too my island is ill like all our Mother Earth. I hope we are in time to help her..