The last day. We had hired a car and driver to take us to Piazza Armerina to see the Villa Romana with its amazing mosaic floors. I fear I didn’t really have the oomph to do it justice, but it was worth doing nonetheless.

Friday October 19

We had a delightful outing. One of the hotel front-desk-men came along, for his day off, his English just marginally better than my Italian. He had never been to Piazza Armerina. He used to work in London but couldn’t stand the weather. His presence made the whole thing more of a party, since Archie could join in the conversation. The mosaics are pretty wonderful. I found it pretty demanding — all a bit up hill and down dale, and the crowds were appalling. We were delivered back to the threshold of a taverna about as du pays as you can get, for a late lunch, and are now back at base for a nap. The front-desk-man gave us a box of fichi d’India fruit which don’t taste very nice and are heavy. We will have to carry them at least as far as Catania airport.

There is a museum very near here dedicated to Sicily’s most recent invasion — in 1943. I think we might go see that tomorrow morning, before the airport. Also I’ll need to find cash. I forgot to budget for the taxi-to-airport. ATM’s don’t abound here.

Now safely back from evening supper-expedition. I hope my next bulletin will simply report safe arrival in Edinburgh and reunion with dear cats.

Saturday October 20

Here we are at Catania airport, a circle of hell beyond Dante’s imagining. We have still a long time to wait before our journey even begins. Several flights seem to be delayed — a bad omen.

Now here we are in Charles de G., the grandest airport I have ever seen. Archie was worried about making our connection, since CdeG is full of long, long walks and I am so slow; then I got worried because on top of those considerations, we were half an hour late getting in from Catania. But all is well. We are sitting at the Edinburgh departure gate, with time to spare.

And here I am in Drummond Place with a glass of Weston’s Vintage Cider — they don’t have THAT in Catania — and my dear cats, who seem glad to see me. Perdita met us at the inner glass door, the way she does when I get home from the supermarket, although her feeders have scarcely seen her all week. Maybe Archie texted her from the airport. 

I was right to be frightened, before we left. I’m really not strong enough for such an adventure. Archie was terrific and it couldn’t have been done without him. And we were lucky to get off so lightly from that fall. Probably, never again.