Ratso's Europhile

2004: We're All Russo's on This Bus

by Carl Russo

1

I hadn't even touched ground yet and already the gods we're in a pissy and punishing mood. Mount Etna, Italy's hyperactive volcano, was issuing great plumes of steam between bursts of liquid red. The fireworks were at eye level from my window seat on that clear blue day, but the camera was buried in a suitcase and anyway we went into descent for Catania. It might not have mattered: my trusty old Nikon FE was hastening its obsolescence by frequent malfunctions on this cursed trip. The only other glimpses I caught of haze-shrouded Etna during three weeks in Sicily were on the nightly news as she blew her top. (Look at these amazing photos of Etna during this eruption. Behind are the lights of Catania.)

This year's report fulfills a mental contract I made with myself to post it no matter what. Beside the fact that only a handful of photos are salvageable (sadly the people shots are toast), constant transportation woes prevented me from following most of my itinerary. Not to mention the hotelier who wanted to kill me.

But my name is Russo--something I share with a great many Sicilians--and I'm not shy about making acquaintances even when misinterpreting the thick country accents. Thus the islanders generally treated me as an amusing if slightly dimwitted cousin. Like the Bozo in the old Firesign Theatre routine who discovers he's on a bus full of kindred clowns, I was in my element.

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