What a fascinating place. Filthy, beautiful, chaotic, noisy, historic, feisty, scenic, poor, rich, diverse, -almost any adjective you can think of really .

I started with the ubiquitous cappuccino and crème croissant at Caffeteria de Costa, the still warm pastries arriving on a metal tray carried in on a bakers shoulder,before flying out the door quicker than they came in. I sat for an hour there ,watching and listening as the Sunday morning city came to life, early morning runners and cyclists avoiding the daytime heat, an army of street cleaners working to the clatter of bottles into skips.

Next door was a grand building with massive heavy doors betraying nothing of within. Outside, a black Mercedes, illegally parked but studiously ignored by all the passing carabinieri, waited with the driver standing guard ,black suit, black tie,hands clasped to the front. It certainly looked a bit “Godfather”ish, even if the official line is that the Mafia is pretty much extinct these days

I threaded my way out of the city through a morning market, what a tourist guide would probably call “grittily authentic”- narrow streets with a sprawling collection of stalls ,smells and sounds. One stall holder demonstrating his CD’s with a booming soundtrack,next to lots of fish stalls and a man selling nothing but red onions .

It’s a shame I didn’t need a new bathroom tap,a lotto ticket,some saffron, an umbrella or a phone case as it would have been just the place.

Around the corner was an African presence, all brightly coloured fabrics and wicker baskets. As I pushed the bike through (it was too busy to cycle) I saw a stall on a corner that was four deep with noisy eager customers

Here was a little three man production line -one man was washing and slicing squid and octopus into rings before the second man dunked them into a big bowl of batter. The glory role went to the third man who quickly deep fried the rings before stuffing them into fresh bread rolls (or ‘cobs’ for any East Midlands readers😂) before squeezing on fresh lemon juice and passing them out to the waiting crowd (most of whom,commendably despite the early hour had a beer on the go) wrapped in paper.

I’d debated with myself staying longer . I had a 46 mile ride to a campsite and I was pretty knackered from the ferry, but I did want to make progress, instead adding Palermo to the “definitely worthy of a long weekend “ list for the future .

Here now was my introduction to “proper” Italian drivers ! This lot made Sardinians look like amateurs ,as they skimmed past me at a distance that would set Close Pass Twitter on fire .

But. But. In a weird way ,despite the close passing, it actually felt quite safe . There was no impatience, no excess speed, no “get off the road “ kind of malice and no carelessness-weirdly I think there was some kind of pride in slowly and closely passing a cyclist and what seemed chaotic at first glance was actually a carefully choreographed way of moving around.

That’s not to say it was relaxing ! Riding through an average Sicilian town was an adrenaline rush of the kind Alton Towers would dream of-the most thrilling event being when “close passing” driver conspired with “emerging from a side road” driver to make a cyclist sandwich, “una panini de ciclista” if you will.

One emerging driver was so surprised to see me she nearly dropped her phone,and on one particularly close pass I couldn’t decide whether to blame the bare chested driver or the baby on his knee😊

No matter. My route today hugged the coast for nearly all the way -because I liked that scenery but also because it avoided some of the mountain madness inland-don’t forget this is an island with an actual volcano!

I rolled into Camping Sanfilippo at about 5pm,and was surprised to bag a stunning sea view pitch. There were two campsites next door to each other ,each advertising access to their own “private beach”. Of course ,it was the same beach 😊

After some rehydration (Peroni style) and carb loading (marguerita style) I sorted tomorrow . I was planning a shorter day, firstly to visit a much recommended village called Cefalu,but also because it was the Queens funeral and I wondered if I’d find somewhere to watch it . As my German neighbour put it, “Regina Kaput” and I wanted to see at least some of the proceedings if I could