Beatrix pottering: Tourists in Taormina

Yesterday we were Sightseeing. I was up early to test the campsite showers - a new experience with tokens, which meant the water ran out just as I was covered with soap and had to rinse off in the non-tokened cold shower next door. Bracing. But it was a beautiful morning, our first day of clear blue sky, and some yoga with a sea view warned me up.

After all the late nights, Jemima slept late, so we decided on the 12.15 bus to Taormina rather than the 10.15. I had a lovely unexpected hour in the sun reading Robert Harris' first Cicero book about his prosecution of a former governor of Sicily for extortion - brilliant, and great reading about Roman Sicily while sitting on a Sicilian beach. Then we headed off for the bus.

It nearly all went wrong. We were at the bus stop in good time, and had even worked out which side of the road to stand on; but I was expecting the bus from the other direction (as if we were in the UK, left hand side of the road). So at 12.05, we let a bus go straight past us. And the next one wasn't until 17.15. A few minutes of agonising followed, and then the bus reappeared from a side street - at 12.15. I ran out in the road, waving wildly, and he stopped, then confirmed he was indeed the bus to Taormina. Hardly able to believe our luck, we piled on.

We had the bus (coach really) to ourselves. It was a spectacular journey winding up and down the mountain, with that carefree but safe driving you get when a coach driver knows the road. (Kevin was impressed enough to google 'good driver' in Italian, and was also very jealous of the air suspension: we floated over the potholes.) After a stunning drive through Mazzaro (the beach at the bottom of the hill), we arrived in Taormina.

After the splendid isolation of the journey, we were suddenly surrounded by people. We'd heard Taormina was busy, and my goodness it is. We promenaded (along with hundreds of others) along the picturesque main street lined with baroque buildings with that faded glamour of hot climates, in a sea of other people. There was only one walking pace, that of the people in front. But the town was beautiful despite this, with stunning views over the bay, and an amazing mix of architecture from across literally millennia.

We lunched on ham and cheese toasties in the cathedral square (it was tourist traps or hugely expensive options only); then had possibly the best chocolate gelato ever: weirdly solid, on a stick in the shape of a lolly, but SO good. Then an amble to Taormina's treasure, its ancient amphitheatre with Mount Etna as its backdrop.

It was great. Surprisingly fewer people here viewing than shopping in the centre - or maybe it could just absorb the numbers (it used to seat 5000 Greeks, then Romans). Kevin and Jemima looked for lizards while I communed with the past; we sat in various spots admiring the view; then Jemima unwittingly brought improvisation back into the space by getting out her Paw Patrol pup toys for a game. Then, as Jemima fell asleep, we headed back down the hill for a wander in the pretty, shaded Public Gardens (designed by an Englishwoman in the 19th century) before the bus home.

It had been a fun day, but there was a final unexpected frolic: we arrived back at the campsite to find a farewell party underway in the bar. So Jemima and I hit the dance floor for a boogie. When Kevin wanted to retire for a rest, Jemima said she wanted to stay "at the disco", so we did. We danced; she danced with merry Italian campers; and then she was asked to choose the winning ticket for the Easter campsite raffle (bravely standing on a table and saying "fifty" loudly into a microphone). She was rewarded with a chocolate egg, which went down very well.

Then back to the motorhome for dinner and bed. A busy day.

Family selfie overlooking Taormina bay: