Enchanting Trapani

Our trip to Trapani was merely a day trip, but in hindsight, a longer period in this marvellous little city, as opposed to Palermo, would have been a winner. But as they say, hindsight is a wonderful thing.

Getting there wasn’t as easy as my usual scenario of just pitching up at the railway station and going. For whatever reason, the majority of trains were off, perhaps that old chestnut, Sunday line repairs. It meant researching the slightly less used bus services. The reason why I never trust buses in Italy will become apparent later.

For this extraordinary fourteen day trip, from Milan to Trapani, via randomly located places such as Cesena and Cittadella, I was joined by the wonderful company of my beautiful friend Lidiya. She is Ukrainian, giving me the alternate view of this ongoing, depressing war from my more recent travel companion. Lidiya worked on cruise ships before heading home to take care of her mum, and I knew that her moving around lifestyle would mean my mad schedule wouldn’t unduly phase her. Largely, it went very well, with the only real angst of the trip getting out of Trapani!

From Palermo bus station, the timetable suggested a near two hour jaunt, but in truth, more than thirty minutes were lost trying to get out of the city, with a variety of pick up points en route that filled every vacant seat. Once out onto the autostrada, it was merely an hours drive until we hit Trapani.

I had seen a Walter Presents Italian crime drama set in Trapani years ago, and it stuck in my mind. It looked a throwback to more simple times, old buildings, a little dusty, and a stunning coastline. As the bus came through the city to the port, it all came flooding back. However, one note should your partner be more interested in shopping than going to watch football, Trapani is closed on a Sunday. Bars and restaurants are open, maybe one or two rogue traders too, but the vast majority of shops were closed.

Thankfully, despite a predicted 70% chance of rain, the one enormous precipitous cloud slid on by out to sea as we chomped on a fabulous seafood lunch, complete with ocean view, amid an increasungly warm temperature. The meal was disturbed by a bus party arriving to take every available table, and much to Lidiya’s disgust, they were all jovial Russians. It seems that despite the best efforts of Estonia and Finland to stop such touring parties, some of the EU are issuing Schengen visas. A fact that rightly didn’t sit well with her.

Arrival by bus is on the busy port side of the hinterland that juts out into the sea from the modern aspect of Trapani. Here boats will whisk you off to Stromboli and the likes, as well as further afield. It also houses the daytripping cuiseliners, that certainly add volume to the tourist population in the quaint streets of the old town. If you cross from this busy side to the opposite coast, a mere kilometre away, the contrast is extraordinary. Immediately, the pace of life falls away, the traffic becomes nearly non-existent, a place of bliss and beauty envelopes.

With shopping off roster and Lidiya having no enthusiasm for our beautiful game, the temperature allowed a little beach time while I was off watching calcio. Trapani, in the central area on the sedate eastern side, has at least four beaches. With the exception of one, none of them have any sets of sunloungers or parasols available. These are just havens of sand and rocks to enjoy the sun with your towel. I can verify that whilst away, Lidiya did exactly that, it was largely her only real opportunity of the fortnight to be by and in the sea.

Before eating, and before the match, we walked the old streets, and what a fascinating place it is. There is much more to plunder and enjoy. It is already on my roster to return, throwing in Agrigento, and it’s amazing Greek temples, not to mention my favourite Sicilian side, struggling Akragas.

Lidiya and I said arrivederci by one of the beaches, as Google Maps was finally taking me off the coast and up into more modern parts of the city. It was a very straightforward walk, about 4 kilometres, but as easy as they come, if nothing worth of note along the way.

I was glad I hadn’t left Lidiya too long before the game, but by the same token, I had left myself enough time for the hike. However, the queue to get into the Gradinata was enormous and slow moving. This side of the stadium is the biggest by some way, and only having 4 turnstiles open for the majority who only turn up twenty minutes before the game seems inadequate.

I had been looking forward to watching a game here. It is another venue I had watched many a game online. Coming into such an arena, having some knowledge, though, it is so much better in the flesh, so to speak. Online watching does not prepare you for the real thing. Stadio Polisportivo Provinciale is a bit of a mouthful, and while the capacity is a trim 7,000, in a curious way, it seems bigger. The city has a population of 68,500, and in the current era, where attendances seem down, it will more than adequately accommodate all who wish to come along, I am sure.

The opposition had my heckles up! Of all the fabulous sides in Serie C Girone C, Juve U23 were not who I wanted to see. Ridiculously, they have been cast from the northern region of Piemonte into the southern section of the Italian third tier. Sadly, my own charges Ancona inadvertently played a part in this, with their demise letting in Milan U23, at the cost of Siracusa from Sicily, the outstanding best second placed side in the nine Serie D last term by a country mile. They didn’t win the group only because Trapani were even more sensational.

These vanity projects of juggernaut teams having been parachuted into a pyramid is all wrong, in my opinion. Hardly a sausage goes to watch them, and their lavish club finances sees them pitch up like spoilt brats in environments where they get a largely frosty reception, if not from the stands sometime (too many in Sicily seem to love Juve), but the players certainly let the ‘kids’ know they are in a game. At the end of the day, real cities, with real fans and clubs with local players and the entourage of employment potential, are lost for the likes of Siracusa to these monied clubs. Pleasingly, the two aforementioned U23 sides are really struggling, though.

In a normal world, this clash could have been a Sicilian derby versus Siracusa, or maybe versus the Molise kingpins, Campobasso. They were bumped into the central grouping from a fairly southerly location to accommodate the Turin kids. It’s all shrouded in angst and depression for me!

Trapani set about Juve with relish. They still look a team souped up and living off the vibes of their sensational promotion last term. An early lead was the least they deserved, Juve were offering nothing and seemed lost in the tactical noose that the hosts had set.  Sloppy play, and I mean criminally so, got Trapani a penalty, only for it to be crashed so high it was out the ground over the heads of the never wavering support of the Ultras.

After the break, perhaps a half-time tough lashing saw Juve compete a little better, albeit briefly. However, in that spell, one of them decided to go on a languid run. The defenders back off, a fatal mistake, allowing a bullet of a shot to fizz by the keeper into the net.

Juve then reverted to type, sitting deep and frustrating the increasingly desperate home side, roared on by such a passionate following. The Juve keeper did well on occasion, but then a second penalty was conceded, yet incredibly this was missed too, a fine save. It just wasn’t going to be Trapani’s day, and they knew it. No one present was in the least disgruntled at the final whistle, the team had tried everything. There is a real bond between the players and fans here, it was a privilege to witness.

An early evening rendezvous with Lidiya worked fine, just as the sun was setting out in the bay. We just had enough time for something to eat ahead of our 8pm bus back to Palermo. En route through one of the connecting streets from coast to coast, I spotted a cafe doubling up as the club shop. A quick peek saw the home shirts retailing at an excessive €100 a pop! They didn’t have my size anyway, so temptation for their natty away shirt was mute.

We were at the requisite bus stop for the return journey well ahead of the appointed departure time. Ten minutes before 8, our bus company was spotted dropping people off across the road where we had started the day. It just needed to head off turn, and we’d be on the road. No bus arrived at the appointed time, nor did one show nearly an hour later. The sign by the stop suggested 8pm was the last bus! We started to think about booking a Trapani hotel or see how much an Uber might have been. Locals waiting for a bus to a small nearby airport were perplexed why it hadn’t arrived. Then, lo and behold, at 9 a bus from the company we had booked with, arrived. There was hardly anyone on board, save one noisy old guy opposite us watching the Milan Derby on his phone at full volume.

As the bus sped off into the darkness, we relaxed and reflected upon one of the best days of our Sicilian adventure. All the angst of the non appearing bus dissipated. Trapani had been a real gem, and I, for one, will make sure I go back.