Minor Eruption
- Joanna
- Nov 12, 2025
- 7 min read
Updated: Nov 18, 2025
Who takes a carry-on to cobblestone-street-filled Italy?
No one. No one in the entire world.
Oh... hold on...
Me.
I do.
Silly, ridiculous, "not-thinking" me.
Of all the places I could've chosen NOT to bring a backpack, I chose Europe … and instead, opted for this roly-poly-ollie, carry-on.
Big mistake.
BIG.
Huge.
The only time I will ever succumb to rolling luggage again is if I have some kind of weekend corporate conference to attend in Ottawa… or wherever. I pray to the heavens above that I never have to endure this hell again...
Did I mention one of the front wheels disintegrated?
Ya.
Completely fell apart.
All that is left of it is tattered plastic, tangled with a stream of random, rotten fluff that I can only assume came from the shredding of my rain jacket against Rome's cobblestone streets.
Oh, what a web I do weave...
Team Backpack has officially won this Italian travel bag competition. Hands down.
On the bright side, I’ve managed to lighten my load... physically. Emotionally, it feels like I might’ve picked up some extra weight, but I’ll deal with that part later. A few unwanted (well... I "wanted" them... but just not right "now") clothes have been left behind.
I packed poorly.
I made some questionable packing choices... which,
admittedly, is not unlike me. I brought not two, but three black T-shirts… and somehow, not a single skirt or pair of shorts.
It's hot here… despite being November.
Mediterranean hot.
And what did I pack? A pair of jeans, two sets of long johns, and a dress that's far too short for my current body confidence. What was I thinking?
I've been on the hunt for one of those longer, lightweight, flowing, lemon-print blouses that seem to appear in every trendy Italian Instagram post. So far, zero luck. But I desperately need one. And yes, I'm fully aware that the moment I get home, it'll vanish into my closet, never to be worn again.
Still... right now, I need it.
Most boutiques have their own "luxury" version of what I just described, but even at 50% off, they're WAYYYYY out of my budget. One was on sale at 1/2 price from €380! Eeeeek!!! I mean, sure… l'd love a lovely lemon shirt… I desperately need a lovely lemon shirt… but surely no one expects me to give up my Aperol Spritzes & beloved spinach arancini for it. Right?
Right.
Anyway, the hunt continues. 🍋
It’s difficult trying to cross the street here as a simple, naive pedestrian... but excruciatingly difficult to do it while you're dragging a broken carry-on. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve conquered traffic in Ho Chi Minh City, which still feels like it merits a serious "traveller's" badge of honour. But here? It’s a remarkable accomplishment in terms of speed, patience, and temperament. Drivers don’t care if you’re crossing… they’re NOT stopping. They have their eyes on the prize at all times… and the prize is the road.
Not you.
Not me.
Occasionally someone slows down… but it’s usually (always) traffic first... pedestrians second. Even third or fourth.
I haven’t written much lately... probably because I haven’t felt particularly incredible. Not about myself. Not about my writing. Everyone goes through rough patches, I know. I do too. But I think I was a little too hasty with this trip. At first, I was thrilled to be coming to Italy. Who wouldn’t be? Then I started second-guessing my decision because my dog was getting older, and I didn’t want to leave him alone. I seriously almost cancelled the entire thing. Then, after he passed away, I told myself this trip would be an escape from the pain… but I don’t think that was what I needed either.
I don’t know what I need.
Does anyone?
Besides a lemon shirt.
To be fair, a lovely lemon shirt would make life… much more bearable.
To top it all off, there was a whole mess with someone who used to be quite close to me. Cruel words. Nasty, actually. Add all that to the mix, and... voilà... I’ve got myself a real pickle… in Sicily!
My dizzy spells are still lingering, though they aren't as frequent, nor as terrifying as they were at the beginning of the trip. Maybe it’s my inner ear crystals… or maybe it’s my body’s way of whispering, “You needed a pause, not a plane ticket.”
Ugh.
But… that’s not fair… this trip was a good idea.
Some of it, yes. Definitely.
Some of it, nope.
Sometimes I manage to shift my focus away from it... by losing myself in a beautiful Italian view, a perfect arancini or Caprese salad… or even an Aperol Spritz. But that uneasy, anxious feeling always lingers... just beneath the surface… like I’ve forgotten something important.
And then, there it is again.
Front and centre. Like a terrible script my mind can't stop running through.
But I'm positive I'll touch more on that later...
Now for some brilliant news...
From gloom to bloom… bleak to bright… grey to golden…
When I checked into my room in Catania, Sicily. The couple at the front desk were lovely. The lady gave me my key and some information about the accommodation. Her husband took a photo of my passport, as usual, handed it back to me... and off I went upstairs to settle in, connect to the free Wi-Fi, unpack a little... blah blah blah.
Fifteen minutes later... there was a knock at the door. I opened up… and the wife was standing there. She wanted to see my passport again... as well as another piece of ID.
What?
Why?
BECAUSE APPARENTLY I LOOK TOO YOUNG TO HAVE BEEN BORN IN 1972!!!!!!!!
I’ll take that.
It’s far from the truth… but I’ll take it!
I had to PROVE my age!!! I rarely feel young these days... most of the time I think I look old, haggard, tired, bloated, wrinkled, and puffy. Especially right now. When I’m upset about anything, I eat. I wish I were one of those people who lose their appetite when they’re sad. Not me. Nope. I eat more.
But hey, that’s me.
So to hell with the old, haggard, tired, bloated, wrinkled, puffy, eating-constantly me... this "compliment" was precisely what I needed to boost my spirits, if only temporarily.
And when one door closes, another opens, right?
The actual quote by Alexander Graham Bell is "“When one door closes, another one opens but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the ones which open for us.”
But... not in this case. I recently reconnected with one of my dearest friends from my time living in Edinburgh. Time and circumstance pulled us apart... collateral damage of life, I guess... but now that we’ve found our way back, I couldn’t be more grateful. It’s made me realize how precious those rare friendships are, the ones worth losing a dozen others for, over and over again.
Did I mention I went to Mount Etna?
I figured I couldn’t be this close and not see it up close. I mean, it was right there. This volcano is WILD. It erupts constantly, covering the city in ash showers, and at any moment, it could, theoretically, wipe everything out. How do you even get insurance for that? And as if that weren’t enough, there are earthquakes too. Sicily is stunning, but I’m not sure I’d want to put down concrete roots here.
Anyway, there were so many Etna tour options to choose from that it made my head spin... jeep tours, gondola rides, sunrise hikes, sunset hikes, lunches, 4WD adventures, and bike tours... it was endless. I finally picked a Jeep and light hiking tour... and hoped for the best.
It turned out to be fabulous. There was a small group of us... with three from Poland, one Aussie... and me. The guide (Kevin Costa) was friendly and full of interesting stories. He and I spent some time swapping stories about the occasional clueless tourist. Apparently, some people seem to think it's acceptable to hound him about whether or not his family has ties to the mafia.
Top that!
Kevin was quoted as saying, "The mother of stupid people is always pregnant."
I HAD to write that one down.
I stole a tiny piece of lava from the side of the mountain... totally legal... I checked!. Kevin said customs wouldn’t care, and I really hope he’s right. I’d rather not be arrested for violating any “take only pictures, leave only footprints” rule.
Okay, in my defence, it’s really tiny. Pebble-sized.
We spent some time exploring the lava caves beneath the mountain, too. I could tell Kevin was getting quite frustrated, as one of the Polish women just couldn’t (wouldn't?) keep up. At first, we thought it was because she kept stopping to take photos.
Then we blamed the dim light… then her shoes… then the low ceiling. But nothing seemed to be the reason for having to wait on her every 10 feet. Maybe it was simply too dark and too claustrophobic. Who knows...
She had no trouble keeping up once we reached the treats at the end of the tour... the honey, wine, liqueur, and olive oil tasting. Funny how motivation works, eh? Honestly, every tour on earth should come with a splash of pistachio cream liqueur, a glass of red wine, and a piece of fresh bread dipped in spicy Sicilian olive oil with a drizzle of lemon honey.
Yep.
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