As I have written before, getting from Point A to Point B generally proves to be a bit of a challenge. Getting from Ortigia to Giardina Naxos – north of Catania and Mt. Etna and just south of Taormina – was no exception. We left our hotel in Ortigia at 10:00 Thursday morning and finally settled into our for-real hotel at noon on Friday. Except for “travel” and sleep, we did precious little else in between.

So here’s the story of our record-setting pace.

Our train from Siracusa to the Taormina-Giardini station left at 12:45. We started the journey in fine Italian fashion — by lounging over a coffee for an hour while we bade our goodbyes (ciaos?) to our new friend Carl. We met at a cafe next to bus stop for the 10-minute ride to the train station. After a leisurely coffee, we said goodbye and started waiting. Google Maps said the bus would arrive in 3 minutes. Then 6 minutes. Then 10 minutes. 30-ish minutes was about all the slop time I could handle, so about 40 minutes before the train, I recommended that we take a cab. That is when the bus arrived.

We made it to the station, found the ticket office (which mostly serves as a lottery ticket and cigarette shop) and bought our ticket. The guy said the train should be leaving from Track #3. (Thank goodness for Google Translate.) There was no apparent way to get across the tracks from Track 1 to Track 3. When I asked, the guy said not to worry: just because “Trenitalia’s” computer said the train would be on Track 3 does not mean it would be. Sure enough, the train pulled in on Track 1. We were perfect.

The train ride was comfy, on-time, and scenic, including endless orange groves, great views of the Mediterranean, a ride through Catania (Sicily’s second largest city), and stunning views of snow-capped Mount Etna. We arrived at the Taormina-Giardini station 4 minutes late. Not bad.

The bus stop was directly across the street, and the bus should be arriving in about 15 minutes. How perfect can it get! But like the bus in Ortigia, no matter what Google Maps said, the bus wasn’t showing up. Turns out, we later learned, Mediterranean Storm Harry washed out too much of the road. After about an hour, we gave up and walked to a taxi. 10 minutes and €25 later, we got to our B&B, Casa di Amici. It was in an alley just up the road from a pretty substantial tattoo parlor — not really sketchy, but definitely on that end of the spectrum.

We paid the driver and tried to get in. I read back through all of my confirmation emails. Nothing about entering. I called the number on the door; a recorded voice said a lot of stuff in Italian, none of which helped. I called Booking.com. Halfway through my conversation, we got disconnected. “Shit.” I thought; it’s a good thing we still have a lot of daylight left. We’ll figure something out. So off we went to find an open cafe: Baia del Soul. We trundled in with our suitcase, two backpacks, and our ever-growing tote bag of miscellany, and explained that we couldn’t get into our hotel.

Nice people who can also speak English are fantastic medicine. The owner, Elena, had lived in San Francisco. There was nothing she could really do to help, but her presence felt like a welcome anchor.

We sat down and ordered a drink when the text message from the B&B came through. The call to Booking had apparently worked. In the most blasé and matter-of-fact style possible, the texter said, “I’ve been waiting here for you; what time do you plan to arrive?” “F-you,” I thought, but I just wrote that despite ringing and ringing and ringing the buzzer, no one answered. We finished our drinks and walked back to the B&B.

Despite a number of unanswered queries about stairs, we discovered we needed to climb a few flights … not welcome news to balance-impaired Rebecca. The room was nice enough and seemed clean. We found a great restaurant … owned by aging and very raspy identical twin sisters who totally played with my mind. We ate and went to sleep thinking that another day there wouldn’t be bad while we found a more comfortable, more accessible place.

I slept great. Rebecca hated the bed. The B&B offered breakfast … but not there … at a cafe one street away from the sea. Getting there entailed another alleyway with a long, uphill slog and then a long flight of very uneven stairs. You know that old adage about the link between happy wives and happy lives? We spent breakfast looking for a place with an elevator.

We devised a plan: I would take the first shower, walk the 1/2+ mile to place we found, check it out, and report back. That is when the deal was sealed. Damn, I hate finding cockroaches scampering my hotel bathroom!

The good news: the new place (despite being way pricier than we wanted) is beautiful, with astounding oil-paint murals on the walls, a balcony with a full view of the Mediterranean, a custom-cooked breakfast, and a lift.

We have no clue if Booking.com will refund the money we paid (though I suspect the cockroach photo I sent them might be a decent motivator), but regardless, we settled into our new digs at noon and are ready for a Sicilian supper, Valentine’s Day, and Mardi Gras on the Mediterranean … as well as a day of exploring Taormina before we head to the Italian mainland.

Arriverdverci for now.