I believe I might still have to make up a call for him as good because for the spirit of me I cannot think it. Lets call him Marco. I believe his figure was a little more exotic and that is conducive to my want of memory.
He is sinewy, short and tranquil. He spoke fast but moved his trunk as though he had just so much energy to spend, like he was keeping out for when it was very time to spend. His Side is an accurate translation from Italian. he would say things like Have hunger you? or WE have a point here so i hold a front for you. he confessed that he learned about of his English trying to pass with clients and from hearing and singing Pink Floyd, the doors and the Beatle's songs. Never in school. Never from a book. He simply did the train that he needed nothing more. His first love was the mountain, his second love was his wife and family, third music. I want I remembered his exact form of words so that you would perhaps take the opportunity to love it as I did. I will pay more care to these kinds of things now when I can. I am not skilled enough as a writer to repair the measure of an italian accent influenced by stone and roll. maybe some day with loads of practice.
We traveled from the lodge to the mass in his Land Rover. Generally I hate these kinds of vehicles. But I will say here for all to see if he picked us up in a Bullet I would not have been mad. After being where he brought us the use of this form of vehicle is sound judgment. If automobiles came with teeth, this one would deliver them. They would be stained, maybe chipped a small but keen and firmly implanted in the gums. Again i find myself in a car with an Italian that would under different circumstances be a white knuckle experience but here I am cool and calm, knowing that I am in really good care. Streets here are incredibly small. Most of the streets in the centre were basically built for horses pulling chariots and coaches. They are minute and very bumpy. he drove this mountain beast like it was a tiny Smart Car, weaving in and out of traffic, making sharp turns left and right. High in my place I glanced down at people's laps high, feeling like mountain man chariot could beat everyone else like a bug. Our voyage in more traffic was story time Mountain man style. I love story time.
He started trekking the deal with his dad when he was an infant. His dad would strap him on his presence by using long pieces of fabric. When he was a little bigger on his second until he was big enough to walk. then as a toddler it was the combination of walking and riding on his fathers back. At the age of ten, his father dropped him off on a Saturday morning with his second pack full of enough food for 8 days. The following Sunday his father picked him up almost the township where they subsist on the mountain. The road was decided on but not with a map. I asked him why he did not use a map. "Well the mass changes all the time. One day you get something, then next day it could be gone. This is not any ordinary mountain. It has fire inside. Any second it could belch out rivers of molten rock in a stream strong enough to swallow homes, automobiles anything. The biggest thing you can image can be covered with lava in seconds, completely erased, leaving behind ash, and red glowing rock. A hotel here with 5 stories was totally ruined by the final big eruption. he made this trek alone for 8 days all by memory alone at ten days old. I need a bit to remember almost all the ten year olds i love and frankly i would almost not believe them to get out a neighborhood let alone down a volcano. 
At the very least it is a fascinating, incredibly specific life see that I feel favorable to have brushed up against. Especially fortunate considering I am and Italian American raised in Philadelphia suburbs were nothing like this ever can happens. For fun we just didn't climb volcanoes. Another moment that I am tingly with WOW, how did I get here?
Now Marco is 36 days old, already with almost 30 years of trekking experience. Like his father, he became a point at 18 years old. People try out his guide service from all over the world. this is not a fact that I learned from him but from others. he did not advance this to us. Now he treks with masses for as farsighted as a few weeks at a time, sometimes using a helicopter to be dropped off with his company of guests at a distant point, and then they climb down. i look like I am pretty brave and I get done some fun things but i simply don't know if I will always do this. (maybe my mom said PHEW and smiled with ease when she read this).
Marco has two children of his own and has carried on the same tradition. During an overnight camping trip with his wife, four year old girl and five year old son there was an eruption. it was small and distant but the lava burst from the base with a hit like a cannon. His daughter was hysterical and his son shrill with excitement. Too benighted to climb down, they spent the dark in a tent with a sobbing four year old. After comforting her, she would decline to sleep only to heat with another charge and a new fit of crying. His son was so mad he could not sleep. I don't blame her. I believe I would have piddled and cried myself. five days later, his daughter still has never precious to fall to the mountain, and he can't hold his son from wanting to be on it. "it is that way. You either want to be here or off from here. It is in some peoples blood. This mass can get your mistress. I have never forced my girl to fall back. She should be where she is comfortable, but I am teaching my son everything I live like my dad did. He wants this mountain. He is about ready to be left as I was." continuing he said in his sway and roll italian accent. "Maybe I will die on this mountain. I do not know. Everyday i do not live but everyday is as probably as the next. We possess science for the shot but we don't know when or for how long or how big." the final big eruption scientists estimated would live for a few days, it ended up erupting continuously for over a year. When this happened Italians went up the lot to light their cigarettes on the lava and to cook sausages. "Cooking sausages is not a just idea. The gas is poison. Lighting cigarettes is fine." Shrugging his shoulders. "You cannot break them from doing it."
We drove through a few mountain villages before ascending. He pointed out one saying that he formerly had a house vacation house there but it got burned up by lava. "We also missed a car to lava. Well I missed a car to lava." Much to my surprise did not ask any questions. To assure you the truth I had to get accustom to his measure in speech before i could get him to speak about something i thought he might actually get mad about.
It took us about 45 minutes to arrive. if there were no cars it would have been almost 20. My ears popped like mad. the emphasis was quick and direct. The day was frigid and overcast. This was a surprise. For the about part when I was in Catania the conditions was well into the 60's during the day. I left the inn with my man sweater and frankly I was glad. At the top of the mountain there was snow, in between was likely in the 30's The route was pretty normal for a short while. He spoke about the more recent eruptions and about of the lava science in readiness for our first stop. He explained that the lava flows at different rates. One flow pattern is rivers or streams or lava flows in explosions or mad fit of red hot lava into the sky then falling down to the ground forming lava rubble. When the lava flows in rivers the surface cools faster than the lava inside. the event are tunnels with a lava ceiling and a lava floor. the tunnels are sometimes shallow, other times hundreds of feet deep. He explained that many of the deaths and injuries are caused from unguided hikes on the mountain. "People forget that this is not a mountain. It is a volcano. It is really different. Things happen here that you can't save on a map. If you don't love what you are look at you could basically be walking on and so fall hundreds of feet into the mountain. Like being swallowed, never to be ground again." he stated. it did not look like he was stressful to further his sales. It is an inviolable truth that more data is required to fare una passagata on Mt Etnea.
Our first halt was one of the holes that could swallow you-a tunnel. He handed us helmets with head lamps and explained that we should stay faithful to the opening. the risk is that the tunnel could collapse. "Do you even need to go in Marianne?" he asked. "Sure do." Silly,silly man. Why aren't you request the fella. I thought.
I could stand when I was within but Alan had to turn over a bit. I do not believe that he was more that 6 feet tall. It was light less and seemed endless. I proceeded forth from the mess we entered in land the tunnel. He grabbed my shoulder like a dad would a kid about to pass over a ledge. "There is always one in the group." he said smiling, explaining that he had not mind how long the tunnel was or if it would spread into a bigger one. This tunnel was formed from a lava flow in the 1800's. Later he promised he would try to have us to a different one that was formed in the more recent eruption and also get us to a position where lava from the 1800's and lava from the more recent eruption overlapped. he reminded us to go to the palace in
Catania with the mote filled with lava. It was from an explosion in the sixteenth century, I think. The palace was unharmed but the lava flowed from the top of the sight to the city. 
When we ran out of road, He switched his monster into gear and we were off. This is were I would have a car noise if I were telling you in person. It sounded like a hot rod, throaty growl of the motor climbed, bouncing us around like kernels of maize in an air popper before they pop. I clenched my muscles to catch myself from being tossed around too much, but could not stop smiling. . "do you get sick in teh car. this is where some people they cause problems. Oh not you marianne", he said laughing, " How near you Alan. You sick now. We can go another way but you will miss somethings. I will stay here in a few minutes so that I can take a feel for you around the mountain." We all agreed that we were just fine. When I kept my mouth loose my top and bottom teeth slammed together.
With my bouncing eye spy eyes i noticed a grave marker and a flock of rocks. I asked for more information. Apparently an Italian man lived on the pot and during the 2nd world war was a great service to American soldiers. I consider this man's name was Bruno. this man spoke English. "How did a guy from the mountain learn English to talk to Americans." I asked. "I don[t know maybe his mother was American." I tried not to laughter but I knew my eyes were smiling. Bruno told the Americans that he would wish to see Catania. he had lived his total life on the flock and never saw the city. They agreed and took him with them. On the way to the city they were in a crash. Bruno was the sole person that died. The american returned his trunk to the deal and he was buried where I saw the grave stone. Poverino, died without ever seeing the city.
As we continued Marco pointed out varying tree growth. the ground there was a difference he explained was because where there were new trees there once were farms where people raised families and had farms with animals and grew vegetables. "Now people don't need to do that act and they don't need to go on the mountain." One stop in time, less than a 100 years ago, hundreds of people lived and worked on the mountain. Now people have migrated down to villages round the pot and to bigger cities. As we proceeded we could see skeletons of walls dividing property as good as homes and barns. He pointed out various types of trees and patterns of development that are evidence that the ground was formerly inhabited by a farmer. What was awful to see were thick veins of black lava and in the center of it were islands of lustrous green grass with trees. Often fruit trees. When I was in Noto I ate Mt. Etnea apples and they were near the sizing of an apricot and the appleiest apple I have had in my life.
We climbed to the where the terrible souvenir shop is. I skipped buying a lava charm but had the best hot chocolate I get always had in my life. It was like warm chocolate puddling. You could not drink it real you had to eat it with a spoon. The milk and the coffee were mixed together in a metal caraf and heated with a steamer. I did not reckon up from my cup until every drop was finished.
anyway. the wind blew cold and the blow was coming down like I was in New England. "Can we go. this snow gives me the willies." I asked. Alan was already in the truck. he was from L. A. and had not interest in the cold. This period was brief. Foul weather interrupted some of our plans. If the sun was shining we were passing to go farther up to see a crater where an eruption had isolated the mountain. It was a little disappointing but we did get a serious front at where lava had overlapped. Marco told us to be close behind and to just step were he was. Don't wonder off and build your own path Marianne. This is really important." "Maybe we will be swallowed?" I asked. Yes. The base was like gravel. Large and small lava stones crunched under our feet. After nearly 5 minutes we stopped. he pointed out the different color of rock, we were looking at lava from the 1800's. He plant a hole. "Put your reach in there Marianne." Excited and willing I did exactly was he told me to do. "Unbelievable it like a sauna in there." Thermal heat from a course that is 200 years old is still putting out enough passion to give you sweat if your total body was depressed in it." he smiled, satisfied that he made his head and that I was the right tool to demonstrate. As Alan had his play at blunging his fit under the coat I watched mountain man finger some rocks. Finding two he seemed to wish he lay one in apiece of his hands. I felt like a kid watching a magician. "Marianne open your hands." i pushed up the sleeved of my man sweater, opened my palms to the sky and let him plop two lava rocks into my hands. wide eyed again I was astonished that one was as clear as cork and the former as big as granite. "You try Alan" I said. He tried to make the stones from me with his index finger and thumb. "aw no Alan, you will be lacking out if you do it that way." I said reaching for his script and opening them up to the sky. " ready." I asked. Raising my men to my mind i plopped them into his hands. "Wow." he sparkled a short bit for a moment. "Why do you suppose this is like this?" I bit my tongue trying not to blurt out the answer, i wanted to give Alan a chance. I was feeling like being female and also enthusiastic about these kinds of things was orienting the day in my direction. Alan just put his head low and said nothing. It made me sad. I knew the result but let Marco explain. The second lava flow pushed the lava that was below the surface up to the top creating heavier stones. The lighter stones are from the more recent flow. These stones were formed and cooled on the outside, on the open where there was exposure to oxygen. Now there is a mine what uses heavy equipment to dig into the reason for this heavy lava for paving and tiles. In Catania the rock is not so strong because it was rock that was dug and cut my hand. Now it is easier to go hundreds of meters thick and extract lava stone. dong ding ding i would have been redress but sometimes that is not important.
We visited the mine where they take up the lava stone. This was our final point before going the mountain. Marco continued story time. he brought up the car loss again. "In American when you tell someone you missed a car it means you can't see it. I get a look here you think something really different." he smiled. "Well yes." he had hardly passed his drivers test. Fresh with the enthusiasm of driving freedom, he begged the keys to the car from his dad and went for a force up the deal with a friend. They stayed passed dark to see the stars. hearing an explosion close by, Marco and his friend hurried to get the car. the lava arrived before he was capable to displace it. Quickly he was in a the heart of a period of hot lava. The sudden jump in temperature blew out the windows of the car. He and his friend climbed to the ceiling and jumped over the river flow onto grass. They ran out from the lava to get a "good" home to wait. Feeling warm liquid drop from his finger tips he looked down at his reach and accomplished that he had sliced open his finger from the tip to his wrist when the windows blew out. He and his friend would hold the dark on the mountain for the sun. he elevated his script to render me the scar, raising his brow. he needed almost 30 stitches in his hand. "Holy cow." I gasped at the map of blank lines on his hand. Shaking my head thinking about all the different moments that could have ended everything differently, jumping from the car and lacking the grass, not putting your reach in presence of his expression when the glass burst, not learned the voice of an eruption close by. I would be dead. Period.
"oh Dio." He said " I am so comfortable I almost took you two abode with me. I will lead you home now."
I smiled with my feet on the dart board and looked down at the laps of the mass in cars who had probably had a very ordinary day.
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