Picture this: I’m in Catania, Italy, blissfully wandering the charming streets, devouring pizza that should be illegal (in a good way), and taking in the sights. You know, the typical tourist stuff. Then, just as Iโm basking in the warm Sicilian sun, I glance up at the majestic Mount Etna, the most active volcano in Europe (they aint kidding yak now), and it looks like it’s got a bit of a mood going on. And by mood, I mean itโs puffing smoke like an angry dragon after a bad nightโs sleep.
At first, I thought, โWow, look at that! A volcano! Howย exotic!โ But then, reality kicked in, and I had one of those delightful moments of clarity where I realized I might be witnessing my own death in real time.
The Calm Before the Eruption
So there I was, a little too caffeinated from the espresso I had downed at breakfast (because when in Italy, right?), feeling like I was on top of the world. Everything was perfect: the sun was shining, my Grumpy Cat backpack was securely strapped on my back, and I had just eaten enough pizza to rival a teenage boyโs appetite. Life was good.
But as I strolled around town, I noticed something unsettling. The air was thick with the smell of sulfur, and the sky above Mount Etna looked like it had been dabbed with a heavy brush of ash. For a moment, I thought Iโd accidentally stumbled into a reenactment of a disaster movie. You know the type: the ones where everything seems fine until nature decides itโs had enough and unleashes hell on earth.
A Moment of Existential Dread
As I watched the smoke swirl up into the sky, I couldnโt help but feel a slight twinge of panic. I mean, what was I thinking? โOh, a smoking volcano? How quaint!โ This was not quaint. This was aย volcano. A real, honest to god, godamn volcano that had just recently decided to start acting like a drama queen.
I stood there, staring at the ominous plume, and had a mini existential crisis. โThatโs it,โ I thought. โIโm going to die here, in Catania, surrounded by pizza, wearing a cat backpack. A fitting end, I suppose, considering Iโd always dreamed of going out in a blaze of glory. Just not this blaze. Maybe a fireworks show or a dramatic mic drop at a karaoke barโthis was not on the list.

The Aftermath: Volcanoes and Reflection
Eventually, after a solid 2 hours of pretending I wasnโt completely freaking out, the volcano calmed down. It was as if it had decided to take a little breather and let everyone know that while it might have been feeling fiery, it wasnโt quite ready to throw a full blown eruption party.
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Plan your ultimate escape here.Relieved yet slightly underwhelmed, I returned to my pizza hunt, feeling like a war survivor. โI faced the volcano, and all I got was this slice of Margherita,โ I thought. But in all seriousness, that experience taught me something valuable. Life is unpredictable, and sometimes you find yourself standing at the edge of a volcanic crater wondering if todayโs the day you meet your maker.
As I tucked into yet another slice of pizza that night (because if I was going to die, I wanted my last meal to be as glorious as possible), I couldnโt help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.
In the end, I survived to tell the tale, mountain of smoke and all. So hereโs to spontaneous adventures, smoking volcanoes, and the ridiculousness of thinking that a cat backpack could somehow shield me from an erupting volcano.
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Read the full guide here.Who knew Catania would give me a near-death experience and an excellent story to share? If thatโs not travel magic, I donโt know what is.
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Quit drinking on 23 July 2021 after a two-day bender and swapped bars for border crossings and 12-step meetings. Three sober years, 36 countries, 113 travellers (totally dry), fuelled by street food, jelly babies, and a broken Google Maps app. Wandersober is my journal, my SEO lab, and my mission. Featured in GQ, Mirror, Evening Standard, MarketWatch, and more.
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This one will wreck you (in a good way):
The Night I Should Have Died โ