Palermo is a noisy place. There are a million people living in the Sicilian capital, and all of them appear to own cars, and they all like to use the horn, writes Brendan Glacken
So we escape one afternoon, bussing it out to Mondello, a popular seaside resort just half-an-hour's drive from the city. The attraction here is a beautiful, two-kilometre sandy beach which curves away under the northern bluff of Mount Pellegrino. The hectic summer season is over but there are still groups of tanned people, young and old, enjoying the blazing afternoon sun. We select a spot near the numerous beach cabins.
I jump into the Tyrrhenian sea. It is warm and blue and completely clear. Some children are swimming nearby, and a few snorkellers are venturing out further. Windsurfers are shooting across the bay, a beach netball game is in progress, colourful kites are dipping and diving in the sky.
It is an idyllic scene. There is a kind of Death in Venice languor in the air. Paint is peeling from the deserted beach cabins. But the drama is literally around the corner.
We - wife and self - are now stuck into our beach books. A young boy's head peeps suddenly around the corner of the beach hut. I take no notice. I am too deeply immersed in John Berendt's Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, thinking more of Savannah than Sicily.
Flurry of activity
Suddenly, there is a flurry of activity right beside us. A scurry of feet, a fleeting vision of two young tanned boys in shorts and white shirts. My wife announces, almost casually: "My bag."
The bag is gone with the boys.
Well, stuff this for a lark. I am seriously outraged. No way is this being allowed to happen. I am on my feet and in pursuit. The chase is on.
The two boys, probably aged about 13 or 14, are only about 30 yards ahead of me on the beach. But they have been joined by an older, rough-looking guy of about 20 who is screaming at them, urging them on.
Dammit, I can surely catch up with a couple of kids. I am screaming at them myself now, something along the lines of, "I say, would you mind returning the blooming bag?" Perhaps I am also questioning their parentage. Indeed I am, very loudly. This appears to be upsetting them, because the youngster carrying the bag turns around with a look of absolute horror on his face. Good.
Now is an excellent time to try out my Italian. "Auito!" I bellow, "Auito!" Yep, that means "help". And police are "polizia!" A gentleman on the beach, watching the fun, helpfully cries out, "Ladri! Ladri!". I have now learned the Italian for thieves, while watching them in action. This certainly beats Linguaphone.
The thieving trio are on the street now and I am suddenly stuck behind the tall metal fence that screens the beach from the road. But I am running alongside the robbers, still screaming, with locals joyfully joining in. "Ladri, ladri!" goes the happy cry. It is a wonderful feeling to be playing a central role in the fine old Sicilian tradition of robbing tourists.
Look of disbelief
The robbers have gained no ground. I get over the fence and am rewarded with a look of absolute shock and disbelief on the face of the older thief. It seems this was not in the script. The two youngsters, meanwhile, look absolutely terrified. Well, I might be scared too if I was being chased by a mad, screaming, sweating, middle-aged, red-faced Irishman.
They all suddenly disappear around a corner. But where's the bag?
I am now called back by a lady who tells me she has seen the bag being thrown over a garden wall. We search a couple of gardens, and there it is. It appears that everything is gone except a hairbrush.
Patricia arrives from the beach. She checks the bag and opens a zipped inner pocket. Everything is there - cash, cards, including, oh thank goodness, the Dunnes Stores card. We wouldn't want the ladri picking up our valuable points in Rathmines.
"Goddammit," says the wife, "You've earned your gin and tonic tonight." Hmm. Do I not always earn it?
Petty crime
In fact, in retrospect I feel a bit of an eejit. We have been well warned about petty crime in Palermo, but never thought we might fall victim to it on the beach, even if we stood out as pale foreigners.
On the plus side, we have certainly been lucky. I was probably fortunate not to have actually caught up with the thieves. I am glad to have frightened the bejasus out of the two kids. They might now settle down to studying for their Junior Cert and leave a life of crime until later.
As for their ugly older mentor - undoubtedly a small-time Mafioso, I have since been assured - I am pleased to have upset his operation. I hope his superiors give him a severe talking-to: for his cowardice, his unfitness, his overall incompetence and his unforgivable lack of knowledge about the interiors of ladies' handbags.