TRAVEL has always been for me on some level about trespass. In a world that has been picked over, trampled and bricked in, the (law-flaunting) intrepid spirit must look for signs that point the way to adventure. Sometimes those signs read: NO TRESPASSING.
From Taormina a steep walk leads to a vista overlooking the Ionian sea and the crumbled memory of a Saracen castle. Rounding the bend I come to a tourist couple facing a closed gate. Three times my height, the padlocked iron gate looks like it has been fasted shut for years. The iron rises in black stripes to decorative arrowhead points. The path winds on beyond the gate and into the ruins.