The mysteries of Trapani are solved!

The Mysteries of Trapani are one of the most important Christian festivals in Sicily. In a 24-hour procession, hundreds of believers carry twenty statues of saints weighing up to a tonne through the old town of Trapani on Good Friday at 2.00 pm. They are accompanied by numerous large brass bands.

We arrive in Trapani’s old town centre in time for the start and are immediately blown away by the sound. The first band seems to be playing the Godfather’s theme music. A slow Jesus rave in a minor key begins with marches around 70 BPM. Despite the cool weather, the porters are sweating from the very first minute. The mysteries of Trapani are the essence of the Catholic faith, which is celebrated even more powerfully in Sicily than in Bavaria.

Everything is precisely choreographed, sad and sorrowfully pompous. At the first corner stands a mafiosi par excellence. Wearing sunglasses, a classy cashmere coat and his hair slicked back, he meticulously ensures that his thick Rolex is not covered by his jacket or coat. In between, he always seems to be checking the gleaming white smile in his high-gloss, polished high-end trainers. Laughing will have to do. A photo could cause problems. It is only days later that I learn that Trapani is actually an absolute mafia stronghold. The city council does not co-operate with the mafia. It is the mafia.

The first figure passes by. Belief is not knowledge, so everyone takes photos to make sure. The almost exclusively male bearers groan under the heavy load. Their eyes always seem to be searching for something in the crowded alleyways of the old town. Mysteries, after all. After about five minutes of swaying steps in time to the music with the Duce pushing against the direction of the march, Italian castanets always follow. Pause. Set down. Take a short breather. Castanets again. Shoulder up. Then a short sprint. It goes on like this all day.

The mysteries of Trapani have been celebrated since the 17th century. They are therefore older than the Mafia, whose origins date back to the middle of the 19th century. Vendetta, omerta and other Sicilian dirty tricks therefore fall flat as a reason for the necessary penance. Nowhere did I find any information about the original purpose of the Mysteries of Trapani. Today they are probably called mysteries for this very reason. Nobody knows why. Nobody?

A kiter from the north solves the mysteries of Trapani here and now. After five weeks and a good 3,000 kilometres over every conceivable road and unimaginable track in western Sicily, there is only one reason for the necessary penance: Sicilians are the shittiest and most aggressive drivers in the world. Practice helps with point one. Or not. Point two can only be compensated for by penance.

It’s a chicken and egg question as to which came first: the idiotically low speed limits. Or the morons who generally ignore every sign. I have travelled in many other regions of Italy. In fact, it is not a stereotype that Italians drive worse and faster. It is the truth. But I have never come across such ignorance of any rules coupled with the most violent aggro attitudes as here in Sicily anywhere in the world.

I’m not a big fan of rules. I live well in grey areas or sometimes on the dark side of the force. The absence of any driving licence training, like in the Philippines, or no rules and signs, like in the Dominican Republic, usually amuses me. Here I’m stressed as soon as I get in the car. In Sicily, there are rules and signs. Some are idiotic, but most of them make sense. None of them are ever observed.

I drive down our little lane towards the kite spot. On the main road, a truck almost hits me from the left at almost 100 km/h in the urban area. Just two kilometres further on, I have right of way at the next junction. Nevertheless, I stop every time, because every day I see loads of idiots speeding over the two stop signs from the right or left. Woe betide anyone who dares to stop! You haven’t even come to a complete stop when two morons are already honking their horns in duet from behind. On the penultimate day, a car is rammed here.

Sicilians like to honk their horns a lot. Some people claim it’s a language. I deny that. They are rutting cries. Their makers usually have very small tails and a mum complex. They can’t avoid chasing even older members of their own pack into non-existent gaps between the dense traffic on the main road with constant honking.

On motorways, you should always drive at least 25% over the limit despite the many speed cameras and fairly high fines. Any less and you risk being hit from behind. But even significantly more won’t protect you from being threatened by a light-honking missile trying to blow its horn to the right. In Germany, the average Sicilian would lose their driving licence within 15 minutes. Here, they simply drive closer to cover the licence plate in the next speed camera. After all, a distance of one metre at 100 km/h generates less deformation energy than 20 metres.

Dannazione eterna nel purgatorio della concupiscenza per voi, automobilisti Siciliani!