Saturday 18 May -  Palermo
Friday was the day that we were resolved to locate the tourist information centre and discover all the attractions this cold wet city had to offer. We had found the signs pointing to it but no centre was to be seen. There is no concierge service at our up-market hotel, so we wandered from person to person asking for directions , followed them and got to nothing. Ah, a polizia! He'll know. Yes, walk back to where we'd come from, past 2 lots of traffic lights and turn left. Grazia. By then we were nearing half our daily 10,000 step recommendation. What we were seeking was the Hop-on hop-off bus station. We could see the buses but no stops. Eventually I spotted an i-sign on a little wooden booth on the kerbsite. And that turned out to be it. A little man sat in a little sentry box with his window shut. We knocked on the window which he slid open reluctantly. Parla inglese? He looked doubtful so I showed him the bus brochure which he looked at and pointed over the road. No sign of any other printed material and of course I didn't know what else to ask for. We have no idea how lucky we are in NZ. No signage at the bus stop, so having nothing better to do, we stood there. Very eventually a bus arrived and we hopped on. By then the skies had cleared and we saw Palermo in its historic splendour. The English commentary worked intermittently and was punctuated by Verdi. Extremely pleasant. The passengers in the front disembarked and we did the circuit again travelling first class.
We have now found a lunch provider comparable to our Tank which serves real NZ style coffee so we returned there before doing the blue-line bus route which was not as interesting but meant we have covered the city.
So completed the circuit, discovered a couple who live in Milford, caught up with their travel, had a proper gelato each and came back to the hotel. It was nap time for Peter and serious shopping for me to find a little Italian leather coat which I'm told will be much cheaper in Sicily than Italy. I can believe that. Sicily's funds are obviously siphoned off elsewhere.
After laboriously entering every clothing shop and trying on every possible garment  I wore myself out and returned to my hotel.  There on the corner was an un-visited shop which housed my little red leather Italian jacket, not even made in China like everything else.  Very happily I bought that and the extra jumper the gorgeous shop assistant assured me was perfecto and walked into our hotel.
I had been searching for the Sicilian Puppet theatre which we eventually stumbled across, but which only played at weekends, and Peter had been searching for the Sicilian equivalent of our MOTAT which only opens weekdays.  Nothing for it but to wander the main street, watching the passing parade of elegantly dressed Sicilians while sipping  vino rossa.
Let's see what we can find today before joining our Globus tour tonight for a formal dinner to which I can wear my newly acquired black jumper bedecked with red sequins.