At the car rental desk I thought we were out of the bureaucratic woods, but then the man pushed across yet another piece of paper. “It’s a waiver,” he said. “It means if the car’s stolen in Catania, other insurance doesn’t apply.”
“So we would pay the full amount?” “Yes. Just in Catania.”
His bottom lip slid out like a drawer and he shrugged and flapped his hand. I had hoped that the rumours of banditry were exaggerated; perhaps I was wrong. Still, I’d come, with my girlfriend Lara, to see what the south-eastern corner of Sicily was like when the summer tourist crowds had eased. Not having a car was not an option. I took a deep breath and signed.
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