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Go Sicily Taking a three-month-old on holiday to Sicily wasnt without its challenges, but it was made easier by the smiling acceptance of the locals, writes Judith Crosbie. I was resigned to the fact that my trips to the cinema would be reduced and secretly welcomed fewer nights out and walking home with the sun coming up. But I had a problem with holidays. I painfully imagined myself looking out of a caravan in a wet and dreary Kerry, with the only prospect of getting away being a damp campsite in France. However, when Oscar finally arrived I decided to banish all thoughts of being a travel wimp and instead opted to hit the road with the baby on board. Since northern Europe can be unpredictable, weather-wise, I went for the Mediterranean. We challenged ourselves to see how far away we dared to take an unpredictable three-month-old. An initial suggestion of France turned into Spain which became Italy and finally we settled on Sicily. We thought we were being brazen by booking with a budget airline we had never heard of before, but that was only the start of it. The week-long holiday would consist of three destinations, each involving lifting the buggy, baby and bottles on and off trains, buses and even boats. We flew into Palermo on a sunny Saturday evening without a hitch. Oscars ears withstood the take-off and landing, and on the bus into the city from the airport we got a taste of how Sicilians would react to him. Flustered travellers smiled broadly, some taking a few seconds to coo back at him when they passed by our seats. The hotel we had booked online was well equipped with a cot and a larger-than-normal double room. Hotel rooms in Italy rarely have kettles, so we brought a travel kettle for making up the babys formula and a container and cold-water sterilising tablets for the bottles. Our first trip to a restaurant that evening was again telling of Italian peoples views on children. Wed been recommended a restaurant, but when we got there it was full, apart from a table right at the back. We assumed they would turn us away rather than expect their guests to move to allow the buggy pass, but the waiter waved us through while the patrons duly shifted their chairs and tables. This acceptance and delight at a baby, who in other parts of Europe would be greeted by frowns, was repeated to some amusement at a pizzeria in another part of Palermo. Three burly men in dark suits and sunglasses and looking like they had just stepped out of a scene in The Godfather took great pleasure in making Oscar giggle at his brightly coloured rattle. But while the Italian attitude to babies was exemplary, the state of the pavements was not. Navigating a buggy on narrow and steep ancient stone was hazardous enough, but Sicilians think nothing of parking their cars half up on a pavement forcing parent, buggy and child onto the wild roads. Vespas also dotted the walkway, making us wonder how people in wheelchairs managed. The pavements were not the only downside. Not one restaurant we visited had baby-changing areas, and the occasional toilet without a lid meant Oscar had to brave the floor. After two days in Palermo we were on the move again, this time to Lipari, an island off the northeast coast of Sicily that would require a train, a bus and a hydrofoil boat to get there. The train didnt have much storage for the buggy or enough room at the seats for baby paraphernalia but the ride was pleasant enough. Economically and politically things may be chaotic in Italy, but when it comes to transport things seem to work like clockwork a bus to the hydrofoil was ready to leave when the train reached Milazzo, our jumping-off point to the island. The ticket office for the hydrofoil was shutting up and the hydrofoil about to leave but one mention of the bambino and the office clerk issued us tickets. Italians dont really understand queuing no more than Irish people and will elbow their way to get in front, but the presence of the buggy means people often hang back. My reticence to push forward when getting off the hydrofoil saw one man grab the front of the buggy and say, andiamo, Senora, as if to say it was my right to go first and why wasnt I taking it. We spent a few days taking it easy on the island, avoiding mountain hikes we probably would have done before. Give him a few years, we thought. The sea was too cold for a dip and even a few seconds paddling proved too chilly for Oscar, who objected loudly. Everything was all packed up again for the last leg of our journey, which was to Catania, Sicilys second-largest city. A stressful dash for the train involving dragging the buggy and bags down and then up steep stairs to get to our platform was soon followed by the calm view of a smoking Mount Etna as we journeyed down Sicilys northeast coast. In Catania, Oscar got to see his first Roman ruins and smell every kind of creature from the Mediterranean at the citys chaotic fish market.