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shacks , kept under watch by rather submissive dogs . A fencedin fountain , a goat looking at us uncertain and vain . The tracks were by now a rocky path made for goats and mules , and enduro bikes too . Paved again , the road lead us down to the stream then rose up on the south side where we found , across the sea , the imposing yet veiled silhouette of the Mount Etna volcano .
The hardest track was the one leading to the ghost town of Africo Vecchio . It started as a pleasant white road among pine trees , turning into a hard rock mule track carved among olive trees , so harsh it made us walk the last five hundred metres before we reached the village ’ s ruins , overrun by a thorn-bush forest .
A large building that was the primary school sat at the beginning of the village , barely noticeable from the bushes from where it emerged . Counterbalanced at the rear by the San Leo Church that we
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