"Andiamo?” The guy - Roberto - asked. "No." My safety-first brain answered. “Si.” The current situation of being stuck somewhere on Mount Pellegrino after sunset corrected aloud. How we, nine students, were going to fit into a small, old Fiat I had no clue. Our international group of nine friends stuck out in Palermo, Sicily. We flew to the bustling city to experience 'the real Italy' as our Sicilian friend assured us. Our flight and check-in went smoothly and soon we were walking around the city, carrying out our project to discover if the Mafia was still active on the Mediterranean island. “Is there still the Mafia in Palermo?” I asked in Italian. I was appointed the translator as my Italian was determined the least broken. “What?” The waiter asked. Clearly upset, he continued: “No, no, no…what is Mafia?” “Boh. Never mind.” I replied. “So he wasn’t helpful either.” My Japanese friend, Kazu, superfluously commented. “No.” “What is 'Boh'?” My American friend, Jack, wanted to know. “It’s the Italian way of saying 'I don’t know and I don’t care so leave me alone'. Haven’t you seen the latest Spiderman?” I retorted. This is pretty much the summary of our two days long quest into the Sicilian Mafia. Unsurprisingly, no one wanted to talk to a group of suspicious strangers about such a sensitive topic. Slightly discouraged by the constant rejection, we decided to take an evening stroll through the lively city to at least appreciate its exquisite and unique cuisine, atmosphere and architecture. After our delicious Sicilian gelato/ice-cream sandwich, we found ourselves wandering the streets under the Mount Pellegrino. It could have been around 4pm but it was a warm March evening and so we decided to climb up the mountain. The ascent was steep but Mount Pellegrino rewards its visitors with breathtaking views over the city and the sea and, for a European like me, exotic flora. “You have to take a picture of me with this massive cactus!” My best friend, Vanessa, said for at least twentieth time. Having taken pictures with all the cactuses, we finally found ourselves on top of the magnificent mountain. It was one of those magical moments that you get only by travelling. However, it was getting dark. The sun was gone and the only vestige of it were the red skies dimly illuminating our path. In the dusk, the views seemed less exciting, the trees more menacing and the cactuses less friendly. When we finally found a tiny village, it was almost dark. “There is a bus stop!” Kazu screamed. “Thanks God.” I mumbled. “That bus never comes, you know. I can take you to the city.” Someone said in Italian. “No, we’re fine. Thank you.” I answered. “No, really, I am Roberto and I am telling you: the bus doesn’t come anymore. You’re tourists, right? For 20 euros, I take you to Palermo.” “Excellent.” Vanessa replied. “Are you insane? He might rob us or kill us or something.” I whispered. “I just want to get to the hostel. Let’s vote. Who is for going with this Roberto?” Vanessa asked. Six were for. Three were against. “Perfetto. I’ll get the car.” Roberto exclaimed. When the nine of us squeezed into the small Fiat, the bumpy journey began. It turned out that Roberto was neither a robber not a murderer but simply a local farmer eager to tell us everything about Palermo during our twenty minutes long ride to the city. “What a wonderful view!” Kazu shouted. I turned my head and indeed, the whole Palermo was lying in front of us in all its glory. The lights were on, the buzz was never ending and… Roberto suddenly stopped the car. “Ragazzi, you have to take a picture. Come on.” He said. We played along. Roberto took a picture of our whole group standing tiredly but happily amid gigantic cactuses on the hillside of Mount Pellegrino. When a car started beeping that we were blocking the rode, Roberto yelled: “Mamma mia, let the kids take a picture!” In the end, thanks to Roberto’s swift driving style, we got into our hostel safely and with the authentic experience of the warm local people.