Erice is a small town on the top of a mountain (751 m. above sea level) 12 km from the seaside, 96 km from Palermo at the extreme upper left corner of Sicily (photos). By mithology and greek historians, it is supposed to have been founded by those abandoning Troy, after the defeat, a thousand or so years b.C.

Due to its peculiar orographic location, dominating the surrounding flat country and a very wide angle of the seaside, Erice has enjoyed great renown as a shrine dedicated to Astarte (the Phoenician Goddess of Love) or Afrodite (Greek) or Venus (Roman) and as a powerful military stronghold.

Indeed, for centuries b.C. seamen were able to notice there was life above the clouds on the top of the mountain, and concluded only divinities could populate the high site; Greek historians write travellers used to stop at the Trapani haven, and climb the mountain to ..... meet the "priestesses" (hierodulai), a typical paganic religious rhite ( !! ?? ). Even today, a ride up to the mountain is reputed to gain luck, happiness and long life together to a marrying couple.

Morever, until late Middle Age, Kings and Emperors succeeding each other during the several dominations by foreigners in Sicily, used to control the zone by buildings fortresses and placing garnisons and soldiers on the top of the mountain.

Owing to these military and religious traditions, the town shows palaces and churches, as well as convents and cloisters, in exceptional number. This explains why Erice - compared to the surrounding country - appears as a priviledged site in western Sicily: wealth was coupled with culture, love for fine arts and updated architectural solutions, resulting in a renown attraction for visitors. These characters plus its isolation and the cooler climate in comparison with the traditionally warm, sometimes unbearably hot, Sicilian temperature allow Erice to be reputed the most appropriate location for high level scientific meetings discussing the achievements of modern research.

A recent article on Erice and its surroundings is available by clicking on www.theatlantic.com/issues/2002/12/prose.htm