I have felt for a long time that one day I would travel to Sicily, a beautiful land of volcanoes and earthquakes, a land often arid and brutally hot but incredibly fertile as well, set in the Mediterranean midway between Africa and Europe. My grandmother was born in the small town of San Fratello midway between Palermo and Messina but enough inland from the Tyrrhenian Sea to be in the Nebrodi Mountains. I know a bit of the European Mediterranean, its climate and people, the food and wine, its literature, art and landscapes and I have been reading, especially in the past several years, many books on Sicily’s fraught history–occupied by Greeks and Romans, Arabs from north Africa, Vikings and Visigoths, the Byzantines, the French and the Spanish; all came, ruled and left their mark on the foods and the language–so I wanted to experience a kind of homecoming to an unknown past. And of course I have watched numerous videos-Stanley Tucci, Anthony Bourdain, Rick Steves and many others less celebrated.
of seemingly aggrieved, or at least not very happy family members!
I can’t remember now exactly how the topic came up but I was chatting with my son Geoffrey and the idea of a trip to Sicily began to percolate and by the end of that phone call we had pretty much agreed on May 2023 as a target date, that we would rent Airbnbs, one in Palermo, the other in Siracusa, and take day trips throughout the island. My daughter in law Monica was to have gone with us but after a last-minute change of plans my granddaughter Isabelle came with us instead. It would be fun to rewatch the second season of The White Lotus with its three-generation storyline and compare it with ours. So what follows is an account, with lots of photos, of our just-completed trip.
The plane that was to carry me to Charles DeGaulle Airport sat on the Atlanta Airport tarmac, then returned to the gate, a piece of landing gear was replaced and finally we left more than an hour and a half late which meant that I would miss my flight from Paris to Palermo by two, yes two, minutes. Customer service came to the rescue, I was rerouted through Rome and arrived in Palermo hours late but, grazie a dio for cell phones and texting, Geoffrey and Isabelle met me at the Falcone Borsellino Airport in the late evening.
Although I had been following weather forecasts I had not fully absorbed what cloudy, temperatures in the upper 60s, a bit windy, meant in terms of my clothing choices. Over the previous months I had found outfits that said “Sicily!” to me so undeterred that’s what I brought. Thank goodness I had at least thrown a shell jacket in the bag!
Geoffrey and Isabelle had already spent time in the B&B and had driven out of town and seen a Roman, or was it Greek, temple. Now we could spread luggage out, try to figure out how to charge our various devices–7 in all–and make a grocery list for the next day. The apartment was excellent but there was absolutely no food, not even salt, in the kitchen.
The next morning Geoffrey went out early returning with cornetti e cappuccini for us, while Isabelle slept in; then we went out to walk around the old Arab part of Palermo, the Kalsa, getting our first view of the cathedral and the Teatro Massimo. Much of the old neighborhood was destroyed by Allied bombing in 1943 and buildings were not repaired later, a legacy according to author Peter Robb, Midnight in Sicily, of the Cosa Nostra. Still, everywhere you look there are elegant Baroque buildings.
We had forgotten to bring a couple of decks of cards along so an early purchase, along with all those adapters, was a set of very expensive “professional” cards. We began the evening with an episode of The White Lotus and followed that with several games of Spite & Malice, none of which I won.
Dead Ends: Our first theme
Monday it poured so we thought perhaps we could outrun the weather by heading south down the west coast. At least we’d be in the car. We drove to Trapani where salt mining is still done. The ocean water dries in large “pans” and is circulated using windmill power to move the ever saltier water along. The soil is clay and at one point Isabelle and I jumped out to photograph some poppies and sank into the stickiest mud I have ever experienced. There was no washing it off in the nearby puddles.
From Trapani–the rain had abated somewhat–we drove on to Marsala where we dead-ended almost immediately in an open farmers’ market and had to back out, the first but not last time we ignored all the obvious signs of an ever-narrowing street. We found what turned out to be a very good restaurant, Le Isole, right on the water, dashed through the rain, our umbrellas flipping inside out, had a very satisfying lunch and watched the rain.
We were still intent on driving all the way down the west coast and walking around, rain permitting, the fairly new archeological park in Selinunte, a site that rivals, we’d been told, the Valley of Temples in Agrigento. This time though the weather really defeats us; the park has been closed for the day. We head back north taking a different route to Palermo.
We have time!
The next day the weather is much better and there is lots to do in Palermo and nearby Monreale. We check but there are no performances currently at the Teatro Massimo so we book ourselves in for a tour of the building and get to watch a bit of rehearsal. The model pictured is the architect’s original one.
We walk to the nearby Capo market to try our luck with street food. The place we choose is less than memorable. Nothing is really hot, the sardines are disappointing but spritzes help! Oh, and so does the guy with the accordion!
After lunch we headed to Monreale to see the mosaics in the cathedral said to rival those in Ravenna which I had seen in 2018, and they are spectacular but I did miss the special golden light which came through the alabaster windows in Ravenna. It is estimated that the mosaics, 12th and 13th c., contain 2,200 kilograms of gold.
There’s time for one more adventure so we drive to the summit of Monte Pellegrino and look down on the Conca d’Oro (so named for the green citrus orchards along the harbor though it’s pretty much built over now) and the city of Palermo.
Isabelle has been doing some research and finds a “slow-food” restaurant, Aja Mola, and has made a reservation for us so we top off our long day with a long leisurely seafood dinner, creative desserts and wine, all locally sourced. Perhaps the place was a bit pretentious or too earnest but still it was a very pleasant evening and we walked home feeling very mellow. On the way we find a store that sells particularly nice coppolas, the traditional Sicilian hat, so I buy one for Geoffrey and one to take back for Bob.
Our Sicilian Roots
Wednesday is designated “Roots” day–not that we have any White Lotus visions of finding family in San Fratello, my cousins had already tried that. The closest we come is a cemetery where we find numerous Gambettas, Gambittas and Miraglias, all safely deceased so they can’t tell us to “Eff off!!” though judging by some of the grim-faced people whose photos grace the stones, I would not have been surprised to hear a whispered curse.
San Fratello is surrounded by the Parco Regionale Nebrodi and we follow a steep winding road through the countryside from Acquedolci on the coast. We park and walk around the town stopping to have a late morning snack in a little cafe and no, I don’t have a Johnny Cammareri (Moonstruck) moment of kissing the ground, though I did pick up a small stone to bring back!
San Fratello is not a tourist town and feeling that we have seen enough we head north again to the coast and then west to Cefalu. It’s mid afternoon and we’re hungry and although it’s a bit cool, cloudy and windy we park near the Lido and find a restaurant, Al Gabbiano. Cefalu is touristy–it’s a major beach destination–so we don’t expect the restaurant we chose to be very good but we have excellent pizzas as well as a pasta dish and we meet for the first time the Sicilian pigna, the pine cone that symbolizes fertility, health, good luck and prosperity, a ceramic figure that graces many a doorway, ours now in fact at Keldaby.
Back in Palermo Isabelle and Geoffrey put together a platter of cheeses, sausages, olives; we open a bottle of wine and play Spite & Malice and watch White Lotus far into the night. Isabelle has to be awake at 4 o’clock to take an online final exam!
The Past Becomes Real
A bit of research explains why, despite two trips to the cathedral in Palermo, we find no mosaics there. The mosaics are elsewhere: at the Church of Santa Maria dell’Ammiraglio often called La Martorana from 1143 CE and two rooms in the Palazzo dei Normanni–the Cappella Palatina and the Sala Ruggero. Since we are leaving Palermo today we let Isabelle sleep and we pack up our gear, have coffee and cornetti, wake Isabelle and leave our wonderful B&B.
We have time only to visit one of the two sites and because there are catacombs, which sound fascinating, near the Palazzo dei Normanni we decide to go there where we see not only another fantastic example of Byzantine mosaics but also several exhibits, one archeological showing the various stages of development on this site, the other a contemporary young artist from Milan. In retrospect I know we should have spent many more hours there.
The art show in another part of the palace is called Punctum with work by the young Milanese artist Omar Hassan.
But, we have to move on as we are due in Siracusa by early evening and we still have the Capuchin catacombs to visit. This vast underground series of rooms houses the skeletal and mummified remains of hundreds of Capuchin monks, the earliest from 1599. Later, when the monks realized this was a potential goldmine for them, they allowed, for a fee, the laity to be entombed there as well. And here they all are, clothed, tagged, aligned in their proper niches, more than 8000 of them: doctors, lawyers, wealthy businessmen; widows and virgins; children; military men. Row upon row, many suspended from hooks in the walls, others lying in their own sarcophagi. The practice was suspended by the end of the 19th century except for the most famous of all, beautiful little 2 year old Rosalia Lombardo who died of bronchial pneumonia and was embalmed by Alfredo Salafia in 1920. Salafia had discovered a truly phenomenal and secret process and she lies in a glass cabinet, perfectly preserved and seemingly asleep, her golden hair prettily curled on her forehead. Macabre indeed! Isabelle is reprimanded for taking a photo but I have already managed to take four shots, though not of Rosalia. We are so fascinated by the whole experience that both Isabelle and I spring for the 20 euro book.
We bid farewell to Palermo and head south down the autostrada toward Agrigento
and the Valley of Temples and impressive indeed it is. We park at the upper end, a story in itself. An enlarged parking area is being created just beyond us as we lock the car. The citrus trees are being removed from among the olive trees and people are already beginning to park there as soon as the bulldozers finish one row and go on to the next.
(in myth Agrigento was founded by Daedalus and his son Icarus)
Now we head east toward Siracusa and as we get near Catania Geoffrey says, “Hey guys, look to the left!” and there’s our first view of Mount Etna.
We have been in contact with the host and we let her know we will be arriving about 6:30 and our GPS guide (and because she mispronounces all Italian words I don’t bother to give her a name, unlike Signorina Elettra who guided us around northern Italy in 2018) directs us to our spot where Chiara awaits us. The apartment, occupying two floors (2nd and 3rd in US terms), feels like the resident family has just decamped for the five days we will be around. Chiara shows us through the family room, down a corridor past a locked door marked Giuseppe and into the bathroom which is clearly the highlight of the BnB as it contains a large two-person jacuzzi, no shower and of course the obligatory bidet. Next we are taken upstairs where there is a kitchen (“But we recommend that you use the outdoor kitchen,” she says, not explaining why and pointing to the enclosed porch and balcony beyond.) Then there is the bedroom, a darkish unwelcoming room which feels spectorily inhabited and a second, smaller, crowded bathroom with a washing machine and tiny shower cubicle–we have visions of the whole thing toppling over while we are in it. I have already decided I will sleep on the couch in the enclosed porch cum kitchen. Finally she shows us, beyond Giuseppe’s Room and the grand bathroom, a bunk-bedded room clearly belonging to the family’s children. The beds are too short for adults so that is dismissed out of hand. Geoffrey will sleep in the family room, I on the porch and Isabelle in the bedroom I am silently calling la camera da letto dela strega.
After we have unpacked our luggage and tried to figure out the WiFi, we head out for the old part of the city which is on the island of Ortigia. It’s a long walk although it is along the smaller harbor basin and the evening light over the water is serene and beautiful. We eventually get to the bridge, cross it and find ourselves in a very different neighborhood.
It’s evening and we haven’t had much to eat all day so we find a restaurant, the tavernetta above, and again share an antipasto, a primo and a secondo with wine. The next day a big storm blows in, our balcony and car are covered with sand and when we next go to Ortigia we see some of the storm’s aftermath.
Ortigian balconies
We spend a lot of time on the island over the course of our stay in Siracusa. Below, a building just as you cross onto the island next to a park with yet another ficus. Below these are photos of the Fountain of Arethusa, a fresh-water spring from the Ciane River and the papyrus and ducks that grow there.
The historical highlight of the western side is the fountain of Arethusa. The name of the fountain comes from a nymph. Arethusa, in Greek, in fact, means the waterer. Around the fountain, there is Greek myth that you can’t miss.
The myth of her transformation begins in Arcadia when Arethusa came across a clear stream and began bathing, not knowing it was the river god Alpheus, who flowed down from Arcadia through Elis to the sea. He fell in love during their encounter, but she fled after discovering his presence and intentions, as she wished to remain a chaste attendant of Artemis.
After a long chase, she prayed to her goddess to ask for protection. Artemis hid her in a cloud, but Alpheus was persistent. She began to perspire profusely from fear, and soon transformed into a stream. fled underwater to Siracusa in an attempt to rid herself of the persistent amorous advances of the river God Alpheios.
The Goddess Artemis transformed her into the fresh water spring that we can see today... From the website Sicily Day by Day
The market in Ortigia is open every day except Sunday and it is a wonderful way to spend time. Lots of beautiful produce and meat and seafood but also clothing, jewelry, housewares, pretty much anything you might want. The smells from the herbs and spices was especially enticing and the store shown below was maybe even more tempting than Zabar’s or Sahadi’s! (Just a New York note.)
Eventually I buy a small terracotta trinancria and contemplate a “Testa di Moro” as well but decide it would be too big to carry home.
Here’s that story: As the legend goes, there lived a beautiful young maiden with silky black hair and eyes the color of the sea of Palermo who spent her days cultivating and caring for the plants of her balcony. Young women were unable to go out alone at this time in Sicily, so the balcony served as a glimpse of freedom. One day, a wealthy young Moorish merchant noticed the young woman and instantly became captivated by her rare beauty and declared his love for her. Flattered and moved by his passion, she surrendered her love and virtue to him. Dishonored and stripped of her virtue, the young maiden soon learned the Moro would return to his country where his wife and children waited for him. Blinded by rage and heartache, the young woman waited until nightfall for him to fall asleep. She crept into the kitchen and returned to the bedroom with a knife, where she decapitated her beloved so he could never leave her again. The morning after, she turned his head into pot, filling it with basil, a symbol of passion and royalty, where it adorned her other plants on her balcony. The “pot” grew lush, so as to arouse the envy of the local residents who ordered the construction of similar vessels.
Today these ornamental vases, worked in ceramics and hand-painted by master craftsmen, are a very auspicious symbol for the residences of the Sicilians.
I gatti di Ortigia. One source estimates there are nearly 440,000 feral cats in Sicily, a disturbing thought for a cat person such as myself. Makes one appreciate the catch-and-neuter policy
We saw kids throughout the island all painted like this and think that perhaps it was a post-graduation event although we couldn’t find anything on Google and were too shy to ask. Lunch at the Blue Fish Restaurant. Good but their emphasis on cleanliness bordered on obsession.
Although I can’t be sure because I didn’t check to see who the automaker was, I see this as the new deux chevaux, yes? I would love to have one! There are quite a few SmartCars; lots of Fiat Pandas, 500s, 600s, 700s, etc.; Citroens; Peugeots; Renaults, especially Clios; Dacias; Fords and some Toyota Yarises.
This area of the property contains traces of the temple of Apollo made in Doric style and the most ancient in Western Greece(6th century B.C.E.). Quote is from a UNESCO site.
At the tip of Ortigia is the Castello Maniace, a military fortification for hundreds of years. On the extreme tip of the island of Ortigia stands a monument that extends the horizon of the city towards the sea of the Orient. This is the castle commissioned by the Emperor Frederick II and built on the rocks; a Gothic building of a clean, geometric form, with a square plan, each side measuring 51 metres, and four round towers at each corner. This castle, known as Castello Maniace, doesn’t seem to have preserved the memory of its royal patron in its name, a name that is also given to quarter in which it stands. “Maniace” in fact is a name which recalls a Byzantine admiral who between 1038 and 1040 reconquered the city of Siracusa for the Byzantine Empire, taking it back from Arab domination. Although the building has undergone many structural changes over time, the castle – which was created more as an Imperial residence – characterises the skyline of Ortigia with a strong medieval flavour. From the website siracusaculture.com
Here is the Duomo of Siracusa, on Ortigia, begun in the 7th c. (though the facade is clearly Baroque) over the 5th c. BCE Greek Temple of Athena. It is so fascinating to see how the columns of the temple were incorporated into the walls of the later church.
I am embarrassed to admit that we never formally went to the Neapolis Archeological Park. We snuck in one evening just before a performance and saw a bit of the 5th c. BCE, renovated 3rd c. BCE, remains of the Greek theatre and walked around for about half an hour. It was really our only contact, except for the BnB, with mainland Siracusa.
We drove to Noto on the stormy day because it is famous for its Sicilian Baroque buildings and to see the cathedral whose dome collapsed in 1997 (not properly reinforced after a 1990 earthquake) and was rebuilt and reopened in 2007. While we were having our customary spritzes and panini we saw a museum across the way and decided to check it out.
It has a workshop, as you can see
We drove south from Noto all the way to the southeastern part of the island, through the town of Pachino, to the land’s end. The road went through a very different countryside from what we had seen before and at the end there was a small village which seemed more like summer homes. Other areas had what appeared to be abandoned greenhouses. We saw hardly another soul. We took a walk along the beach, dipped our toes into the Ionian Sea where it meets the Mediterranean and then drove back to Siracusa.
–just felted sea-stuff
Our last day trip from Siracusa was to Etna, which we had just learned had erupted the day before, closing the Catania airport for several hours because of the ash. We are also stopping on the way in Melilli for photos for a friend whose family had come from that town and then we’ll be heading up to Taormina.
Melilli sits on a hill not far from the Ionian Sea. In the past it was mainly agricultural–its name comes from the Latin for apple–and it is also known for its honey. In a video I watched (YouTube: You, Me and Sicily) I saw a great deal more than we had time to investigate. In the video it is noted that many of its residents emigrated to Middletown CT and there is still today a strong connection between Melilli and residents in Middletown, in fact there is a replica of this church, Sancti Sebastiani, there.
But now it’s time to head to Etna.
We are undecided about how much, how far up, we will go toward the top. It’s sprinkling and the skies are cloudy. We decide to drive up the road but see no other cars along the way. When we arrive at the cluster of buildings, perhaps the Rifugio Sapienza, from where the cable cars leave, it is filled with buses. We can’t see any peaks and when Geoffrey asks a woman just off one of the buses what their plan is she says that they will not be taking the cable car; it’s too cloudy. After the cable car there is a still a long hike or another bus trip in order to reach the summit. There are hikers who have started up the long ascent.
So this is where we stop and go into the restaurant/gift shop (every conceivable tourist item has been made from the lava) and no surprise, we have cappuccini before heading back down and so on to Taormina.
It was hard to distinguish old ash from the ash of the eruption the day before but when we saw it on cars that had been parked there for a day or two we knew this was new-fallen!
From here we went to Giardini Naxos, parked and walked along the waterfront. Even at sea level the views are spectacular.
And then reparking a bit further north, we walked along the beach in Letojanni where we found a good restaurant for lunch.
We strolled on the beach at Letojanni. Can’t really call it sand. It’s bigger than sand and after about five minutes really painful to walk on barefoot.
From there we drove to Castelmola way up the mountainside above Taormina with unbelievable views of the Ionian Sea. There is so much to see here; we barely scratched the surface, just dipping into a couple of shops.
Somehow we managed to miss the real sights–and sites–in Taormina though we did drive through. Now that I have watched a couple of videos I am really sorry that we didn’t do some homework so we would know better what to see. Here are a few photos anyway. At this point I will recommend a series of pleasingly amateur YouTube videos called You, Me and Sicily.
It’s been a long day, we’ve seen a lot. We head back for our last Siracusan night. The next morning we drive out of town toward our third BnB, a farm stay near Mazzarino.
Tutto andra bene
As we drive through Solarino we are suddenly engulfed by a herd of perhaps 200 sheep, a few goats, a couple of herding dogs and a shepherd. They may have been Valle del Belice or perhaps Barbaresca sheep; long-haired and quite good looking. The goats, of course, being goats stopped to nibble leaves from the trees they passed. We were hardly past the herd when we encountered this handsome bovine.
As we approached Palazzolo Acreide we rounded a bend and there before us were fields ablaze with the iconic Flanders Fields red poppies and a very enticing but abandoned farmstead. I immediately thought of those ads: Buy a home in Sicily for only one euro today! So tempting!
We stopped in Palazzolo Acreide, parked near the Piazza del Popolo and had late-morning cappuccini and pastry, then walked around a bit and visited the church, which had a very Baroque, almost Rococo, painted ceiling and this beautiful chandelier.
From Palazzolo Acreide we drove on to Caltagirone, the city of tiles. As a hill town it has its obligatory and terrifying flight of stone steps leading up to the Duomo. We paused at the top. It’s a daunting staircase to contemplate and I could picture myself all too easily tripping and falling all the way down–no railings to cling to. Prudence kicks in, we walk around and see the steps from below.
Having decided that the moment has arrived to buy our pigne we go into CeramiCon where jewelry is also found, loved and purchased. A few minutes later however while we have drinks and a bit of lunch we discover that one of the bracelets is not in the box as promised. Ultimately it’s all resolved but, like the strange pistachio cannolo that Isabelle has ordered, it leaves a bad taste! Then we go into one of the churches where the sexton (perhaps, not the priest we think) tells us about their missionary work saving the bambini poveri of Mozambique, then drags us into another room where he has constructed quite the model train layout. As you can see there is both a nighttime and daytime iteration. We know we are being shamelessly badgered for a donation so we give in and hand him a few euro.
We’ve had our fill of Caltagirone and we’re on our way to Mazzarino.
Just now I have looked up the name of the castle where I found a most interesting article on the Mazzarino Friars in Wikipedia. Here’s the beginning. The Mazzarino Friars were a group of Capuchin friars that turned to crime. They were active around the town of Mazzarino, Italy, in the 1950s. Their trial was a much-debated issue in the early ’60s in Italy, in the context of the historical struggle between clerical and anti-clerical political forces prominent at that time.
The whole story was pieced together in 1989 by journalist Giorgio Frasca Polara in his book La Terribile Istoria dei Frati di Mazzarino (The Terrible History of the Mazzarino Friars), published by Sellerio [it]. The name of the castle by the way seems to be U Cannuni, which sounds Sicilian, not Italian.
We have been driving through beautiful countryside, although already we see signs of the wildfires that burned over much of this area last summer. At the castle there is a group of cinema students filming a movie. In town we stop to buy groceries and thus fortified we head back to find our BnB, Azienda Agricola Frantoio.
Over the Top: The Wow! Factor
Following our quirky GPS we come in the back way on a nearly impassable road and arrive at this magnificent structure where we immediately feel we have stepped back a century and I am reminded of the henequen (sisal) hacienda we visited in the Yucatan with its warehouses and farm buildings around a courtyard. Two dogs excitedly greet us and a woman shows us into our accommodations which prove to be pretty small for the three of us. We have no idea what to expect; there are printed lists of activities but no sense they are possible–horse riding for instance–and the advertised pool is empty and doesn’t appear to be in a state of imminent availability. Something has happened, Covid perhaps, that has blighted this attempt at agritourism. Then the woman drives away and there is no one else, just us and the dogs who appear to be underfed, especially the black one who is lactating. We feed the dogs (banana, bread, tinned fish).
We think maybe we can rent another apartment here so we’ll have some more room. Geoffrey texts the owner who lives in Milan. Oh, he will contact relatives to see if there’s an available spot… No, there isn’t; it’s all full. So we make dinner and then the dogs, having figured out we were a soft touch, begin to hurl themselves against our door; eventually the black female unlatches the door and comes in. The hurling continues so Geoffrey again texts the owner (owner of what, we wonder, just this one apartment? Questions abound.) He responds advising us to open the door and “just scold the dogs. There is nothing else I can do”–but he must have contacted the woman because the next morning when she and another guy return she conspicuously feeds the dogs several times. Hmm.
We observe this use of these farms several times. The farms are not inhabited, dogs are left as guard animals (I guess; our two “guards” were exceptionally friendly) and people come to work during the day, then leave. I’ve tried to research this farm a bit but have found nothing yet. Here they appear to be cultivating citrus, olives and prickly pear.
Tranquillo: Where it is always 11 o’clock
Always 11 o’clock according to the clock on our wall. We went for a walk the next morning through this beautiful countryside and I really fell in love with this abandoned farmhouse. I have to read more to learn when people walked away from all these farms. When we get back Isabelle has seen the puppies (I had already imagined them to have met some dreadful end, sacked and drowned perhaps) but they are healthy and bouncing around. Their mom tells them to stay in the raspberry thicket and only lets them out when she comes to feed them. She doesn’t stay long; I think she is weaning them.
Meanwhile we have become intrigued by what could be a natural rock formation or could be that some culture at some point set rocks atop this hill or it could be ruins of a castle. Geoffrey and I try to drive to it down a strada chiusa (we’ll pretend we don’t understand if stopped) but dead-end at a farm gate. However now we can see clearly that it is a ruins of a castle.
GPS tells us nothing but I find on our large roadmap a marking for the Castello di Grassuliata. The next day we start out to hike to it and again as we approach it there is another closed farm gate but there is a guy with his dogs. Oh no, no, no, you can’t get there, not that way, he says gesticulating. Of course we don’t really understand him and Geoffrey and Isabelle decide to hike up anyway. They’re gone quite a while and when they finally come back down they have to admit defeat. There is a chasm that cannot be scaled without proper climbing gear. If you want to read more here’s a link. The site wouldn’t let me copy it. Grassuliato Castle in Mazzarino – Sicily (enjoysicilia.it)
The final day at our BnB arrives too soon as it always does. We never solved the mysteries of this place, who owned it, how active the farming was, how many visitors they’d put up or were expecting this summer. It was strange being there alone but quite wonderful.
Next morning we packed up, gave our remaining perishables to our doggie friends–Bella had followed us everywhere and now we worried that she would try to follow us out but she was a smart dog and recognized that we were really packing up to leave not just heading out for a drive. She came over, we petted her and said arrivederci and she walked away and lay down with her mate.
We had one more destination for our last day of travel before our flights home–Gangi, a medieval town high up on the edge of the Madonie Mountains. On the way we stopped in Petralia Soprano (there is a Petralia Sottana at the foot of the mountain) where there was an open-air market where we bought olives. We took a walk around this outstandingly neat, very organized town.
And then we drove on to Gangi. Our first view, from across a valley, showed a town so tightly packed with red-tiled buildings it was hard to believe there was even room for streets. Prophetic words indeed!
Following our GPS we started down a street which clearly was getting narrower and not straight but involving sharp turns and projecting buildings. A woman came out of her house, her gestures clearing telling us we should not be doing this, especially in our Jeep SUV, but we persisted–forward seemed to be the only option, there was no turning around. And there was the occasional car, like a Fiat 500, parked on the street. Then a man came out, gestured and told us the street ahead was only a meter wide. We would have to back out! Isabelle jumped out and joined this guy and so with their help Geoffrey slowwwly and painstakingly got us out. At many points we had only an inch or two on either side! The whole neighborhood quite enjoyed the spectacle and the guy told Isabelle that her dad was a great driver!
Parked at last we could enjoy walking around the town and it is indeed beautiful. Isabelle had read that there were catacombs here too, in fact we were headed toward them when we headed down the fateful street, and we found the church which housed them but the catacombs were chiusi, at least at that moment.
This from the VisitSicily website: Gangi, a small village which stands on a promontory in the province of Palermo, became famous the world over after being nominated the most beautiful village in Italy. It stages one of the island’s most famous and most eagerly anticipated events: the staging of the wonderful live nativity scene which attracts thousands of tourists.
It’s a little gem, full of historical heritage and traditions. According to legend, its was originally the mythical city of Engyon founded by the Cretans near the spring of the same name.
And to read more about this town I recommend this blog: Gangi, the impressive things that nobody told you about this town | SICILY ON WEB
By now we are really hungry and we’re moving into the time of day when shops and restaurants are closed but once again we’re lucky and find this restaurant.
We are inland and the food reflects this. Meat and potatoes, goat cheese and bread here! I try the mortadelle, if it’s ever good it would be here, but it remains one of my least favorite foods. This is our last real dinner in Sicily and then we’re off for a final visit to Cefalu.
We take a very winding road north through Geraci Siculo and Castelbuono right along the border of the Parco Nationale delle Madonie to Castel di Tusa on the coast.
And here we are back in Cefalu–White Lotus-ers will recognize the scene. On the beach we rent chairs, order our final Campari or Aperol spritzes and relax in the sun.
And so our trip winds down. We drive west past Palermo and out to our final night’s stay in Cinisi. The next morning we have to be up and out early. We grab a bite at the BnB and drive back to the airport. There’s time for last cappuccini and a game of Spite & Malice. I have one more travel adventure in Munich where I get myself on the wrong level of the airport and would have missed my flight were it not for a woman driving a vehicle for the “mobility impaired traveler” who seeing my baffled and frantic face stopped to ask me if I needed help. She put my baggage in her cart, told me to jump on, took me through Passport Control and deposited me at the proper gate. Whew. Tausend Dank, liebe Frau!!!!
The flights home were made almost painless thanks to my wonderful son who upgraded me to business class. What an immense difference that made though I admit I suffered a bit of impostor syndrome! Elbow room for eating dinner, served on linen with real flatware! Who knew!!!
Grazie mille to my son Geoffrey and granddaughter Isabelle–GREAT travel companions! And with love to my husband Bob for putting up with my incessant desire to travel! Baci e abbracci!! And now? We’re thinking about another adventure! Maybe along the west coast of Italy, through Castro dei Volschi, maybe down to Puglia and then over to Sardinia??? Chi lo sa! Ciao…..
