Month: December 2021

12/27/2021

Merry Christmas from across the pond! Here we are having a Christmas lunch on the beach, a sumptuous meal of seafood and “deconstructed cannoli” for dessert—that was a first!

In this episode, Will takes the helm on most of the writing while I narrate our six-day trip across Sicily through pictures, which tooks us to Catania, Caltagirone, Enna, Cefalu, and Agrigento.

CENTER

The piazza is the living room for all the tiny apartments in the Old City, “il Centro.” Once the newspaper, one’s manna, the town cryer, and the talk of the town occurred here, as women daily went to the market and old men sat and kibitzed, or the Church emptied its pews onto the world. Now it’s more a carnival, festooned with the season’s mini-Christmas kiosks, too-loud pumped in music, and children playing hide-and-seek with the decorated central tall fir as home base. The size of the piazza was in proportion to the prestige of the Duomo, the city’s grandest church—think the Square of St. Peter’s, which is actually an oval—or town hall or both.

From this regularized geometry of a place leads out vias, corridors as strands of Medusa’s hair in every which direction, in every un-geometry imaginable: often tiny, narrow apertures to the sky, clouds of laundry strewn from the multitude of balconies (who has room for a dryer, let alone the funds to run it? or is it that the smell of fresh air on clothes is too irresistible?), and the inevitable house-marm shuffling about in a sleeveless, flower print coverall that is the forerunner to our apron. And then there are the outdoor markets, selling all manner of food items!

And so begins the non-center, the non-focal point, the non-pure where the other side of life occurs: messy, fragrant, delicious. Yes, you can have a caffe or pasta in the piazza, but it’s a different taste. You want to be tucked into the bowels of a millenia-old ristorante, low barrel-vaults overhead, and disappearing windy stairs that lead to other levels in the maze—a small turn-out/tilt-in window giving an unexpected glimpse of the alley or valley or sea way down the hillside. 

Sicily’s tallest hilltown, Enna, coincidently or fatefully, resides at the geometric center of Sicily, and according to the ancients, is the center of the Mediterranea…and the world. Settled in pre-historic times due to its commanding defensive plateau, it’s unclear if the idealized “center” also spoke of the sacredness of the place. The Torre di Frederic II marks the spot, which we attempted but failed to summit—at night—as we followed twisted back alleys ending in many dead-ends. Purists, aware of the changing, eroding shoreline now say Sicily’s center is some half a kilomter away. At the other end of the city, is the Castello di Lombardia and Rocca di Cerere upon which once stood a Greek temple to Cerce, the goddess of fertility. With its commanding 360-degree view, Etna looming large in the distance, we ask ourselves, “At what point is center a spot versus a state of mind?” I’m reminded of Galileo being accused of heresy for stating the earth was not the center of the universe. 

The newer Sicilian suburbs are more generous of scale and accommodation. And, like so many others, completely devoid of people-cognizant geometries and integrated lives beyond the flicker of familial relationships that can be kindled within its cold walls. The car has won out, the people sidelined into the margins of what is left over after the roads have made themselves dominant. 

SWITCHBACKS 

The interior of Sicily is a book title by Tracy Kidder: Mountains Beyond Mountains. Our little Renault chugs on its way up and coasts on its ways down, over and over again, uphill the view once tight and focused on the next hairpin turn, and downhill breathtakingly open and expansive when floating above the verdant valley below—be careful, easier than ever to take your eyes off the road here! The sporty five-speed is fun to shift and drive, so it’s easy to appreciate the growth of the little sportscars and road rallies following the war. Forest green were British makes, blue French, silver German, and, of course, red cars were Italian. A criss-cross of masking tape across your headlamps and your car was good to go to race around the countryside. The lines on the road are merely wasted paint; Europeans will pass you even if you can read the license plate of the car in the other lane coming at you. Passed cars nudge as close to the guardrail as possible, just to allow a few more inches of passing space. The difference between the performance cars and the little cars like ours is quite clear when everything is a two-lane road. 

Near the mountain tops, sudden stops are necessary but not that hard to do on the uphill, as you might be enveloped by a herd of cattle or sheep, both announced by large bells draped around the neck. The sheepdogs are quite capable. With sheep you won’t necessarily see the herder, who is chatting away on his cellphone. Cattlemen are different, noisy, arms spread wide to appear big and seemingly present a roadblock to the steer that is teetering as it ponders him. The soil is rocky, the earth very red in color, the (one of a bazillion) farmhouse ruins usually markers on large open plateaus.

 

Downland, the still-monoculture ground covers are lush shades of green over tidal waves of rolling hills, with tractors heeled over and chugging along, even on Sundays. Olive and fruit trees are grandchildren festooned before the way-back farmhouses, some enormous from a dozen expansions, most in hollow ruins of both buildings and farm walls, stone walls several feet thick. Orange trees are positively dripping with the most luscious oranges you’ve ever tasted.

In the south, the contrast is stark: rugged construction with squat old trees in the foreground, and rows and rows of greyish razor-thin plastic “greenhouses” over PVC pipe arches. Not quite a moonscape but an otherworldly mechanized landscape nonetheless. Coupled with the senseless, mostly plastic trash at the sides of many roadways, it can bring a charged tear to the eye. The land and its people fight a kind of poverty that is too fast becoming acceptable. Or, if the land has always been taken for granted, the views—both seen and internal—of some of us foreigners is just catching up to that fact. The unkemptness of the place has always been a part of Italy’s charm; somehow we do not allow the modern convenience of a non-traditional material to be a part of that picture. 

Sicily up and down is a very large place, very rural, very farmed, the very first greenhoused fruits of its labor reaching Europe before other places have even planted. Buy your inexpensive, fresh and tasty food often—it’s ripe and ready to eat now and passed over in a few days. 

COLD, OLD, GOLD 

Tasha and are now unused to mid-range temperatures. Like the unbearable cold I felt in damp Virginia, old buildings made of stone hold their cold just like they can hold their heat—a long, long time. This being the off-season, B&B owners are not in the habit of keeping rooms warm, so we have spent hours reading aloud in bed Beautiful Ruins by Jess Walter to transport ourselves elsewhere to warm up. For the third time, we arrived and the owner, showing us around, said simply nessun riscaldamento—no heat. A pale cloud comes over you, like when we’d arrive at some places in the mid-afternoon, mid-siesta, when most shops and restaurants are closed. We realize we are either out of step or out of time: purposefully positioned ghosts that, if the shells of the buildings can see us, don’t acknowledge the same.

We leave the centers then and head for the woods, to refresh and connect with nature, as suggested to us by our host, Nicolo lo Piccolo: farmer, beekeeper, former president of the association of independent organic famers in Sicily, and an all-around outstanding guy. When we returned from Caltagirone that evening, finding only a small Sicilian street food vendor open, he asks, Havete mangiato?, at which point he prepares a homemade meal and offers us his recently cured olives and wine, and we managed to spend a couple of hours conversing in his broken English and our broken Italian.

The next day, he suggests a hike where we find one of the islands largest cork trees, cork unexpectedly being just the unbelievably thick outer bark with no obvious place for nutrients to flow, whereas the insides are dense and hard. 

BEAUTIFUL RUINS

We drive four hours on windy mountainous roads to the northern seaside town of Cefalu known for its high rock fortress looming over the city and its Norman Cathedral. Unfortunately, although it was only 11:30, we were unable to ascend as it would have taken us an hour, and of course, they close at 1:30 for siesta! Walking a kilometer from our car to our AirB&B in the center of the old city was unexpected, as was the three hours it took to warm the place up. We did have a wonderful seaside meal adjacent to an ancient aqueduct before leaving the next day for the south coast.

Our last stop is the Valley of the Temples in Agrigento, site of the best preserved Greek temples in the Mediterranean. And this being a nonlinear story, we speculate on what carries forward in time from those massive monuments, designed by architects and built by tens of thousands of slaves, perched on hilltops overlooking the sea. No longer a fortress city protecting its 200,000 inhabitants, 20,000 of them citizens, from attacking armies—Cartheginians, Selinuntines  Romans, Normans—(who can keep track?) but today a tourist attraction inspiring awe at the sheer size of these massive temples to Zeus (at 370’x184’x65’ feet, it is the largest temple ever built), Concordia (counted as one of the best preserved temples in the world, precisely because it was later converted into a Christian church), and Hercules (of unusually elongated proportions). How did they move those massive blocks of sandstone up to the top of all those Doric columns? We learn they carved u-shaped grooves in each stone which they hoisted up with pullies. Well done boys! And today we wonder, why? A monument to god that nobody can go into? The sheer size of these monuments bespeaks none other than the power of those built it and as a corollary, the lack of power of those who are beholden to those who did, demarcating once again, the haves and have nots. Not much has changed, eh?

Unluckily, the cold snap coincided with a bug Tasha caught (no, it’s not COVID as we were both tested the day we returned), and we’ve spent a week lying low back in the warmth of Cascade II here at Marina di Ragusa. This gave us time to savor in big chunks and linger over the wonderful, slowly-built ending of Beautiful Ruins, as well as watching ongoing episodes of Montalbano, an Italian detective series from the late 90’s, in Italian with subtitles, much of which takes place just up the coast in Punta Secca, which we visited in the last blog.

Next time, we should be writing from Syracuse, an eight hour sail up the coast! Until then, Happy New Year!

Dec 15, 2021

We’ve been in Marina di Ragusa, Italy now for two weeks and are getting used to the rhythm of living on a boat in the Mediterranean as opposed to Maine. Not that much different really—well, except, um, the language, the food, the scenery, the marina, and the weather! Yeah, ok, that’s a lot!

Needless to say, the weather is a lot warmer, although perhaps not as warm as you might think. The first week we were here, there was a steady stretch of howling winds and rain with gusts to 40+ knots, and it routinely blows in the 20s. We’ve also had plenty of warm, sunny days reminiscent of spring and fall. Most of the time we wear jackets, but the wind is pleasant, and the rain usually doesn’t last long…except when it does. We run a heater on the boat most of the time, but just to take off the chill. And sometimes—ok once—we wore shorts!

The marina is huge, one of the largest in the Mediterranean with 800 slips and boats from all over Europe, mostly sailboats. There are many live-aboard boats, usually couples, a number of them with kids. We’ve met a French couple with a teenage son, a young Belgian-Dutch couple who plan to sail in the Volvo 60 around-the-world race, a Swedish couple who made their way here through the French canals, an Italian guy married to a Thai woman, several British couples, and an Austrian single-hander on his way to Fiji.

The first day we arrived, there was a holiday party on the dock for all the live-aboards where we heard many languages spoken. There was plenty of food from local restaurants, and we even had a visit from Santa, who made balloon toys for all the kids, including my half-brother Tyler and Anelise’s kids, Costa and Birdie Bay.

The marina docks are super-wide, and you often see kids racing down on their scooters. There are no finger piers; instead, the boats are tied up stern-to the dock, with two heavy anchors off the bow to hold the boats perpendicular to the dock. The boats are tightly packed together with only fenders separating each boat. It’s quite a system and very common in Europe, allowing you to squeeze in many more boats; think sardine can and you’ll be close.

Cascade II is the one exception in that we are tied bow-to, which means that instead of getting onboard from the transom like other boats, we climb over the bow. Why, you might ask? It’s a hold-over from Dad & Nancy since they felt it allowed for more privacy, which it does. It also means more gymnastics getting on and off the boat.

The boat is extremely comfortable with two aft cabins, a large galley, v-berth, and salon. It has everything you’d want for a live-aboard, distance cruising boat, including myriad custom touches created by my Dad & Nancy over their years of sailing.

Dad & Nancy have been living aboard Cascade II and Cascade, their C&C 36, since 1998 and have cruised extensively in the Caribbean, Mediterranean, Agean, and Azores, until two years ago when they bought a Grand Banks 36, a motorboat of the first order. Given their ages, 83 and 85, they crossed over to the other side when they realized they were no longer up to doing much sailing. Click the link below to see the book they wrote of their travels.

The Wanderings of sv Cascade

APTA, Dad & Nancy’s boat, sits just across the dock from us, so it’s easy to visit. Although we are on pretty different schedules, we manage to overlap with them and share meals, which has been very nice as my Dad is a great cook. One day we biked to the farmer’s market and brought back 5 kilos (11 lbs) of mussels, “de-bearded” them, and then brought them over for wonderful meal. Yesterday we invited them over for a meal in the cockpit in the warm sun.

Unlike a quaint hilltop town with outdoor dining in an ancient stone-walled piazzette that you might think of when you think of Italy, Marina di Ragussa is a modern, concrete summer European destination. Most of the houses have clean lines and are covered in stucco. Some of the larger homes along the water even have small yards, giving it an almost suburban feel.

The grocery store is a 15-minute walk or five-minute bike ride and has great food at low prices. There is of course lots of pasta of all sizes, as well as an abundance of fresh, local fruits and vegetables. Some of the highlights for us have been the huge liter jars of artichoke hearts and sundried tomatoes for just under five dollars, gorgeous fennel bulb and basket of kiwis for a dollar, fresh ricotta, and local sausage. One evening we accompanied a woman at the marina to a small outdoor market where people order organic produce, where we bought fresh arugula, Sicilian mustard greens, mushrooms, and whole wheat bread. And the Tuesday farmer’s market is abundant with local delicacies.

One of our first nights here, we went to a wonderful restaurant and had marinated octopus, grilled fish, and ravioli stuffed with fish topped with shrimp. Another day we went to an agriturismo 15 minutes from the marina where we feasted on a sumptuous meal with everything made from buffalo—mozzarella, burrata (similar to mozzarella but with a creamy inside), salami, steak, and stew, along with fresh tomatoes, pizza, focaccia, and cannoli. Thankfully we were able to take home some leftovers!

Another night we ate an authentic Thai meal at one of the marina restaurants prepared by the Thai woman mentioned above. The cappuccino is great, but the hot chocolate is even better, so thick you have to eat it with a spoon. Will has been harnessing his urge to have a gelato every day, but the double dark chocolate was outstanding. And on Sundays, the enterprising young French boy mentioned above delivers fresh croissants directly to the boat! Yes, the food really is great in Italy, including what we make ourselves given all the wonderful ingredients.

The main piazza is a short walk away and has a number of restaurants and bars, many of which are closed during the winter. This is definitely a tourist town with many houses empty during the off-season, so it feels a little like a ghost town. That said, on warm days there are still plenty of people about, including people kite surfing and, the newest fad, wing foil surfing.

There are beautiful beaches plus miles of walking and biking paths that extend in both directions. The marina office, laundry, and showers, along with a number of restaurants and bars, are all a short walk along the water. And today we brought a speaker and music down to the beach and danced, and then took a quick dip in the Mediterranean!

On Sunday mornings right at the marina gate is a fishing competition to see who can catch the most fish from the cement wall. These men had the most elaborate gear for what seemed like a very docile “sport.”

One day we biked to Punta Secca, a quaint town with a light house where people were gathering on a Sunday afternoon. We were proud of ourselves that we were able to hold a reasonably comprehensible conversation with an old man who wanted to tell us all about fishing.

Another day we took the bus to Santa Croce just inland where we watched kids of all ages arrive for school.

After the heavy rains and winds passed, we decided to take the boat out for a sail. Mostly we were chasing the wind, but for about an hour, the wind came up to 10-15 knots and we took off at 8 knots! It was a nice gentle day to try out the boat for the first time. Navigating in and out of the “slip” was challenging, but with the help of the marina staff nudging the bow around, we made it without any problems. It sure was fun sailing in the middle of December! We plan to sail to Syracuse in January for a month for a change of scenery, so it was good to learn the ropes on a new boat.

Click the link below to see a video captured by someone from the marina, also out for a sail.

Cascade II Out for a Sail

We had the good fortune to overlap with Tyler, now owner of sv Cascade II, and his family. We romped around on the beach, danced with solar lights at the AirBnB where we stayed when Tyler was here, celebrated my birthday, and generally enjoyed being kids with them. They had just spent the past two months living aboard the boat in Siracussa and Marina di Ragussa, with trips to the north when the fierce storms came. We were so delighted to hang out if only briefly, and so very grateful that they are willing to share the boat with family.

Soon we will rent a car for a week for a mere $2/day and do some exploring beyond the local area and get more of a feel for Sicily. Until the next installment, arrivederci!