A View of Isola Bella, Taormina Bay
Oh, Sicilia! What wonders abound! I can say for sure that this trip registers at the other end of the "Sicily: Civilized or, Um..." spectrum from that which I experienced on my last trip (
http://sheconsiderslightandheat.blogspot.com/2010/11/sicilia-pt1.html). While the previous adventure racked up a whopping
SIX blog posts worth of what-the-hell-place-have-I-stumbled-into-this-time stories, this newest excursion will probably fit, comfortably and relaxed, into one pretty post. So here goes.
Fruit, Taormina
The bus ride from the Catania airport was chill, literally. The air conditioning blew into my face full blast, and while wishing that I had a sweater- or more than just a little cotton sundress- I could not bring myself to curse what is undoubtedly one of the most cherished, rare occurrences in Italy during the sweltering summer months. I took the frosty air as a good sign, a sign that what I had heard told was true: that the "Catania side" of the island was a whole different world than the "Palermo side"; that the Catania side was the "money side", the side with things like air conditioned buses, paved highways and vacation villas. I love this place already, I remember thinking, the goosebumps spiking my soon-to-be-sun-bleached arms hairs to attention as I greedily soaked up the wanton, wasteful air, snuggling into my surprisingly plush bus seat. The bus pulled over about 30 meters from the sea-front condominium where we would be staying, and my eyes were startled and blinded by the bright sun and the glaring blue water as I disembarked.
The condo that Aunt Cindy had rented was spacious and oddly decorated (though, personally, I love textured orange paisley wall paper). The place felt retro and comfortable, and the view from the garden terrace was enough to knock the breath out of anyone who hasn't spent their whole life in a magical place like that. The terrace overlooked Taormina Bay (Taormina being the name of the super swanky medieval hill top town overlooking the sea), in the middle of which stood a giant island. Rocks speckled the water below, some just perfect for a person to swim up to and sun themselves on like a lizard. There were two caves, two grotte azzurre at the base of the stone hill into which the condominium had been carved. Boats drifted up, one after the other, allowing honey mooning couples and vacationing families the opportunity to swim in the glistening waters. There was a private beach down below, open only for the condominium residents, which was blissfully, gluttonously abandoned this last week of May; we had it all to ourselves.
View of the Emerald Waters, Taormina Bay
Took myself for a little swim, laid down on the couch for a little nap, patiently awaited the arrival of the ladies...
Marissa showed up first, a pretty bundle of kinetic energy in a teeny tiny little Spanish body. Everyone was lost! she exclaimed. I had the parking lot remote! she informed me. We must run to get the ladies! Her energy was catching and endearing, positive and brisk. We found Aunt Cindy first, looking slimmer and blonder and more good humored than ever, clad in her essential summertime wardrobe: shorts and a simple T. She had gone one way, but Paula had gone the other. This place is a maze, we cried, as Paula, tired amusement in her eyes, a settled composure on her face, came walking up. Despite the stresses of driving in Sicily and getting lost and not being able to pull into the condominium parking lot on a busy, curvy sea-cliff road she was totally held together and warm, and when she suggested that their arrival merited a chilly prosecco cocktail I knew that we were going to get along swimmingly.
Don't remember what I cooked that night. A vegetable pasta, maybe? At the grocery store we picked up some delightful, creamy cow's milk cheese, a container of delicious, spicy/sweet oil-soaked peppers, a mixture of locally cured olives, twisty, buttery fennel-seed bread sticks, and a variety of Sicilian wines, both red and white.
This first evening was when Aunt Cindy decided that we should all play a game called How Many Glasses of Wine Does it Take to Get Technically Tipsy and Then Technically Drunk and Then Technically Really Drunk. For this game we were each given a little plastic nipple and took turns blowing into a breathalyzer (which Aunt Cindy, in a stroke of what I imagine was red-wine-inspired-genius, ordered off of Drugstore.com) directly after finishing off each glass of wine*. Turns out I'm kind of technically a light weight. The little chart that accompanied the breathalyzer informed us via numerical score of our current physical condition. Pretty much after one glass I was registering at "not capable of making coherent decisions", and after three I was considered a danger to myself and others, technically completely unhinged. Paula, who's stoicism is inherent to the point of physicality, channeled her ice-pick-wielding hero Steven Buscemi and kept her cool, never registering more than the numbers meaning "sober" all evening. It's a good thing, too, cause the rest of us were fluctuating between "legally intoxicated" and "possible death", and were lucky to have someone nearby who could technically still work a telephone in the event of an emergency. We sat under the stars on the garden terrace, listened to the soft waves hit the rocks below, chatted about all manner of things while Marissa played compulsively with the candles. A good start to a good trip.
*I don't think we were using the breathalyzer correctly, as it clearly states in the package to wait twenty minutes after your last drink before blowing, and all we were doing was blowing freshly wine-soaked air out of our mouths, but it seemed really funny at the time to be reading a chart that told you that you weren't technically capable of reading anything at all.
Gamberoni alla Siciliana
We ate so well! Every day someone or other ordered mussels, and they were unlike any mussels that I have ever seen or tasted. Giant, fleshy creatures that tasted like the sea- not in that sickly, sea-food-gone-off way, but in a way that suggested that they had been caught just moments before, the salt water still sealed tight within their iron shells when they were thrown mercilessly into the pan, boiling white wine and lemon juice steaming them open. We had gooey, savory pizza one day (Paula and I split one entitled "the devil"; the menu boasted that it was drizzled with holy oil), and monstrous, gleaming grilled prawns another. We sampled penne alla Norma (a Sicilian specialty with a sauce of ricotta and eggplant), and spaghetti ai ricci di mare (sea urchins. Steven Buschemi recommended it), fried calamari, a variety of gelati and Sicilian salads. One day (two days...) I stuffed my face with the most heavenly "snack" in existence: arancini. Sweet tom-a-to! What a delight. Fried rice balls, coated in bread crumbs, stuffed with cheese and a rich ragu' sauce. The experience was transcendental, and caused my eyes to blur and my stomach to let out a hearty "thank you!" as I stood on the street in Syracusa and ate, the cheese from the arancini dripping purposefully, joyfully down my chin.
Our days were spent exploring various towns. We traveled to the sweet town of Modica, where they are famous for their chocolate, having adopted a method of chocolate making from the Aztecs (I am not clear on how the Aztecs and the Sicilians crossed paths, but I imagine it had something to do with New World explorations). The chocolate is grainy and stone ground, rich and dark, and flavored with chili, cinnamon, cardamom, vanilla, you name it. The most exotic (eccentric?) treat is a beef and chocolate empanada. Paula and I fell in love right away with the mere thought of such a thing; once we tasted them, we were hooked. Syracusa was ancient but touristy and Taormina was glamorous in that way that fancy on-the-coast Italian towns often are, full of clean cobblestone and expensive shops and huge potted plants. We took a drive one day all around Mt. Etna is search of wineries (much more difficult than you would think), and had a great lunch in the charming sea side resort town on Giardini Naxos.
Someone in Marietta has a villa on Stromboli. We must find out who and become their friend.
One fine day we woke up super early (was really very impressive) and caught a ferry to the island of Stromboli (pronounced strum-bo-lee, accent on the um). The island is the furthest out of all the Aeolian, and is basically a giant active volcano. There's a little town on the base on one said, but the rest is just natural park, beaches, and an area for the lava to flow (apparently the volcano erupts quite frequently- Paula and I saw a plume of smoke!). All of the beaches are black- volcanic ash- and even the water shines black or a deep bruised blue. The houses are precious, Greek-style white stucco with blue doors and iron fencing. The day was spent wandering, and we found some wonderful stores full of dresses, shoes, purses and all manner of things lovely at beyond reasonable prices. I snagged a gorgeous straw bag with leather lining, which is now my pride and joy.
Black Sand Beach, Stromboli
Our evenings were spent at home. I was given full reign over the kitchen, which I loved. At the grocery store we would find fresh vegetables, meats and cheeses, and I made use of a variety of ingredients. One evening I made swordfish, alla Siciliana, with salted capers, cherry tomatoes (ciliegine), wild oregano and oily black olives. Another night I made risotto with asparagus and zucchini, stuffed chicken breasts with pancetta, oregano and gorgonzola, and scruptious, crispy bruschetta with fresh tomatoes and garlic.
Wine was an evening staple, a serene, tasty close to the days. The ladies and I payed Briscola, the Sicilian card game, in teams of two. Paula kept us in stitches with her dry wit, cracking jokes about this and that, as one round turned into another, and then another, and then another, until we were all so sleepy we could hardly keep our eyes open (midnight?). These evenings were relaxing and pleasant, and I found myself hoping that one day, when I'm a bit older, I'll be lucky enough to (still) have good girlfriends, (still have) good travel buddies, a good job to take a nice, long, glamorous vacation from (must start working on that bit...), and (I'd like to think "still have" here as well) a good sense of humor with a heavy dose of tranquility to get me through even the most harrowing vacationing troubles (e.g. driving in Italy).
Sunrise Over Taormina Bay
One really awesome thing we did (among many) was go to the town of Savoca, just a little ways inland from Taormina, which is where Francis Ford Coppola filmed some of the Sicily scenes from The Godfather. I cannot believe this place actually exists! I got so excited I almost choked on my lemon granita!
Bar Vitelli, where scenes from The Godfather were filmed...and where my favorite line in the whole movie takes place: "Minchia! Sei innamorato davvero!"
In total, the vacation to Sicily was fantastic: laid-back, beautiful, exciting...
I am eternally grateful to those lovely ladies- Aunt Cindy, Marissa and Paula- for everything they did for me, for the opportunity to see and explore this part of the world. What with Marissa's warm, sweet energy, Paula's tension-busting wit and jest, and Aunt Cindy's easy, droll temperament, I couldn't have asked for anything more in terms of great travel company.
Except for maybe if Steven Buscemi and his ice pick had been there...
...but Paula made damn sure he was there in spirit.
