Sicily, Served With A Side of Adventure

The Toe of Italy (Calabria)
Seemingly Ready to 
Kick Sicily

 Sicily, Served With A Side of Adventure

Last month, before digressing to explore the finer points of grilling octopus, I mentioned how our intrepid foursome, Maria Elena, Joann, Lenny, and I, following an unforgettable night in Naples, had embarked on a two-week adventure in sunny Sicily.  

The island’s ancient emblem of identity, history, and resilience is the Trinacria, a winged female head of Medusa, long believed to serve as a protective talisman against evil.  The name Trinacria, meaning “three-pointed,” refers to Sicily’s triangular shape.  Its three bent legs are said to hold up the island, one leg beneath each of the

Trinacria Symbol of Sicily

island’s pointy capes.  Despite being surrounded by the sea, Sicily is quite arid, particularly from June through August, which accounted for the dry, burnt-looking landscape we observed as we exited Catania Airport in our rental vehicle.  

Still, the lack of greenery did nothing to dampen our spirits.  After all, we’d arrived in magnificent Sicily.  Beyond Sicily’s celebrated seafood, we were eager to sample its special treats like icy lemon-

An Arancini With Its Flavorful Surprise

flavored granita paired with a brioche bun, golden fried arancini rice balls the size of softballs filled with a savory surprise, and, of course, a glass of bold Nero d'Avola, the island’s famed red wine made from grapes of the same name.

I hadn’t rented a car in years, and when handed only a single set of keys, I half-wished for an owner’s manual instead of a second set.  The Ford Kuga’s array of high-tech gadgets took some getting used to. It wasn’t until I returned to the office for help changing the display language from Italian to English that I began to feel comfortable behind the wheel.  With our Waze navigation app guiding the way, we set off south on Highway E45 toward our first destination: the coastal town of Augusta, where we would spend three nights.

Augusta City and Port

      Augusta was founded in 42 BC by Octavian, who later became Emperor Augustus.  The city rose from the ruins of the ancient Greek colony of Megara Hyblaea.  Set along the Ionian Sea, the city boasts one of Italy’s principal harbors yet remains refreshingly off the beaten tourist track.  Our visit had a personal twist: Augusta was Lenny’s father’s hometown.  It had been years since Lenny and Joann last visited.  For
Maria Elena and me, it was a first. 

We arranged to stay at the B&B Villa Nella, named after our gracious host, Nella.  She and her husband, Santos, a former photographer who hummed the tunes of a thousand songs as he puttered about, had opened their home to travelers many years earlier.  Lenny had stayed there before and was welcomed back like family, which wasn’t far from the truth, for Nella and Santos were close friends of several of Lenny’s relatives.  This strong sense of family permeated our entire stay.  

B&B Villa Nella and Its
Delightful Terrace 

    One afternoon, they prepared a lavish lunch for us on their patio. We pitched in to help our hosts prepare calamari, rigatoni pasta with wonderfully rich, slow-simmered Italian tomato sauce, fried eggplant, all to the accompaniment of that satisfying Sicilian lager icon, Messina beer, and closing with the juiciest watermelon I’ve ever tasted.  Their hospitality seemed endless; breakfasts that stretched into midmorning, leisure lunches (one involving three bottles of wine and subsequent naps), and a final dinner beneath the stars on their inviting patio.  We did contribute a few essentials - wine, cheeses, olives, and salami—but it was Nella and Santos who made every meal feel like a family celebration.

Len's Family Get Together
(Spot Maria & Paolo Anywhere?)

    The next evening, we joined Lenny’s extended family for a pizza party at seaside Punta Izzo, where some thirty relatives gathered at what appeared to be a naval R&R center.  Drifting through the sound of summer laughter were scents of salt, oregano, and dough.  I found myself seated next to Valerio, a recent high school graduate whose English far outpaced my halting Italian.  By the end of the day, with the sea breeze cooling the last bites of pizza, we were, as promised, thoroughly “rested and recuperated.”

With food never far from mind, our next adventure took us to the nearby fishing village of Brucoli.  We planned to enjoy dinner there and dressed as best we could from the limited options our suitcase wardrobes allowed, creases and all.  As the sun melted into the sea, and the sky flamed with a thousand shades of crimson,  

Al Castello Just Before Sunset

we arrived at the Al Castello restaurant to savor the freshest  Sicilian fish, kissed by olive oil and lemon.

The following day, along with our gracious hosts Nella and Santo, we drove south past the town of Pachino to the southern tip of mainland Sicily.  Our destination was L’Orto del Saraceno (The Saracen Garden) for lunch at a tomato farm.  We found it along a dusty road, one of many in a maze of netted fields.  The road wound endlessly, and I doubt I could retrace our route to get there.  I remember wondering … lunch at a remote tomato farm?  I like tomatoes in all their forms, but even for someone who enjoys pasta more for the sauce

L'Orto del Saraceno
More Than a Vegetable Stand

than the noodles, there is a limit.  I was wrong.  Sometimes, simplicity is the most beautiful, a kind of grace that excess can never touch.

As at our B&B, we were made to feel instantly at home.  Beneath a cluster of small shading pergolas, with the help of a precocious young girl, we were served a variety of dishes, all grown and prepared on site.  The meal included delicious Pachino cherry tomato bruschetta, beautifully prepared grilled peppers and eggplant, cheeses, sun-dried cherry tomatoes, fresh watermelon, and plenty of the best remedy for the sun’s shimmering heat:

Our Table of Hungry Travelers

chilled wine.

Our Garden Fresh Lunch Arrives

    And those tomatoes!  They deserve a closer look.  Relatively new, the first Pachino cherry tomatoes appeared in the late 1980s from an Israeli seed producer.  Slightly smaller than most other cherry tomatoes, they score 7–8 on the Brix scale, resulting in a concentrated sweet flavor.  These little jewels quickly put the nearby town of Pachino on the agricultural map.  By 2013, to protect them from imitation, they were granted a Protected Geographical Indication (PGI) status.  This ensures that only

Pachino Cherry 
Tomatoes on the Vine

those grown in this corner of Sicily can genuinely be called Pachino. ¹

Following our delightful lunch, we visited Isola della Correnti (Current Island Beach) for a swim just a short distance down the gravel road.  It proved to be undeveloped, somewhat unkempt, with few amenities, and inadequate parking.  We have seen this before at other beaches in southern Italy, in evidence of inadequate community funds.

I went into clear blue water, but couldn’t get far, because strong waves pushed me back.  The presence of the word ‘current’ in the beach’s title may offer a clue, especially since this is a churning place where, at this most southern point of Sicily, the Ionian and Tyrrhenian seas meet.  Seeing me floundering about, Maria Elena didn’t attempt to take the plunge and instead quickly sought shade when there was none.  Needless to say, we didn’t stay long because the scorching sun, incessant wind, and roiling surf were merciless.  Mare often says the sun is stronger in Italy, and just might add waves and wind to her speculative indictment.  

Surf and Sand at Isola della Correnti

      Returning to the car, now well settled in the dunes, I felt the first chill of dread.  I’d made a terrible mistake.  It wasn’t that I’d parked poorly; we weren’t stuck in the sand.  That would have been a more straightforward fix than what I feared.  No, I’d made a much dumber mistake.  I left the car’s key fob in my swim trunks and went into the surf with it in my pocket.  I reached into my pocket, half expecting the thing to be gone, swept away by the battering waves.  I was surprised it was still there.  But while waterlogged and likely filled with grit, I suspected that with an unholy trinity of salt water, sand, and electronics at play, the fob was most likely dead.  Luckily, it hadn’t fallen out of my pocket in the pounding surf, but would it work after I’d done my unwitting best to pickle it in brine?  If it didn’t work, we’d be stranded: our phones, wallets, and rental paperwork with rental agency contact details locked inside the car.  Days of chaos loomed ahead.  This was all I could think of as I walked back to the car, wiping the fob like a relic, praying to the gods of technology.  Well past a litany of mea culpas and crossed fingers, I gingerly got behind the wheel, hesitant to find out the answer, and depressed the brake.  My hands shook as I pressed the start button.  The answer arrived when the beat of silence gave way to the soft hum of ignition as our computer-on-wheels came to life.  So did I.  A calamity had been averted, and my anxiety even sooner had I noticed the doors automatically unlock as I approached.  If they hadn’t opened, matters would have compounded—we’d have been stranded on the wrong side of convenience, watching everything needed for our rescue sit just out of reach behind tinted glass. Then and there, I resolved, at least for a while, to stick with placid swimming pools, absent any involvement with autos.

The Island of Ortigia Appended to Syracuse

    The next morning, our three days in Augusta drew to a close, we bid farewell to our gracious hosts and turned our sights southward, following the ribbon of coast toward the Isola di Ortigia.  Like a raft floating between centuries, Ortigia is a tiny island, a kilometer long and half as wide, tethered to the mainland Siracusa (Syracuse) by a handful of short bridges.  The moment you cross, time itself feels different.  Maria Elena and I had been here before, but its spell never fades.  Its romantic charm is a blend of old-world soul and bohemian energy that continues to draw artists, writers, and wanderers seeking something elusive.  For us, it would mean dreams remembered, a homecoming to special memories.  It was a treat to return to this living museum and share our haunts with our friends, and hopefully, in our wanderings together, uncover new ones.  Despite its size, it hosts fragments of Greek temples, soaring Baroque

Casa Daphne's Kitchen

architecture, medieval lanes, sweeping sea vistas, all animated by a vibrant Sicilian spirit.  

This historic site enveloped us with the briny scent of the sea, the tolling of church bells through sunlit streets, the murmur of voices over clinking glasses, serenading troubadours in the golden glow of limestone piazzas at sunset, and strolls along waterfront promenades past multi-million-dollar yachts (alas, none of whose owners invited us aboard).  Each is a part of a sensory symphony that contributes to shaping its quiet, timeless magic.  It’s no wonder Ortigia has never been abandoned.  Founded by Corinthian Greeks in the 8th century BCE, in living testament to endurance, Ortigia has been

One of the Luxurant Bathrooms

continuously inhabited for nearly 3,000 years.

We added a few days to that record with a stay at a B&B on Via Gemmellaro, located close to everything.  It was evident that our hosts, Mario and Jacopo, had put a great deal of thought into their creation, Casa Daphne di Ortigia.  They couldn’t do enough for us, beginning with meeting us and helping tote our luggage to our spacious and comfortable apartment, only steps from Via Cavour, a central artery in the heart of the city. 

Everything in this quiet accommodation had been thought of; it was spotlessly clean, well-equipped, and came with excellent advice on local places to visit, the best restaurants, and the assurance of easy contact if needed.  They went so far as to include

Inside Tratoria Archimedes

complementary drinks in the fridge, as well as a cake from Mario, a former chef.  It is easy to go overboard with praise for Casa Daphine.  Needless to say, if you are looking for a gem of a place to stay, well, here it is.

We quickly settled in, with time enough before heading off for lunch to push a few buttons and get a load of wash going to dry on our convenient rooftop terrace later on.  We took Jacopo’s advice and stopped at Trattoria Archimedes, only steps away from our door.  Upon entering and mentioning our B&B hosts, the waiter brought us to ‘their table’.  We enjoyed our meals so much that we found ourselves there once again during our stay.

At Table in 
Tratteria Archimedes

         

 At the city’s heart, at the end of Via Cavour followed by Via Saverio Landolina, lies Piazza del Duomo, in our estimation one of Italy’s most charming squares.  As the piazza’s name suggests, its focal point, the Duomo di Siracusa (Cathedral of Syracuse), rises on the bones of the ancient Temple of Athena, built in 480 BCE.  Inside, the breathtaking blend of eras and faiths is visible — massive Greek columns rise, embedded in the cathedral’s Baroque walls — in silent witness to ages of worship.  The square itself, ringed with elegant palaces, lively cafés, and the hypnotic lure of gelaterias, invites you to linger and watch the world go by.  The air hums with conversation, espresso machines hiss, and children chase pigeons through the shadows.  To sit here well into early morning is to appreciate the enjoyment of doing nothing.

Long before the cathedral and its piazza existed, Syracuse nurtured a restless genius of the ancient world, Archimedes (circa 287 – 212 BC).  You name it —mathematician, physicist, engineer, astronomer, inventor —he dabbled in all of it.  Legend tells of a day when the King of Syracuse, aware of Archimedes’ brilliance, sought his counsel.   The king, suspecting the goldsmith’s honesty, sought proof on whether 

Archimedes of Syracuse

he’d been cheated.  Had some of the crown’s gold been replaced with silver?  Archimedes pondered the problem for days.  How could he uncover the truth without destroying the masterpiece?  In the most human of moments, while lowering himself into his bathwater, he noticed the water rise around him and realized that the volume of water he displaced equaled the volume of his body.  If the crown displaced more water than an equal weight of pure gold, it must contain a lighter metal.  The revelation struck him with such force that he leaped from the bath and ran naked through the streets shouting “Eureka!”—“I have found it!”  The outcome?  Unfortunately, the story ends with Archimedes running through the streets, leaving us to wonder whether the goldsmith was guilty or not.  From that same brilliant mind came insights into buoyancy, levers, and mechanics—including his famous boast: “Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall move the world.”

When Rome besieged the city during the Second Punic War, Archimedes designed catapults capable of hurling stones farther than anyone imagined possible, and cranes able to pluck attacking ships from the sea.  After years of resistance, the city fell to Rome.  In the chaos, an elderly Archimedes sat quietly in the dust, tracing figures in the sand, his mind still turning over problems more important to him than the fate of empires.  A soldier ordered him to come before

Archimedes Discovers Hydraulics 
in His Bath

his general.  Archimedes, absorbed in thought, merely murmured, “Do not disturb my circles.” The soldier, unaware of who he was, struck him down.  Thus, amid the fall of Syracuse, one of the brightest minds of antiquity, with less than a whimper, fell too.  I want to believe that his spirit endures, captured in every flute of the temple columns my hand had caressed. 

This kickoff to our two weeks in Sicily began with a miraculous car key fob that led to a thousand memories.  Now approaching the end of our stay in Ortigia, I thought about the Trinacria, Sicily’s three legs holding up the island, and how our stops thus far had each offered its own form of support: Augusta’s warmth, Pachino’s simplicity, and Ortigia’s endurance.  Together they form a tripod of memories, balancing history, friendship, and that unshakable joy of discovery.  Much like Archimedes’ circles in the sand, Sicily draws us back again and again, and with each return, a chance to discover something new, however small, and ‘move’ our personal world in ways Archimedes himself might have admired.  I couldn’t help but think that Sicily, with all her warmth and wildness, had done what she always does best: reminded travelers that life is meant to be savored slowly, one adventure at a time. 

From That Rogue Tourist,
    Paolo

1.      WoW!! Italian Food, http://www.wowitalianfood.com/pachino-tomatoes/

2.      Archimedes, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archimedes

3.      The Red Gold of Italian Tables, Tomatoes, https://italoamericano.org/the-red-gold-of-italian-tables-tomatoes/