Travel Journal
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Malta & Sicily:
Time Traveling Adventures, Part II
June 2020
By Sandra Bertrand
Ortigia, Siracusa
A Homeric hymn has the Goddess Leto stopping at Ortigia to give birth to Apollo’s sister Artemis, the firstborn of her twins. Meanwhile, Leto’s crafty sister Asteria turns herself into a quail (ortyx), dives into the sea, and metamorphosizes into the enchanted isle. Thus, Ortigia is Greek for the tasty little bird.
Our last days in Ortigia, and time folds in on itself in a happy confusion...
Do we eat to live or live to eat? In Sicily, the latter is often the case. Behind the Corso Matteotti fronting our apartment complex, lies the precipitously narrow via Cavour. Navigating the dark cobblestones, we eventually located Scialai. The matron led us quickly through the spice-filled interior to a capacious rear garden where we could enjoy the last light of summer. We began with fresh tomatoes and grilled anchovies, sharing our first half-liter of the house red. Like most low-priced Sicilian wines, it needed little improvement. This was followed not by quail (!) but a baked swordfish with olives and more tomatoes. My partner Joanne enjoyed a favorite secondo piatti of clams and mussels with a side of homemade pasta.
While we lingered over our second half liter, we spied a large family seated nearby, with the most beautifully behaved children I’ve ever witnessed. This was obviously not the result of some parental reprimand; like us, they appeared happy to bask in the beauty of this bougainvillea framed garden, waiting for the first stars to appear.
A Homeric hymn has the Goddess Leto stopping at Ortigia to give birth to Apollo’s sister Artemis, the firstborn of her twins. Meanwhile, Leto’s crafty sister Asteria turns herself into a quail (ortyx), dives into the sea, and metamorphosizes into the enchanted isle. Thus, Ortigia is Greek for the tasty little bird.
Our last days in Ortigia, and time folds in on itself in a happy confusion...
Do we eat to live or live to eat? In Sicily, the latter is often the case. Behind the Corso Matteotti fronting our apartment complex, lies the precipitously narrow via Cavour. Navigating the dark cobblestones, we eventually located Scialai. The matron led us quickly through the spice-filled interior to a capacious rear garden where we could enjoy the last light of summer. We began with fresh tomatoes and grilled anchovies, sharing our first half-liter of the house red. Like most low-priced Sicilian wines, it needed little improvement. This was followed not by quail (!) but a baked swordfish with olives and more tomatoes. My partner Joanne enjoyed a favorite secondo piatti of clams and mussels with a side of homemade pasta.
While we lingered over our second half liter, we spied a large family seated nearby, with the most beautifully behaved children I’ve ever witnessed. This was obviously not the result of some parental reprimand; like us, they appeared happy to bask in the beauty of this bougainvillea framed garden, waiting for the first stars to appear.
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The next day we opted for a “Love Boat” excursion in English around the tip of the island. This promised a sea view of Castello Maniace, a 12th century fortress, along with a series of limestone grottos cut into the surrounding rocks. Boarding a tiny outboard craft, three young research students from South Florida University joined us, and we were off in a spray of foam churned up by our guide.
Arms flying in all directions, he challenged us more than once with “HowmyEnglish?!?” I knew that when we passed the centuries-old fortress, I would have to refer to our tour book for a history lesson. After a few forays into the caves and a violent rocking about every time he leaped up to point out another phosphorescent rock, I was ready for solid ground. The trouble began with our return. As our guide headed straight for one of the two bridges connecting us to the mainland, I spied Joanne lying prone in the boat’s bottom. Decapitation seemed imminent. I lowered myself into the wet bottom, frantically waving to the three students to follow suit. Once we were in the clear, our guide resumed his nonsensical blathering until we were safely ashore. |
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One passegiato or walk took us to a museum celebrating Archimedes, Siracusa’s most famous inventor. Called the “Eureka man” (Greek for “I found it”), he was simply a great mind who found formulas for spheres and managed to defeat a great Carthaginian attack by long range catapults attached to Siracusa’s 4,000-ton ships of the day.
With our brains a little heady and our feet a little blistery, it was time to search out the perfect restaurant. In the cool recesses of a side street we found L’Osteria da Seby. Luckily, we arrived in time to order before a horde of twenty or so German/Swiss tourists - not one under five feet ten in the mix - filled a nearby table. Our diminutive waiter was forced to scuttle back and forth with great urgency. Fortunately, the pasta dishes were satisfactory and reasonable, but the highlight was a sweet orange and fennel salad with onions, chilis and a superb olive oil. We finished with a dark chocolate and pistachio torte and a complimentary cordial, tasting suspiciously like amaretto, from our overtaxed waiter. |
We finished our evening strolling the marina’s promenade, a lineup of international yachts prominently moored. One more ostentatiously lit up from helm to stern than the next, it was fun to imagine in another lifetime which one we would choose.
Seductive Taormina lay in wait. But for now, we agreed with Cicero: Ortigia really was the loveliest city in the world.
Taormina
"Although I am still the same, I believe to have changed to the bones." (Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Italian Journey)
A 10:30 am departure from Siracusa’s train station began with a dotty mix of disgruntled passengers. An argument for seats broke out between an Australian clan with their oversized baggage and an equally incensed Italian brood. The Aussie son-in-law’s diatribe rang through the car. “This is why I never travel with my mum! I’d have to give her sedatives the whole way.”
The true beauty of the landscape didn’t surface until we were settled into a taxi for the prodigious climb up the mountain. Sheer cliffs border the Ionian sea - a shining blue plate growing smaller with each twist in the road. Then the cypress, pines and bougainvillea in such abundance, it felt as if we had left the world as we knew it behind. Comparisons to Santorini in the Aegean or the Spanish Sierras of Andalusia came to mind, but for now we were here and there was nothing to do but surrender the heart.
Seductive Taormina lay in wait. But for now, we agreed with Cicero: Ortigia really was the loveliest city in the world.
Taormina
"Although I am still the same, I believe to have changed to the bones." (Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Italian Journey)
A 10:30 am departure from Siracusa’s train station began with a dotty mix of disgruntled passengers. An argument for seats broke out between an Australian clan with their oversized baggage and an equally incensed Italian brood. The Aussie son-in-law’s diatribe rang through the car. “This is why I never travel with my mum! I’d have to give her sedatives the whole way.”
The true beauty of the landscape didn’t surface until we were settled into a taxi for the prodigious climb up the mountain. Sheer cliffs border the Ionian sea - a shining blue plate growing smaller with each twist in the road. Then the cypress, pines and bougainvillea in such abundance, it felt as if we had left the world as we knew it behind. Comparisons to Santorini in the Aegean or the Spanish Sierras of Andalusia came to mind, but for now we were here and there was nothing to do but surrender the heart.
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Villa Fiorita is perfectly situated - a short walk from the Messina Gate into town and a heartbeat distant from the funicular to Mazzaro Beach. Just icing on the cannoli as inviting lounges and open terraces line every landing. It exceeded the wildest fantasies of budget-conscious travelers like ourselves. (Note: Designed around a Roman tomb, the first three levels are absent an elevator. But rest assured, there is nothing somber in this light-filled paradise.) Evidently, Taormina has worked its magic on a brilliant and eclectic list of personages. The first writer to discover its appeal was Goethe, and the word spread quickly. Friedrich Nietsche, Oscar Wilde, D.H. Lawrence, and Truman Capote also took up residence, along with those searching for a getaway playground to suit all tastes. |
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The first order of business was the ancient Greco-Roman theatre, the pride of Taormina. Built in the 3rd century B.C., it underwent significant remodeling under Roman emperors Trajan, Hadrian, and subsequent rulers. Videos and bits of mosaic flooring are on view upon entering the orchestra. Emerging into a bright sun, we headed for the uppermost steps with the majesty of Mount Etna in the distance. Constructed on the inclination of Mount Tauro as it slopes toward the sea, it was cause for Goethe to exclaim: “Never before did any theatre audience ever see such a sight!” After a short visit to the Antiquarium, which houses archaeological finds from the area, we headed back for a cooling dip and a tall Aperol spritz. The dip turned out to be little more than a toe in the water, as two teenaged brothers churned the water inside out with alternating shouts of “Marco!” then “Polo!” A quick change of plans was in order. |
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Mazzaro Beach, accessible by cable car, is a sandy swamp of well-oiled tourists in July. But with the inviting array of blue and yellow striped umbrellas and lounges for rent, we succumbed. Within minutes, I was accosted from shoulder to shin by an Asian masseuse, plying her version of wellness. “No, grazie,” I mumbled. Joanne reminded me total silence was the only response.
Il Barcaiolo lays only a short distance from the beachfront. Our restaurant terrace fronted a tiny bay where fishing boats bobbed about in the sparkling water. A simple grilled swordfish sustained us before taking on a tunnel of stairs leading back to the funicular. Then, ambling home past the tourist shops lining Via Luigi Pirandello, we were serenaded by two accordion players alternating between the theme of The Godfather film and “Under Paris Skies.” A better concert awaited us with our friend Meg’s arrival... |
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For Meg, leaving New York City’s book publishing world even for a week meant sun, fun and sleep, a kind of torpor where doing nothing can act as an eraser on normal anxiety.
Her first evening, we strolled along the main artery of Corso Umberto to Rosso Peperoncino, where we were seated in a fragrant backyard garden, sharing a beef antipasto (bresaola) with basil, arugula and parmesan cheese. A ravioli dish with a pistachio cream sauce and a platter of grilled eggplant and peppers was not forgotten. Afterwards, an evening of arias delivered with an everchanging light show at the ancient theatre lulled us into a kind of stupor. The ruined moonlit archways and columns behind the cavern of the stage was something to behold and our night was rounded with a good sleep.
Her first evening, we strolled along the main artery of Corso Umberto to Rosso Peperoncino, where we were seated in a fragrant backyard garden, sharing a beef antipasto (bresaola) with basil, arugula and parmesan cheese. A ravioli dish with a pistachio cream sauce and a platter of grilled eggplant and peppers was not forgotten. Afterwards, an evening of arias delivered with an everchanging light show at the ancient theatre lulled us into a kind of stupor. The ruined moonlit archways and columns behind the cavern of the stage was something to behold and our night was rounded with a good sleep.
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Leaving Meg behind for her late sleep-in, we headed for the local Giarra train station, followed by a short walk through stubble and weeds until a dilapidated stazione came into view. Waiting at rail side, we felt like actors in Rod Serling’s Twilight Zone from the 1950s. The ferrovia circumetnea, an ancient workers’ train, winds around Mount Etna with a two hour stop at Randazzo, closest to the volcano’s tip. Randazzo reeks of a medieval atmosphere, most of the town built from blocks of dried lava. Wall chinks from heavy Allied bombing in 1943 are everywhere visible. Built around 1217, the main cathedral of Santa Maria is a highlight, with its Catalan-Gothic interior affording an almost Satanic appearance. In the Greek quarter, lights were being strung outside San Niccolo for an upcoming festival, the doors open to a bevy of volunteers scrubbing every tile. A quick peek at the Gagini sculptures, and we headed out for almond and pistachio gelatos with just enough time to make our departing train. |
The return trip, despite a drizzle beating against the smoked panes, revealed orange groves, vineyards and clusters of bear claw cactus amidst the fallen lava. The volcano was never far away, often out of sight in the haze. Eruptions are frequent, the most catastrophic were in 1381 and 1669, with Doomsday predictors saying the next is nigh.
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The night of the Blood (Red) Moon was a spectacular two hours between 9:30 and 11:30 pm. The first penumbra of the full eclipse begins with the moon going into shade, her features appearing as if behind a red veil. The second stage, while in total eclipse, shows a thin circle of light skirting the edges - the moon appearing like a giant red ball free-floating in the night sky. The final phase, when her white face returns, elicits a sigh of relief...an otherworldly experience.
Giardino Publico is a park bequeathed to the city by Florence Trevelyan in the 1920s. An aristocratic Englishwoman, she swooned over the site upon her first visit. And, as the story goes, she also swooned over Queen Victoria’s son Edward - an event that forced her out of her homeland and brought her back for good. A serious horticulturist, she filled her palazzo and its grounds with rare and exotic plants and built “follies,” or ornate structures, not unlike Chinese pagodas. I recommend a leisurely visit when Corso Umberto’s crowds become too enervating. |
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Every evening brought another culinary adventure our way, and Andreas, a lovely restaurant adjacent to the public gardens, was no exception. Once again, the fish menu held sway, with grilled cod and a fragrant seafood soup. Dining out brought pleasant surprises, like the local red and white Murgo wine and truffle dishes wherever you can find them. More than one night ended with a game of Hearts and the Queen of Spades in hand, rancor evaporating in the enchanted breeze.
The best time to shop the Corso Umberto is early morning, before the crunch of heat and pedestrians. I walked the length between the northern Massina Gate and the southern Porta Catania, lingering in the Piazza IX Aprile for a refreshment, then explored the pockets of vendors at every turn. I found the perfect ceramic pitcher at L’Agora, a Galleria D’Arte for working craftsmen. Saying arrivederci is never easy. We do it with a smile, knowing a place can lodge in the heart as easily as a person. |
Sandra Bertrand is an award-winning playwright and painter. She is Chief Art Critic for Highbrow Magazine and a contributing writer for GALO Magazine. Sandra was Sanctuary's Featured Artist in May 2019 and is also Sanctuary's columnist for "Travel Journal."
Stay tuned...
For more “Travel Journal” adventures from Sandra in the fall.
For more “Travel Journal” adventures from Sandra in the fall.
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POINTS OF INTEREST Ortigia, Siracusa Sciala Via Cavour 25, Siracusa 33 8378 9196 Castello Maniace Via Castello Maniace 51, Ortigia 39 0931 464420 Osteria da Seby Via Vincenzo Mirabella 21, Ortigia 39 0931 181 5619 |
POINTS OF INTEREST Taormina Villa Fiorita Hotel Via Luigi Pirandello 39, Taormina 39 0942 625633 Il Barcaiolo Via Casteluccio 43, Spiaga Mazzaro 39 0942 625633 Teatro Greco Via Teatro Greco 40, Taormina 39 0942 23220 Rosso Peperoncino Ristorante Via Sacramento 2bis, Taormina 39 0942 625150 |
