Taormina

After walking to a bus stop, we boarded a smaller, 21 passenger van for the hour or so trip north, up the coast, to the village of Taormina. We brought our Malta students here six years ago. It hasn't changed a bit.

Taormina is built on a steep hillside. It began as a Greek colony in the mid-4th century B.C.E. but was taken over by the Romans fairly early. The ancient claim to fame is a Greco-Roman theater that is still in use today. 

It has a splendid view of Mt. Etna and the sea. However, it's certainly not the best preserved Greek theater we've ever seen. And the installation of modern, fiberglass seats does nothing at all for the preservation.

There is a smaller theater a few blocks away, probably older. It's not restored, but they don't charge admission and it's probably more interesting.

Our local guide, "Elfi," led a someone slow-paced tour peppered with some tired jokes that she probably uses often. We did gain some information about Taormina and about the history of the theater. But she spent a lot of time talking about the view, and about the various rock concerts that have been put on here recently. Yawn.

Once Elfi had finished, Flaminia took several of us to a pistachio shop. The proprietor spoke little English, so Flaminia translated his spiel about the family farm, the planting and harvesting of pistachios, etc. But our main focus was on the samples he provided! He had abundant trays of pistachio butter on bread, pistachio cannoli, and pistachio gelato, and we got a couple of each. We then bought and shared a pistachio granita (a kind of ice cream). It was all wonderful!

We walked the Main Street, revisited churches we've seen before, took in the ocean view, did a lot of people-watching, and even happened upon a restaurant we remembered eating in on our last visit.

This town is popular with a wealthier class of tourists, so the shops tend to be high end brands with high price tags. We weren't shopping.

Eventually, we sat down and ordered a beer near our meeting point. We continued our people-watching, and were joined by others in the group. Flaminia told us there was a problem with the bus being delayed, and that we would have an extra half hour to kill. So we walked side streets a bit more.

Large and intricate Nativity scene in one of the churches

The bus was eventually an hour late, and the driver acted like nothing was out of the ordinary when he finally arrived. The drive back was uneventful.

At 5 p.m. we met for a "surprise experience" that Flaminia had arranged. We went out on the street and met a young man who specializes in real Sicilian folk music -- "music so old that Sicilians don't even know about it." He first played on a homemade shepherd's flute, then on a double flute, the design of which, he said, dates back to the Greeks.

Our musician continued playing a tambourine made from goat skin and tin cans. The technique for playing it was quite unusual -- much like an Irish bodhran, but using the hand rather than a stick. He also did an amazing job of playing a sort of primitive pair of castanets that were just two wooded slats, each about 8 inches long. Then he played a mandolin, a violin, and a small country accordion. I could have done without the accordion, but he played it well.

In a meeting room at the hotel we enjoyed our "farewell drink." This is an OAT tradition of toasting the trip and going around the room to say what we liked most. It was less painful than some.

Our farewell dinner was at another local seafood restaurant in the fish market area. The starter was a plate of huge steamed mussels. Next came a very large pasta with tuna sauce on top. Many assumed that was the main course, since it was so large, but it was followed by a slab of swordfish served with salad. An Italian ice was for dessert.

Our trip is concluded, and we head to the airport in the morning for what promises to be a very long day of travel back home.

Mount Etna

After breakfast we walked a short distance to a parking lot where four SUVs were waiting to take us on an excursion to Europe's largest active volcano, Mount Etna. Our local guide was Nicolo, and he gave us his information via two-way radio as the cars traveled in caravan up the mountain.

We were fortunate, Nicolo told us, to have such a perfect day for visiting Etna. The sky was clear, the temperature was moderate, and the winds were light. This is a far cry from our visit here six years ago, when the visibility was poor, it was nasty cold, and the wind was so strong that sometimes we literally could not stand up!

Our first stop was at a turnoff where we could get a view of the four main caldera at the top of the mountain. After we took our photos, Nicolo explained the difference in the various types of basalt that the mountain spews when it erupts.

Essentially, it's all the same stuff, in terms of chemical and mineral makeup -- basalt is basalt. But some blows out as fine particles called ash. Some comes out in bigger particles, volcanic sand. Still more comes out as larger rocks infused the gas, making them porous -- these will break apart in your hands easily. And still more comes out solid. These rocks are so hard that they can't be broken, even with a steel hammer. They can only be cut with a diamond saw.

We continued up the mountain through old growth forest, including oaks, chestnuts, and a variety of birch tree that is unique to this area and very endangered. Our driver also spotted a large mushroom as we drove through the woods. He collected it and said it would be his dinner. We weren't sure if he was joking or not.

At another stop, we got up close to a lava flow that had crossed a road some decades ago, then stopped and cooled. Nicolo explained that lava usually does not come out of the main caldera, like the ash and other basalt. Instead, it flows out of "lateral fissures" -- holes that open on the side of the volcano. The flows move very slowly, but are unstoppable.

After a brief coffee and potty stop at a mountainside lodge, we continued to a trailhead and began a hike. For safety reasons, tourists are no longer allowed near the top caldera, which are at nearly 11,000 feet. We were at just over 5,000 feet, and made our way to a dormant cone on the side of the mountain.

The view was amazing! The atmosphere was so clear that we could see Stromboli -- a volcanic island 75 miles to the north. We also had opportunity to look down into one of the lateral fissures from which lava had flowed during a previous eruption.

After hiking back to the waiting SUVs, we drove a short distance to another mountain lodge. This was another agritourismo, an organic farm catering to tourists. The meal was not as good as some we've had, but there was a lot of food and, again, bottomless pitchers of wine.

Chancel of the Duomo

The SUVs drove us back to Catania where we had the rest of the evening free. Mary and I visited a couple of churches -- the Duomo cathedral and the Church of St. Agatha just across the street. We also visited a fountain fed by an underground river in a corner of the square.

Our friends, Craig and Suzy, invited us to join them for a glass of wine on the "roof garden" on top of our hotel. There is absolutely no garden, but it is the roof. There are some chairs, and the view was pretty nice as the sun was setting. Two other couples from our group were already up there when we arrived, and they, too, were finishing bottles of wine they had bought that they wouldn't be able to take home on the plane.

As the sun set, I noticed a light crossing the sky and thought it moving too fast to be an aircraft. I checked the satellite app on my phone and determined that it was the International Space Station flying by. Mount Etna would surely be visible from space, but we were looking at it up close.

Catania

This morning we met a local guide for Catania. Our bus took us a short distance to an industrial area near the harbor. This area was heavily bombed in World War II, so many buildings here are newer. But part of the old, bombed out industrial shell remains as a sort of memorial.

There are several museums housed in these ruins. A couple that I might have liked to see were a museum of Italian film, and a museum of writing technology. But our group came to see the war museum that is dedicated to the Allied invasion of Sicily in 1943.

The first exhibit was a reproduction of a piazza as it might have appeared in summer of 1943. The exterior walls of the buildings had fascist propaganda. And one could look through the windows into rooms with collections of antiques representing a living room and a couple of storefronts.

If one stepped toward the back of this exhibit, as if moving to the next area, a motion sensor was tripped. The lights dimmed and an air raid siren began to sound. We continued beyond a stack of sandbags into a replica air raid shelter. There should have been a PTSD trigger warning, because the sound effects of the planes overhead and bombs exploding, coupled with the actual shaking of the room, was very realistic.

When the "all clear" sounded, we moved ahead to the next exhibit in which the same piazza was reproduced, except that now the walls had crumbled, fires burned, and destruction was everywhere. A very effective exhibit.

From there, we continued to exhibits that illustrated the Allied landing and advance. It was a very fine museum with an extensive collection of artifacts, well displayed. But quite frankly, we spent way too much time there. Our local guide went on, and on, and on, with trivia and anecdotes. On our own, we might have spent an hour here, but it was almost three hours before we were back on the bus.

Back in the old historical district of Catania, we walked by 14th century city walls, constructed with volcanic basalt stone from nearby Mt. Etna. We entered the market, which was bustling. Stalls were stocked with all sorts of fruits and vegetables, and the fish were so fresh that some were still moving.

Thanks to Craig Dorsay for the photo

At one stall we stopped to watch a young man making nougat. Almonds and pistachios were stirred into sugar water in a large iron pot over a propane fine. When the mixture was thick enough, the pot was emptied onto a slab or marble where he worked it and shaped it with two large knives. It was quite a show!

We've seen a lot of produce markets and fish markets in our travels, but this one was one of the more interesting, especially in a First World country.

The local guide finally left us in the main piazza, in front of the Duomo, after giving us a number of suggestions of things we might wish to do and see on our own during our afternoon free time.

But before free time began, our OAT leader walked us to lunch at a sidewalk restaurant. It was another very good meal, all vegetarian, and again with all the wine we could drink.

The only problem was that by the time we had finished lunch, it was siesta time, and everything the local guide had suggested was closed. We walked around the city, looking for things that were open. A few tourist shops were, but nothing else. Very disappointing.

At 4:30 p.m. our group met again in the hotel lobby and walked several blocks to the same restaurant where we had eaten the night before. This time, however, we went downstairs into the basement. Here we had a presentation from a vulcanologist who talked about Mt. Etna, complete with photos and video. 

He was joined by a sociologist who discussed some of the ramifications of life next to a volcano. She pointed out some of the dangers from volcanic ash and lava flows, but also the economics of the tourist trade surrounding the volcano. She pointed out that residents of the area feel an emotional bond to the mountain, sort of a love-hate relationship. "The mountain is our mother," she said.

Following the presentation, we were invited to walk down steps one level below the restaurant basement, into a lava tube. There are remnants of a Medieval pavement that was covered by the lava, and a small underground stream. One man in our group failed to watch his head and got quite a gash from the sharp stone above.

We left for dinner on our own with friends, Craig and Suzy, and walked with them back down into the market area where there are several very highly rated seafood restaurants. We weren't terribly hungry after the big lunch, but we enjoyed a very nice meal before returning to the hotel for the night.

Syracuse

Another moving day, we packed up and had to have our luggage ready for the porters by 7 a.m. We left our hotel in Ragusa and drove to the city of Syracuse. It is not pronounced like the city in New York, but has an extra syllable here: sir-ah-QUE-sah.

Mary and I have visited here before, in 2016, during our semester in Malta. We had more time here then, on our own, but this trip was a nice review. Memories came back as we crossed the bridge to the island that used to contain the ancient city.

Our local guide, "Moses," did not part the sea for us, but he did remind us that Syracuse was founded in the 8th century B.C.E. as a Greek colony. By the 5th century B.C.E. it had become the second largest trading port in the Greek world, second only to Athens itself. It spun off the satellite colony of Akragas (modern day Agrigento) where we visited the Valley of the Temples just a few days ago.

The Temple of Apollo here in Syracuse is a remarkable ruin. Like the Temple of Concordia in Agrigento, it was converted into a church in Byzantine times, then to a mosque, and later back to a church. But its only function today is as a tourist attraction.

Our tour took us past the Fountain of Diana, which only dates from 1906, making it one of the newest monuments in town. We then walked through the Judaica or "Jewish Quarter." 

The name is ironic in that the Jews were driven out of Sicily by the Spanish Inquisition in the 1490s, and no Jews live here today.

We entered the main square by noting that the Cathedral here was also originally a Greek temple, dedicated to Athena, later renamed Artemis, then turned into church, mosque, and back to church once again.

Finally, we walked down to the sea on the far side of the island, noting the reason the Greeks settled here, with fresh water available here, even so close to the sea.

Set free from our guide, we now had a couple hours of free time. With our friends Craig and Suzy, we walked along the seaside promenade to the old castle that guards the entrance to the harbor. We had visited the castle last time, so opted instead for a gelato and a walk back through the city to the market.

Stingrays for sale in the market

After walking through the market for awhile, we sat down at a sidewalk cafe for beer and pizza, Then met our group to walk back to the bus.

As we drove from Syracuse, Mt. Etna was visible on the horizon, spewing its constant volcanic smoke, despite being 50 miles away. The bus stopped briefly at an Allied cemetery just outside Catania. This was a Commonwealth cemetery, with primarily British and Canadian military burials.

Finally, we arrived in Catania. Our hotel is well located, near the main square of the old city. We enjoyed a nice dinner at a local restaurant, and noted the typical, busy Italian night life in the city as we walked back after 8 p.m., with nearly every bar or restaurant full.

The Farm

For reasons that weren't explained, we had a different bus and driver today. We get the regular bus and driver back tomorrow. But a bus picked us up and took us about 30 minutes out in the country from Ragusa, out in the sticks. When we got to a place where the road turned to a gravel track, the bus let us off and a couple of cars picked us up, making two trips up the mountain in order to transport the entire group.

Our destination was a farm of about 120 acres operated by a husband, wife, and son in his late 20s. The home, we were told, was constructed after the great earthquake of 1693, so is more than 300 years old. The son is the fourth generation of this family to live there. Obviously, there have been some modern additions -- indoor plumbing, electricity, and modern kitchen, etc.

We were brought into the kitchen/dining area for a snack and brief introductions, then we went outside for a walk around the farm buildings. The main produce here is beef cattle, a French breed known as "limousin" (pronounced just like a fancy car with a chauffeur).

The barn held four or five newborn calves and their mothers, plus a few other cattle that were under observation for various conditions, and in a separate pen, one very large bull. The rest of the herd was out to pasture.

Explanations take longer when translation is necessary. We could tell by some of the questions asked by group members that we are traveling with a lot of city folk who had never been on a farm before. We spent quite a bit of time in the barn discussing the basics.

We walked next to the "green house," which is several acres under plastic where berries are growing. All the plants are irrigated by a computerized system that controls the exact amount of water necessary. 

We were given the opportunity to harvest blackberries for our noon meal. They were the biggest blackberries we've ever seen!

While we were there, the small village on the next hill set off a volley of fireworks for the regional festival of some saint or other. For some reason, fireworks are a daytime activity here. Also backwards from our perspective, parades occur at night. We had been told that there would be a festival parade in Ragusa yesterday, but we assumed we had missed it while we were in Modica. Turns out, the parade began at about 10:30 p.m. after most of us were back in our hotel.

Back at the house, we were put to work making pasta. Our hostess made the dough on the table in front of us. A few took turns rolling it out and cutting it into squares. 

Then we got to try rolling the squares into individual shells. The technique did not come naturally, and practice was required.

While the pasta was being made, a few other group members were under the direction of our host's cousin, who spoke some English, making shells for cannoli. The process of rolling, cutting, rolling, and frying the shells was also labor intensive.

And, as all of this was going on, our host fired up a large Weber gas grill, just as might be found on an American patio. Just like in America, the man was responsible for grilling the meat.

When it was finally time to eat, it was another typical Sicilian meal, with a half dozen or so "starters," followed by pasta, followed by the meat, and ending with two desserts. Of course, pitchers of homemade red and white wine were on the table, and were refilled regularly. It was another very good meal with lots of laughter and conversation, some translated and some not.

About 4 p.m. we were ferried downhill by car, just as we had come up. The bus transported us back to Ragusa. The schedule said, "dinner on your own," but our stomachs were still very full from a late and long lunch. 

We did get out to walk around town a bit, and found many locals doing the same. Many were dressed up in their Sunday best. Italians tend not to think about their evening meal until at least 8 or 9 p.m., so at 8 the main square was full of people strolling, having a drink, or just beginning the "starters" of their meal. It was a beautiful evening to be out and about.