Tag: Avola

So after a local day yesterday and still glowing from last night’s theatre trip – I know family and friends have seen opera in Verona but this was a first for me and was just astounding – I planned to venture south to Noto and Ragusa both highly recommended both by the book and Gwyn and Von. Giulia Googlemappa took me on an interesting route when I’d clicked no motorways. It wended its way through flat areas near Siracusa with citrus fruit and olives, gradually segueing to slightly more upland areas near Avola of wine DOC fame where slopes were covered in poly tunnels and black and red vine protection nets. Necessary eyesores I suppose but not pleasant companions among rural roads fragrant with rosemary (I nicked some for later) and other odours.

I could see that Noto was a seriously hilly town so I made my way quite a way up, found a parking spot, shot the street name so I could find my way back and set off up to the centre. My first encounter in a pleasant, not quite yet awake square, was the Chiesa di Santissimo Crocifisso. I mounted its steps and entered a really splendid space. Apart from the church itself there was a pair of Roman era lion sculptures which used to be outside but were moved into the nave in 1984 to prevent further environmental damage – early onset climate change awareness, perhaps.

Walking around in 32 degrees brings on a thirst but as I’m driving and it’s only 10:30, I settle for a granita. I’d had it explained somewhere that the granita started in Sicily because they brought down great blocks of ice from the mountains to preface the refrigerator and a bright spark said we can make money out of this. Siracusa lemons are also highly regarded so I was honoured to receive this refreshing dish – served with a spoon rather than in a glass with a straw as in Spain. Off to find the cathedral and town hall both must-see buildings in a town where at every corner you are stunned by the architecture and the expense of constructing these palazzos.

So of course there are more steps up to the cathedral and from the top I look back at the town hall which was built in 1746 in a style ‘inspired by French palaces’. Well just wow. Twenty arches on thin columns defying gravity. I prefer the baroque cathedral of Saint Nicholas myself from1776.

I think I could have happily spent more time in Noto, but Ragusa called. The drive there was exhilarating through undulating foothills and then into switchback roads through Modica and then into some real valleys, nay gorges Agrigento, as we approach Ragusa. It’s perched across a hillside and gave me a first problem. Note to self number whatever by now: be precise with Giulia delle mappe. There are two Ragusas and she takes me quite logically to the one where you can drive, park your car and enjoy a bland modern city. However I need to be in Ragusa Ibla further across the hill. Two towns joined by a staircase threatens the guide book. I follow brown Ibla signs and being turned back by a cop at a another road sign that said ‘city centre permit holders only’, I do a U-turn and find a convenient parking place and start to walk up into the real Ragusa. At first sight it reminded me of Deja in Mallorca clinging to its hillside. However this was a really big hillside and after 170-odd steps with a few bits of level in between I seem nowhere near reaching the centre. I also missed my footing a couple of times as the steps are uneven and recalling a broken elbow in Mallorca and my daughter’s admonition “You are old” I regretfully abandon Ragusa, retrace my steps, carefully, back down to the car and head off back to Modica for lunch. This may be a major regret of my life as Ragusa sounds amazing. Tant pis! I am old!

Sitting with a beer and a ham and mozzarella cannoli in Modica, feeling a little crestfallen let’s admit it, two thoughts occur to me: Italian pastry is very stodgy and I’ll avoid it in future – understand it’s role is to be filling while hiding the fact that fillings are the expensive bit while flour and water are plentiful, Second I’m on holiday on an island and while I’ve seen the sea I’ve not really been that close or indeed to the seaside. So Giulia is tasked with taking me to Modica Marina which sounds like it should be on the coast. It is and it’s lovely. Free parking until the season kicks in on June 25, a sandy beach and a promenade which I guess would be filled with eateries when the season starts, and aloo. I sit on an bench for an hour and read Colm Toibin’s fabulous sequel to Brooklyn, Long Island. I’m biting my nails with the jeopardy at every turn. What a writer! This is what holidays are meant to be. Eilis takes a dip in freezing Irish Sea in the chapter I just finished.

Encouraged by this I took myself to the strand, removed my shoes and exposed the wounded Birkenstock toe to the healing influence of the warm and salty Med. Seems to have worked as it’s not leaking stuff anymore. Now I’d said to lots of people I was booking a BnB in Siracusa so I could market shop and cook one night or so, because I love markets and regret not being able to shop because I’m in a hotel. Well Monday I’d just arrived, Tuesday was the theatre trip and a huge lunch so now looked like the tine. A local supplier allowed me to purchase one potato (cubed and fried in olive oil with the rosemary I’d knicked), an aubergine, a pepper and he had a piece of pork fillet (unusual in Sicily) an attractive option after an almost entirely, and happily fish diet, it seemed a good idea. I cubed the pork and made a mini-ratatouille with the veg and enjoyed it with the only possible wine since I’d driven through Avola in the morning.