Etnapolis, Randazzo, Mount Etna lowlands, Aci Castello
We met Nuccio again the next day, along with Graziella and Nuccio’s mum, who we took an instant liking to, although she didn’t speak English. She had a friendly, playful demeanour that was very disarming. Our plans for the day this time were to visit Etnapolis, a shopping centre south of Etna — Italy’s largest shopping centre, Nuccio told us proudly. There was a Sicilian food expo on that Nuccio suggested might be an interesting experience.
There were lots of stalls with free samples, and ones selling discounted goods — we grabbed some Sicilian liqueur straight away, coffee and hazelnut. There were Sicilian cakes, biscuits, cheeses, olives, wine — we sampled some wine, and I asked if we could buy any bottles; they weren’t actually selling any, but they give us two bottles anyway! Amazing.
So, we wandered the expo sampling stuff and buying some goodies, then wandered the shopping centre for a little while, Nuccio acting as a go-between while I tried to find a camera battery and printer. We partook of the free pasta back at the expo when the time came, then headed back home.
For the following couple of days, Nuccio who had so generously given us his valuable time had to work some shifts, both at the hospital and in an ambulance, so we had the days to ourselves. We decided to do a trip around Etna, and see what there was to see. Nuccio had recommended a few places to see, so with those in mind, we set off towards Randazzo on Etna’s north-west side.
In need of a place to empty Nettle’s grey water, we were keeping an eye out for a petrol station or something. Then Katherine struck gold and spotted a ‘sosta camper’ sign along the road. We did a U-turn and pulled in, and were struck by the beauty of the place — golden vineyards beside us, with olive groves behind them, and the autumn colours of Etna’s forested flank, with Etna’s snow-covered and steaming peak in the distance. Typical that we only find the place now — it would’ve been the perfect place to stay for a while, aside from the GPRS-only mobile Internet coverage — but it may have been worth it! If we ever come back with Nettle, we’ll visit again — the place is Azienda Agrituristica in Passopisciaro.
I explained to the friendly woman who came out to greet us that we couldn’t stay, although we would’ve loved to, but could we please service our camper here (I have to say, I was pretty pleased that I managed to string together my meagre Italian into a sentence like that). She happily agreed, and showed me where the facilities were.
We mourned our lost opportunity a little, then moved on, with Nettle all emptied and filled where appropriate.
Our first stop was the ancient stone town of Randazzo. We found a park by a magnificent church, had lunch, then wandered the streets, like stepping back in time. We came across a scared lost kitten running all over the road, and tried to usher it off to the side, with little success. Poor little guy.
We came across a friendly-looking old guy who caught our attention and brought us around the corner to an ancient laneway, the start of a marked historical trail, then asked us for some money ‘per mangiare‘ (for food) — we complied cheerily and set off following the markers through the town.
There were lots of interesting nooks and crannies, abandoned churches, gardens, a skeletal yet productively-fruiting orange tree, a great town to explore.
We had a merry time leaving the town, as we realised the nice wide road we came in on was one-way, and the only way out was…Well, twice we very nearly ended in catastrophe, inching between cars with quite literally mere millimetres to spare; several times I had to reverse an inch and carefully guide the mirrors around neighbouring parked cars, as cars built up behind us. If those guys had parked just a fraction further into the road, I don’t know what any of us would’ve done! We have got to stop getting ourselves into these situations!
Anyway, we made it, a little breathlessly, and drove on out of Randazzo. We drove around the periphery of Mount Etna, through the town of Bronte and its odd landscape of old lava, tufts of organic life poking haphazardly through. We didn’t get a photograph of it (damnit!), but one section was covered with an entirely skeletal orchard of perhaps citrus trees sticking out of the rock. Like something out of a Tim Burton film.
Feeling a little adventurous, we veered away from the main road that led more-or-less towards the coast, where we were ultimately aiming for, and took the scenic route, climbing Etna’s lowlands.
We drove through pretty autumnal woods for a time, before we started descending through the now-familiar town of Nicolosi, and towards the coast. A very long suburban drive later, we arrived at Aci Castello, one of Nuccio’s recommended towns, and hopped out to take a look around. The Norman castle that sat high atop a rocky outcrop sticking into the sea was kinda cool, although we only walked up the walkway aside the outcrop, rather than pay to go in. The water around it was the most starting shade of turquoise, even in the dusk light — we stared at it for a while as evening began to settle in.
It was getting on, and we were on the weary side; we toyed with staying put for the night where we were parked on the foreshore, but thought better of it; we were going to visit the baroque town of Acireale, but we were a little touristed out. So, we decided to copy some other motorhomers we had seen/read about and park overnight in the car park at Etnapolis, where we wanted to stock up on some supplies. The drive there was a little traumatic — some inaccuracies in Nigel the GPS navigator’s map led us into yet another tight squeeze, which Nettle handled splendidly, then we hit peak hour traffic on the outskirts of the city of Catania. Yeech!
We survived, and pulled up in a well-lit area to settle in. This turned out to be a false start, as the horrendous pop music blaring out of speakers across the car park didn’t seem to be letting up as evening progressed; we moved to the other side of the shopping centre where it was quieter and closed up for the night.
We spent the next day shopping — or rather, Katherine did, as I stayed put in Nettle working on software, for the most part. Some art supplies for Katherine, some new clothes for me, and some groceries. Then we made our way back to Linguaglossa and parked up for the night in ‘our’ spot by the park.
Tags: Caravan parks, History, Italy, Motorhome Mishaps, Sicily | Comment (0)Taormina-Messina Rally, Forza D’agro’
We met up with Nuccio again for the next rally, this one outside of a town whose name I never ended up discovering; Carmelo couldn’t make it, but we picked up a friend of Nuccio’s, Salvadore, who we had met briefly on St Martins’ Day, and his son André to join us. Salvadore was a meteorologist, interestingly; the language barrier was a bit of an impediment to talking further, though. Along the way, he pointed out interesting landmarks to us, as we drove along a picturesque winding road with views over pretty little villages with omnipresent Etna in the background.
We stopped in town (possibly Francavilla di Sicilia?) and took a look at the ‘weighing-in’ process; Nuccio informed us that no less than 25 cars had been totalled the night before, or at least damaged beyond recovery for the next race. One of the famous drivers (don’t ask me who!) Nuccio was looking out for had ended up upside-down, apparently (but otherwise unscathed). Heh.
A pilot (the car-driving kind) friend of Nuccio’s was going to compete in this race. Nuccio told us that he had skipped out at the last minute, to help some other competitors with repairs to their vehicle! Nuccio laughed and told us about a prior race when, distracted with helping a friend, Nuccio’s pilot friend missed a race he was supposed to be driving in; his father took the wheel instead!
We arrived at the place Nuccio and Salvadore had chosen for watching the rally, parking at the side of a small road that ran along the side of a deep green valley scored with erosion, somewhere between the towns of Borgo Schisina and Borgo Piano Torre. We could drive no further, the road being half-collapsed down the steep hillside, perhaps during the big storms that hit Messina. Nuccio herded us carefully around the chasm and we walked down the road to where it intersected with the road along which the rally was to be held, joining a crowd of others, and even a motorhome and several food vendors.
Nuccio indicated a house up on a neighbouring hill side: Mussolini had had it built. When the builders were putting in the plumbing, it became obvious that, actually…there was no water available nearby. The house was abandoned, never finished. When asked why they didn’t, you know, have the forethought to check for water first, Nuccio shook his head sadly, “Why we lost the war…”.
So, we had a good time enjoying the ambience, and admiring the odd drift and well-taken corner (remembering our days on Project Gotham Racing on the XBox 360); we watched the sun go down over the mountains, staining the horizon bright red for a while as Etna smoked/steamed away to the south:
When it was all over, and the cold night had set in, Nuccio had found a fellow spectator who had agreed to drive us back up to the car — “the most important thing is to ask”, said Nuccio when we were impressed with the gesture.
We spent a little down-time back at Nettle while Nuccio went home and we prepared to go out to “eat fish” — this was something we were anticipating nervously, a very, very well-respected fish restaurant that served incredibly fresh fare; there was no menu — one just sits down and they bring you whatever’s fresh. Being a little seafood-phobic, it was going to expand our horizons a little, but we were determined to make the most of it.
Nuccio arrived soon after, with his girlfriend Graziella, who was lovely — Nuccio had to be our go-between again, as we had no Italian, and Graziella had only a little English. Man, I wish we could just upload new languages into our heads.
We drove down to the coast again (I’m surprised we haven’t worn grooves in that road…), and took the freeway.
Along the way, we got talking about attitudes towards southern Italians from northern Italians, and were surprised to hear that apparently there’s a good deal of animosity in the north towards the south. I’m unsure what kind of portion of the northern population think this way, but apparently the north views people from the south as “of mixed blood”, less pure than the more “european” northerners, due to the south’s cultural mix. We were told it was hard for Sicilians to find work in the north, as they are frequently turned away. This is all a bit baffling — we’re certainly yet to met any kinder people than the Sicilians. We’re looking forward to finding out more from the other side when we visit northern Italy.
Nuccio drove up the windy road to our destination, an exquisite hillside coastal town, Forza D’agro’. The restaurant was “Osteria Agostiniana”, and sure enough, we walked in, greeted the waiter, and sat down, and that was that.
Each dish was brilliantly constructed, and delicious. Neither of us were sure about the cold, squishy oysters, or the fiddley little prawns, legs and all, that we just couldn’t manage to effectively unwrap. The rest was brilliant, even the octopus tentacle chunks (although they too were a little scary). A cook/kitchenhand walked past into the kitchen carrying a basket of fresh broccoli, and two dishes later, it turned up on our plates. The dishes just kept coming and coming, at an insane pace — We’d fasted all day, but we were still more stuffed than we’d ever been by the end of the second course, and the main course hadn’t even arrived. Nuccio was merciful, though (and, he admitted, full to bursting himself), and we told the waiter that that was enough.
Then began the drinking — the waiter brought a bunch of bottles of liqueurs out and plonked them on the table. Nuccio told us about each one, and poured a full shot-glass each of each one in turn — there was pistachio liqueur, grappa, chocolate, limoncello, some icky dark stuff made by monks (“Naughty monks”, Katherine observed), and lemon cream. Wow.
I’d never been so full in my life…I think my stomach’s stretched.
After we’d recovered a little, we strolled through the town. Nuccio showed us a few ancient churches, including one featured in The Godfather (where the Godfather’s son gets married when he’s in Sicily). A neighbourhood cat joined us for a while, and caused much amusement when it started making noises that sounded just like a frog. I tried to record the frog-cat, but it got shy, unfortunately.
So, we drove back to Linguaglossa, said goodnight to Nuccio and Graziella, and settled into Nettle, parked by the park in Linguaglossa.
Tags: Culture, History, Italy, People, Sicily | Comment (0)
