Chocolate Tasting in Modica

Like Noto, Modica was greatly affected by the earthquake of 1693 and had to be reconstructed, though it doesn’t quite have the same architectural impact as Noto. The main street is choked with traffic and lined with shops, but among the more mundane buildings, there are a few lovely Baroque churches, such as San Pietro with its wide flight of steps guarded by life-sized statues of the twelve apostles.

Armed with a map and lots of useful information provided by the local tourist office, I set out to discover some of the more hidden corners of the town, starting with the tiny 12^th century cave church of San Nicolo Inferiore. Easy to miss, down a side alley beside the church of San Pietro, it was discovered by accident in 1987 by two young boys playing football. Inside are some lovely byzantine frescos, though how much longer they will survive in the damp conditions is anyone’s guess.

Down another alley, I locate Antica Dolceria Bonajuto, where chocolate has been produced since 1880. The interior feels like it hasn’t been changed since that time, with dark wood, glass-fronted cabinets lining the walls and a wide counter covered with tasting bowls of the various chocolate on offer. Orange, lemon, vanilla, cinnamon and coffee are used to flavour the chocolate bars along with more unusual additions of salt, chilli and jasmine. There are so many options that it’s hard to choose and by the time I’m done tasting I’m experiencing a sugar rush.

Luckily the extra energy helps me to scale the 250 steps up to the cathedral of San Giorgio. Inside I find another marble calendar inset into the floor and although I arrive at midday, there’s no sun to shine through the hole in the roof and mark today’s date. There is also a rather magnificent organ and a lovely nativity scene with buildings resembling those in Modica.

 

Boldly Baroque – Noto

On the 11^th January 1693 a massive earthquake flattened many of the towns in south east Sicily, including Noto. Luckily, Giuseppe Lanza, a Sicilian-Spanish aristocrat was on hand to supervise the rebuilding, utilising a new plan to separate the political and religious buildings from the commercial and housing area. In a very short time, he had created a Baroque masterpiece of palaces, churches and steep steps.

 

 

I start my exploration of the town in the upper section which is mainly residential. They are repairing the roads and the dust is being blown about like a sandstorm in the Sahara. I seek refuge in the Church of Santissimo Crocifisso which houses two ancient lion statues and some beautiful paintings.

 

 

A long flight of steps takes me down to the pedestrian high street and the Cathedral of San Nicolo. It’s hard to imagine that the dome collapsed 20 years ago as it has been carefully restored and decorated with paintings of Matthew, Mark Luke and John. There are many other lovely churches in Noto, including San Carlo with a bell tower that can be climbed for views across to the Duomo and others with marvellous wooden ceilings and screens.

Opposite the Duomo is the huge Palazzo Ducezio, used as the Town hall and boasting a small meeting room decorated with golden stucco and mirrors. My ticket to view this also gives me access to the neighbouring Civic Museum, a strange collection of archaeological finds, ugly artwork and an exhibition of bronze sculptures and medallions by the artist Giuseppe Pirrone, who created the doors of the cathedral.

Also included in my €4 combination ticket is entrance to the Teatro Communale, a diminutive auditorium of red velvet seats and curtains, with cosy private boxes. It would be amazing to see a show here but sadly few performances take place, and there are none during my short visit to the town.

My morning meander has left me hungry but, luckily, opposite the theatre are some places serving Sicilian arancini. These huge, deep fried, rice balls make an excellent snack and, having already tried the conical Catania/Syracuse version, I choose the spherical Palermo one, which is infused and coloured with saffron.

 

Women of Syracuse – Arethusa, Saint Lucy and the Weeping Madonna

In order to help her escape from the river god Alpheus, the goddess Artemis changed the nymph Arethusa into a fresh water spring. She swam to Sicily from the Peloponnese and arose at the island of Ortigia in Syracuse. Legend says that when animal sacrifices took place at the Sanctuary of Olympia, the blood would flow from the Peloponnese and emerge at the spring in Ortigia,

Today, the freshwater spring of Fonte Aretusa emerges into a pond filled with Papyrus and fish. The area is full of bars and restaurants overlooking the water and both locals and visitors are enjoying a New Year’s Day drink in the sun.

As well as the Fonte Aretusa, I visit the Cathedral, which was built on the site of a Greek Temple dedicated to Athena. The 5^th century Doric columns still support the building though they’re a bit crooked since the devastating earthquake of 1693. In the large piazza outside, two policemen are parading in very elegant dress uniform.

Also in the Piazza del Duomo is the 17^th century church of Santa Lucia alla Badia which is dedicated to the city’s patron saint and features a painting of her burial by Caravaggio. Whilst in the newer part of town, is the Basilica di Santa Lucia, marking the spot where she was martyred in 304 AD. An octagonal chapel next to the church used to hold her remains until they were taken to Constantinople in 1038 and then stolen by the Venetians in 1204. She now lies in St Geremia Church in Venice.

The city of Syracuse may have lost their patron saint but they now pour their faith into the Madonna delle Lacrime (Madonna of the tears). On the 29^th of August 1953, in a small house near to the port, a statue of the Madonna hanging in the bedroom began to cry. She continued to weep for 5 days and crowds flocked to see her. Scientists even tested the liquid and identified it as human tears. The house is now a small chapel where a replica presides over the altar.

The original statue is now located in a much grander place. The conical sanctuary can be seen for miles and was supposedly designed to look like a giant teardrop. The locals have given it the nickname ‘lemon squeezer’ and when I visit, to me it seems to look and feel like a concert hall. The cavernous interior echoes with each footstep as people approach the statue to pray for assistance.

Evidence of the miracles performed by the Madonna delle Lacrime can be found in the equally huge crypt, located below the main church and looking rather unfinished. Here I find a small museum with photos from 1953 and the slide and pipette used by the scientists to confirm the miracle. There are also hundreds of items of gold jewellery given in thanks to the Madonna and the robes worn by Pope John Paul II when he inaugurated the sanctuary in 1994. Another room houses ex votos, including many sets of crutches and half a dozen wedding dresses.

 

New Year in Brucoli

It’s not always easy to find a peaceful spot to spend the night and it is especially hard on Saturday nights and during the festive season. Given that New Year’s Eve falls on a Saturday this year I’ve headed to the remote fishing village of Brucoli where I hope celebrations will be minimal.

Brucoli is a small fishing village with a one way system and an Aragonese castle at the end with incredible views across to Catania and Mount Etna. On the morning of New Year’s Eve, I set out to explore the tiny village and find it’s actually quite busy. There are not many shops: a post office, newsagents, shoe shop and intriguing second-hand bazaar selling old furniture and unwanted nick-knacks. There are also several cafes, bars and restaurants, some closed, others buzzing with activity. I smell the local bakery before I see it, shelves lined with artisanal loaves and fresh croissants dusted with icing sugar.

At the entrance to the village I stop for coffee in a café which seems to be favoured by the fishermen and older men of the village. The walls are decorated with nautical items and mirrors advertising various alcoholic drinks, though only half a dozen spirit bottles sit on the shelf behind the bar. Above the doorframe is a lovely painting of the castle and bay, an in the streets I find plenty more. They have been painted by local artist Vittorio Ribaudo and really enhance the walls of the village. There is no sign of graffiti as I suspect in this small community the culprits would be easily identified.

There are plenty of kids setting off bangers though and I expect to be up at midnight. When I do emerge from my warm duvet as the New Year begins I am met with a vista of pyrotechnic lights as Catania is lit up across the bay. Luckily Etna is not joining in the celebrations for, although it would be interesting to see hot molten lava exploding from her cone, I feel much safer without her in the dark.

The Cyclops Rocks and the Catania Calendar

The small port of Aci Trezza is dominated by several lava formations which surge out of the water. One is 60m high and features a statue of the Virgin Mary, while another shows traces of early settlement including Sicel tombs. Legend says that the blinded cyclops Polyphemus threw the rocks at Greek ships as Odysseus escaped from his land.

A kilometre along the coast, at Aci Castello, a Norman castle has been built on top of a lava formation. Once a perfect watch tower, now a perfect viewpoint for photos of the bay.

 

 

The next day I take the bus to Catania. When we reach the city, two inspectors board and noisily remove two locals who do not have validated tickets. The terminus, at Piazza Borsellino, is next to the lively fish market and I wonder how many of the vendors might be from Aci Trezza. They display their fish and shellfish on metal trays, the pungent fishy aroma filling the air and salty sea water soaking the floor. Close by, enterprising souls are selling fresh dill and lemons to enhance your fish dish.

I climb up a wide stairway topped with an impressive ornamental fountain, which is spraying anyone who passes due to the strong wind, and emerge into Piazza del Duomo. In the middle is a small elephant carved from lava stone and topped with an Egyptian obelisk. It is said to protect the city from volcanic eruptions and earthquakes. The last big one in 1693 destroyed most of the city.

The Duomo has a beautiful, baroque façade and a clean, white interior. Churches in Italy seem rather plain after the ornately decorated orthodox churches in Greece. Near the entrance I find the tomb of composer Bellini, who was born in Catania in 1801. His name can be found across the city adorning roads, parks, hotels and restaurants, as well as the main theatre. He also has a pasta dish in honour of him – spaghetti all Norma.

My guidebook is 5 years old but I’m still shocked to discover that the Civic Museum in the Urbino Castle, which was free in 2011, is now charging €10. So, with the help of some lovely ladies in the Tourist Information office I decide to try and find some alternative and cheaper places to visit.

Their recommendation of the St Nicolo Church and the adjoining Benedictine Monastery turns out to be a good one. The church is cavernous and in front of the main alter is a very long, marble calendar, decorated with signs of the zodiac. At noon each day, a hole in the roof allows the sun to enter and it falls on the spot which marks the day and the month.

Attached is the huge monastery complex, the second largest in Europe after Mafra in Portugal. Today it is part of the university and so open to the public for free. It’s also empty, save for a few students seeking out sunny spots to study. I wander the long corridors that surround ornate former cloisters and wonder what it would have been like 300 years ago when the offices were monastic cells and the lecture halls were full of feasting monks. When I go to use the toilets I discover that they have been built over the remains of the original ones!

Despite having found some hidden gems in Catania, I have to say that the city is really a shithole, and I mean that quite literally. The walls are covered with graffiti and the streets are strewn with litter and dog shit. Traffic fumes choke the air and soil the church facades, and shady characters lurk at street corners. I’m quite relieved to return to Aci Trezza where people are strolling along the promenade and fishermen are sitting in the main square drinking coffee and playing cards.

No Buses to Taormina

For Christmas I am staying at the beach resort of Giardini Naxos, a 3km long bay which lies below the popular tourist trap of Taormina. There are several sostas here and they are full of wintering northern Europeans and Italians who just want a few festive days in the sun.

 

 

After the usual Christmas day excesses, I decide that it would be a good idea to take an equally traditional Boxing Day walk and set off to Taormina. The original plan involved getting a bus up to the clifftop town and walking back down, but after waiting beside the busy main road for some time I wonder if any will be operating and so I opt to walk to the train station of Giardini-Taormina at the other end of the bay where there may be more chance of a bus and where I know there is a footpath up to the town.

The bus plan still looks unhopeful so I top up my water bottle and set off on the path. Some locals sitting on their balconies, soaking up the sun, just shrug when I try to confirm that I am on the right route and I soon realise why when I meet two Germans on their way down. They explain that part of the path has disappeared in a landslide but, after checking out my boots, declare that I’ll be okay. That part of the path does indeed turn out to be a bit hairy and I have to cling to rocks and carefully place my feet to avoid sliding down the steep slope. The locals watch on with amusement, clearly enjoying the entertainment provided by the stupid, masochistic tourists.

When I finally reach the top, I’m rewarded with an amazing view from a quiet terrace. Then I set off into the narrow streets to explore the town. The main drag is very busy with locals who have arrived to enjoy the good weather and sip sparkling wine in the ‘Wunderbar’, a popular haunt of celebs over the years. In the square adjacent to the Duomo is a large pile of ash, the remains of a bonfire from Christmas Eve.

It’s €10 to see the picture postcard Greek Theatre with Mount Etna as its backdrop but I decide that I would rather spend that on lunch. It’s just enough for a pizza and a glass of wine in a small restaurant overlooking the Roman Odium. I’m joined by a lovely German lady called Ruth who is also travelling on her own in the area and happened to arrive at the same time.

After lunch I try for another bus, this time to the even higher village of Castelmola, but the 14.40 never appears. So, at 3pm, I follow another zig-zag footpath up to the Saracen castle and the chapel of Madonna della Rocca. From there I have great views back down to Taormina and along the coast to Giardini Naxos where I started my trek.

I still need to get to Castelmola and it’s either 2 kms up an officially closed route, 5 kms along the busy road or hitch a lift. I flag down a couple of elderly Italian men in a beat-up Fiat panda and they happily squeeze me into the back and drive me up to the village. I reward them both with a peck on the cheek and then climb up the last steps of the day to my ultimate destination. They’ve laid out the red carpet for me and the views of the coast and the steaming, snow-capped Mount Etna are breathtaking.

 

 

In celebration of my achievement, I seek out Bar Turrisi, a local spot which is known for its unusual decoration. For me it will always be thought of as the “Penis Bar”, as it has a large number of phallic statues and even a penis-shaped tap over the bathroom sink. It’s almost enough to put you off your beer.

Having completed my mission and with the sun setting, I still have to get back down to Giardini Naxos. A taxi would cost me an eye-watering €35 and a bus may, or may not, arrive at 5pm. I decide to stand at the bus stop, next to the car park exit and look sad and tired. My ploy works for, as the first car pulls out, I gesture to the young couple to ask if they are going down and they stop. Local Francesco and Aussie Bonnie are on their way down to Taormina but they welcome me into their car and take me all the way back to Giardini Naxos. The kindness of strangers never ceases to amaze me.

Kindness of Strangers – Part 1, Part 2. Part 3

Tartufo di Pizzo

On my way down to the toe of Italy, I stopped at the delightful town of Pizzo. The houses tumble down the hillside to the small port guarded by a 15^th century castle. Pizzo is famous for tarufo and, as I love to try all the local delicacies, I find the nearest gelateria an order a portion. It’s only 5pm so I resign myself to having dessert before dinner.

What arrives looks like a huge chocolate truffle and it tastes like one too. Layers of vanilla, hazelnut and chocolate ice-cream surround a centre of maraschino cherries swimming in chocolate sauce. The whole thing is dusted with cocoa powder and looks like a giant truffle which I guess is how it gets its name. It’s served in a scallop-shaped, white dish which by the time I’ve finished is streaked with melted chocolate ice-cream and sauce. Whilst I’m tempted to clean the dish with my finger, I resist the temptation and leave that job to the dishwasher.

Up in the main square there are a dozen or so gelaterias offering a multitude of tartufi – lemoncello, pistachio, caramel. Even Lidl are promoting a Christmas special of assorted mini tartufi made by one of the artisanal producers in Pizzo.