Sicily: mud slides, mosaics and hailstorms

Our Enna correspondent writes...

"We are living in the laps of the gods here - and the gods can be pretty pitiless at times! They gave us great, cool weather this morning, so even Jony didn't complain about the 35k of hills to get us to Villa Romana del Casale.  The point of going there was to see the most staggering mosaic floors: acres of them, from the 3rd/4th centuries AD, in a villa complex that had been in continuous use until the 12th century, then abandoned under a mudslide, almost perfectly preserved until the 1950s. Luckily (or deliberately if you believe in godly strategy) their late discovery means that they have been sensitively excavated and presented, the most important features left unrestored; the least interesting restored or reconstructed to give a fascinating idea of the scale and shape of the original buildings. 

Alice, our BnB lady from last night, had given us such a spread at breakfast this morning that we felt it rude not to make at least some kind of inroad, so we had brought the pizza, panini and shortbread with us to have for lunch. It turned out that she and her husband had been pasticcerias in a former life, and the basement space where we parked our bikes overnight was the old bakery. She had an electric tricycle that she now uses to take her wares to the local market - much safer on the steep, greasy paved roads than her bicycle. 

So we sat by the road in the sunshine for our picnic, then made our way up the first hairpins of the afternoon. I, inevitably, had run out of water (btw, if my obsessions of this holiday have been water and coffee, then Jony's are definitely cake and WiFi). He refused to come up the final hill into town, where I planned to refill my bottle, as the signposts for Enna, tonight's destination, were in the opposite direction. I shot up the hill (maybe), bought water and returned to find Jony sitting smugly next to the water fountain.... The gods then got their revenge on both of us: the signposted route took us back into town on an even longer and steeper road than the one I had just taken!

But there was more to come: we chose the 'pretty' route to Enna and all started well. We were congratulating ourselves on a route that took us along the contour of the hillside whilst across in the distance we could see the main road diving up and down through the valley. Then the road got a bit muddier and the first cracks appeared. We got to the head of the valley and the entire road surface disappeared under a sea of sand and mud as the hillside had clearly slid down and across it. We picked our way for a couple of kilometres, walking, wading and squelchily-riding until we finally got back to a managable surface and thankfully rejoined the major road.

One of our reasons for choosing the pretty way was that it passed the lake at Pergusa - looked good on the map. It turned out to be pretty awful, with a race track encircling it, but it is the location of the underworld god Hades' kidnap of Persephone. Perhaps he was flexing his vindictive muscles as we derisively dismissed the place. We had been glimpsing a perched town from time to time as we rounded the hills approaching Enna, but knowing that we had passed through Enna station on the train to Catania, were fairly sure that the town-in-the-sky was not the one we were headed for. And so we rolled confidently into the valley, and Enna Bassa. Uno espresso lunga (slightly more than a thimbleful) and uno chocolado caldo - we are almost fluent now! Enna itself was still being signposted. In the sky. In fact 4km into the sky. And pretty much straight up. But espresso makes good cycling fuel - I can't speak for hot chocolate - and we made it to the top.

The gods hadn't quite finished though. We were almost at the apartment, and the the fog that had begun to form became denser and darker; we could hear thunder rumbling around. We had just stopped to consult the map when the first spots of rain began. We retreated under a canopy beside the road and could hear a strange hammering sound. Cars began to shoot into the space beside us, also under the canopy, and then we realised what was going on: there were hailstones - jagged lumps of ice, an inch across, thumping down amidst torrential rain. The hail was clearly not a surprise to local drivers who were doing their best to shelter their cars. When the storm and the consequent flooding subsided, we made our way to the apartment. Our host for the night showed us her car, with dents in the roof and bonnet, that had just been caused by even larger hailstones in the same storm.

Sicily: mud, mosaics and hail

Sicily: it's Monday - it must be...

After a while it's all too easy for one place to meld into the next: it's Monday it must be Modena - sort of thing. As it happeneth, it is Monday and we did start in Modena! 

Here's Jan's take on where we got to. 

"We are up in the hills, surrounded by Baroque bell towers and florid painted ceramics and wall-to-wall sunshine. It seems there is no middle-weather here: either torrential thunderstorms crashing round our ears or pitiless sun. Not that we are really complaining, but we bailed out at lunchtime today after too many kilometres of hairpin bends in the blistering heat. These are great roads to cycle, but it is hard work with all our stuff and leaves us less time for sightseeing.

We cycled from Modica to Ragusa first thing this morning, over the highest viaduct in Europe (supposedly) and yes, Mum, it really did take us somewhere! But the road was bumpy and my tyre's were still hard and Jony's water bottle jumped off my bike and the lid came off and that was the end of my water. Ragusa Ibla is another wonderful old hill town, full of nooks and crannies and more hairpin bends. So the thought of cycling another four hours over the hills with few prospects of filling up with water challenged both of us.

So instead we got the only bus. It leaves Ragusa just as the schools come out, so took a very circuitous route. The entire staff at the Ufficio Turistico had pooled their resources to secure a promise from the bus company that they would transport our bikes - and this was duly honoured. Until two-thirds of the way through our journey, when oddly we approached the same town for a second time, having just dropped pupils off in the middle of nowhere. This time we ended up in the bus depot and one of the school children told us (in perfect English) that we would have to change buses. We looked around but couldn't see one that looked as though it would go further. She pointed to a minibus. What? 

The minibus loads up: three local women, the schoolgirl, our bikes and luggage propped up in the boot, us. The bus driver, the bus driver's mate and the bus company boss. Off around the town, as far as the town hall. And park up. Then we realise that the bus driver, his mate and the boss are going to the bar for a coffee. I ask the schoolgirl. 'Yes, everyday.' 

Well, when in Rome I might as well have a coffee too. 

And eventually we all set off again, the bus full of bonhomie and banter. Over more hills and into the dusk. So here are at Caltegirone, sitting on a beautiful terrace, surrounded by bells and hideous (I mean Arab-inspired) ceramics, ready for tomorrow's cycling and sightseeing!"

Sicily: essential travel accessories

Sicily: some pics

Sicily: street life

From Syracuse the road leads ever south, down towards Noto - a Baroque gem of which pictures will follow later - and then up towards Modica and Ragusa, where we're heading tomorrow.

Again, I won't dwell on the physical demands of this ride, even in the modest temperatures that obtain in the middle of October. We got there. It wasn't a bundle of fun. End of story. 

Much more enjoyable are the street scenes that greet us when we eventually emerge from much needed showers,  cups of restorative tea and the sadly diminishing fruit cake. The Sicilian families still love to get out and about when the day's heat has calmed, to promenade, to chat and to sit in the many cafes passing the time. It's a tradition as old as the arcades down which they walk and it's great to be here and see it all about us. 

I'll try and take some pictures of this tomorrow to post. I took a sequence of photos today at Noto of two old chaps having a very animated conversation. There was a lot of gesticulation, of touching each other for emphasis, of drama and humour that seemed very Mediterranean. Again, pics to follow.

Sicily: sparkling Syracusa

You left us still shaky from the attempted assault on Etna and preparing for the next leg: cycling to Syracuse (further down the eastern coast). 

Lest this turn in to a litany of cycling disasters, I will skim over the details of the ride (as I failed to skim over the S114) that eventually saw one of us limp into town hot, tired and dehydrated. There are lessons to be learnt from this but, instead, let's hear what Jan felt about our destination which turned out to be a good place to recover from the ordeal of getting there.

"In Siracusa the sun shines, the streets are paved with gold and the sea sparkles once more. Our apartment is down a tiny alley between the marina and the duomo - perfectly placed for exploring the city. We set off on a gentle circuit of Ortigia island to get our bearings. This is the Baroque centre, built on the much earlier Greek and Roman foundations, sometimes quite literally: the duomo uses the original Greek temple (complete with pillars) as its frame, with a wonderfully over-the-top 18th century facade. I was really taken by some of the votive offerings to the local saint - lots of jewellery and watches, and a collection on eye-shaped charms.  A good market, where we bought fresh fish and vegetables for supper. Then onto the real classical stuff of Siracusa: the Greek amphitheatre, which is in a great position back on the mainland, with views across the bay. On the hillside above the theatre (effectively at its entrance) was the amusement park: caves cut into the hillside that must have provided the concessionary stalls for popcorn and oysters; a series of niches for the Avenue of Stars; then grottos and water features to amuse the punters before the drama, or the games, began. And below, an amazing cave with odd acoustics which had allowed sentries on the hillside above to eavesdrop on prisoners incarcerated below. These days, the cave offers tour guides the chance to show off their renditions of 'O sole mio'."

Good eh? And she didn't even mention our visit to a bike shop for parts that ended up with my trying out a very smart folding electric bike which turned out to be fab and just what I need for my 70th birthday. 

Sicily: heroes with coward's legs

It's only 11.00 am and I feel like we've climbed a mountain already. We are here in a little apartment in Zafferana which is the 'gateway' town to Etna, where people come to stock up on asbestos shoes, oven gloves, pith helmets...you get the idea.

We arrived here last night after a long ride up from Catania. It's only a couple of inches on the map but it took us a couple of hours to crawl up the hill, bikes fully laden. Mind you, for the first hour or so we were still reeling from our first experience of a proper Sicilian lunch.

We had dropped into the tourist info office at Catania to get a map, grab some wifi and identify the cultural must-misses. The wonderful staff had been super helpful, even though they laughed hysterically when they heard we were going to ride up Etna. 'No really' we said, 'We're from England.' As if that explained anything. Stupefied Sicilian silence followed. 'What? In the rain?' they said. Ahh..

I think the idea of lunch was their way of introducing us to how the Sicilians do things. Cue Jan.

"We were directed round the corner to Signora Nuncia's bar, where we had the most amazing meal, each ingredient carefully mimed and described by the signora. Had we been proper bloggers, there would be a photo of each dish. Suffice to say that we were already full after the primo (swordfish, giant prawn, slid, frittata, verdure and more) and shocked when secundo (pasta with fennel and cheese) appeared, and overwhelmed when our coffee was accompanied by chocolate tart."

And the wine Jan! After a couple of glasses of an excellent bianco, my zeal for the assault on Etna was reinvigorated. I just needed some tips from the experts so we went to visit the museum of the 1943 allied invasion of Sicily. Sobering stuff.

"Built within the ruins of a bombed-out factory, this was amazingly well done, with a simulated air-raid in a rocking shelter. Of course, it isn't frightening when you know that you are going to get out unscathed, but nevertheless salutary to think of the civilians killed by allied bombings, as we don't often encounter war descriptions that way round."

Back to the oh-so interesting two-wheeled assault. Since discovering that rain was forecast for the next two days, we had spent the evening working ourselves into a veritable frenzy of indecision about how best to proceed. In the event, on the basis that we would get wet wherever we went, it was decided we may as well do so ascending Etna as flitting from museum to cafe in Syracuse.

It started quite well dear reader, though the gradients were unremittingly tough. We ploughed on as the light drizzle got heavier, happily acting out our role as crazy English, waving merrily to the few cars and coaches passing us. No other cyclists seen.

Although Jan was, characteristically, forging ahead, I took increasingly frequent breaks to catch my breath. Even when the rain became heavier I wasn't too worried because I was already soaked to the skin and the exercise was keeping me warm. However as the rain, the hairpin bends and the wind all got worse our - no my - progress slowed to the extent that I was getting cold.

In the end it was the lightening that decided me. I'm not madly keen on being fried by a thunderbolt and sitting on a metal bike on an exposed road half way up a volcano struck me as ideal fry-up territory. Gunner Milligan called himself a hero with coward's legs - a description that seems to fit our situation - because, much to Jan's chagrin, I decided that a hot shower at the bottom of the hill was preferable to a cold deluge half way up.

And it was about half way up. We saw a sign saying that the top was about 10km away so we'll start again at that point next time...


ps Pics to follow later when technical gremlins are overcome.

Sicily: climbing little mountains

13th October, Palermo Hostel

We weren't supposed to be here but the pedal affair turned out to be more complicated than we had anticipated. Indeed, as we put away a bottle of some local wine over supper, we agreed that it's all been a bit uphill today. 

The exact details of how our indefatigable  mechanista battled with my crank shaft, hacking here and chopping there, need not detain you. Nor, how once the assembly had  fallen apart mere metres from his garage, I one-pedalled to catch a train/bus combo to Palermo, found a suitable bike shop and left Larkspur in their capable young hands while Jan and I took in just a smattering of the many cultural highlights that Palermo has to offer. 

Suffice to say that we triumphantly braved the evening rush hour traffic, steeds and mobility successfully restored with barely a dent in my pocket for the work, to arrive this hostel which is conveniently near to our first port of call tomorrow: the rail station. 

The damage for today is not inconsiderable: in addition to buggering up my crank shaft yesterday, I stood on my glasses this morning. 

Then there's the iPad. At various stages on today's walking tour of Palermo, we could hear my iPad spontaneously burst into life, sending forth muffled music from the depths of my bag. I switched it off a couple of times but didn't really take on board the error messages/cries for help that it was emitting. As a result, when I eventually had a look, it had decided that it was hors de combat and needs to be connected to my computer before it will play ball. Bum!

So that's essential travel equipment, essential personal equipment and essential communications equipment that have gone west. In one day! A challenge or what?

Not. Because it's as nothing compared to what lies ahead. Somehow we have agreed that we will travel to Catania on the east coast tomorrow and thence to a hostel with the revealing name of 'Etnaview'. Think of it as Base Camp. You know how the highest mountain most Brits ever walk up, Snowdon, is about 3000ft. Put three of those on top of each other and add some for good measure. And then agree to cycle up it! Oh God. What have I done?