We lucked out today … the mist and wind of yesterday — gone. It had been fun on the Lime electric scooters the evening before… whizzing down the bike lane … hats and hair flying. Till we got to the fountain where wind hurled the spray across the road and drenched us.

Mount Etna was on full display as the train sped eastwards along the coast … snow capped with wisps of steam that drifted upwards from vents, like smoke from small fires. The town of Taormina cascaded down from its lofty perch towards the white sandy beaches and that impossible turquoise of the Mediterranean, while higher still … like icing on a cake … was the town of Castelmola. The bus driver on this route certainly earned his keep. The tight switchbacks were so close together that on Google they looked like a solid mass. Scraping by walls, overhanging buildings and other vehicles has to be a skill learned over years of practice. He nonchalantly passed buses, vans and trucks on their way down with literally centimeters to spare, while motor scooters … impatient as always … darted through the bus’s wide turn, on the inside!

The views from Taormina are breathtaking … right over the Ionian sea to the tip of Italy … the valley, town and coves below on one side … Mount Etna on the other. The town itself is extremely picturesque … but bursting with visitors, filling the sidewalk cafes …. every shop displaying the same brightly-coloured souvenirs. The bus to Castelmola didn’t leave for another 45 minutes so we dived into quieter backstreets and discovered to our delight an unexpected treasure … the most gorgeous park. The only downside was not enough time to explore. We must come back on our way down.

More tortuous hairpin bends as the bus climbed higher and higher before pulling onto a wide plaza. <gasp> If the views from Taormina were spectacular, those from Castelmola were absolutely staggering. All along the coastline and the red tiled rooves of the town far below. It was much less crowded up here …. a warren of quiet, narrow streets tumbling over each other …. intimate enclaves of tables and chairs for a coffee or snack … cubby hole-sized shops tucked around corners with beautiful local fabrics in traditional yellows, reds and blues. And a quirky ceramic flamingo that certainly would have gone into my suitcase … if I’d had the room. (Perhaps I could’ve left Glen’s shoes behind!) This place should be a must on everyone’s bucket list. This short video of the area is nicely done https://youtu.be/WFjanqCmBoY

We revisited the park – Villa Comunale di Taormina … former gardens of Lady Florence Trevelyan — a keen ornithologist who reportedly had been banned from Queen Victoria’s court because of a dalliance with Edward VII (but then who hadn’t, if accounts are to be believed!) The garden was full of extraordinarily eccentric (but beautiful) follies gleaming warmly in the mellow evening sun. Peaceful and elegant curving staircases and walkways … huge round terra cotta pots … groves of umbrella pines and palm trees with peeks over the sea …. a well-used children’s park … and statues to Sicily’s fallen during WWII. Around one corner was something I recognized instantly …. one of the 2-man ‘submarines’ used by frogmen for laying magnetic mines in Alexandria harbour in December 1941. In researching Dad’s book I was familiar with the event, but hadn’t realized that one of the 6 frogmen was from Taormina. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raid_on_Alexandria_(1941)

Goodness, I haven’t mentioned any food in this post! Perhaps I can remedy that by covering the best and the worst meals in Catania. For some reason I forgot to take photos … sorry.

Hands down the best was at Chef Dede … small, cosy restaurant on a backstreet. It was a Monday evening and sadly we were the only people there. Attentive French waiter. The starter was an exquisite baked Aubergine and goat cheese confection in a tomato sauce … every element was perfection. Followed by homemade fresh pasta and two kinds of prawns in a cream and white wine sauce strewn with parsley. The pasta al dente, the prawns magnificent. Lastly a long-braised beef in a red wine glaze that you could cut with a fork. And who could argue with apple galette and pears in wine for dessert. Oh my.

Street food was an experience. Small establishments with vast barbecues cooking up your choice of fare … sausages, skewered meats, steaks and fish to more adventuresome offal like tripe, or even horse and donkey! It was entertaining as well … a costermonger of an owner bellowing to prospective customers, brandishing cutlery or slapping plates (empty ones) onto tables with an explosive ‘bang’. The Parma ham wrapped croquettes were OK but the whole bbq’d squid was exceptional drizzled with olive oil and lemon. Bit pricey for lunch at 40 euros … we’ve found most places charge for a table, water, bread … some add on a cover charge as well. These are all supposed to be posted on the menu or at least visible, but are often cunningly hidden.

Worst food had to be the bruschetta’s. We weren’t particularly hungry but thought a couple with a beverage would go down well as a mid afternoon snack. The menu showed fresh fruit juice, and as Sicily was rightly proud of its oranges we selected orange juice. No, no juice … only Fanta, Coke, Sprite. How about Tea? Black tea? No … only cans of iced tea. Okay we’ll have those. Now, a mere two blocks away is Catania’s famous market place … we had just walked through it and every stall was sagging under the weight of gorgeous fresh produce … including Sicily’s other prized product — bright red, luscious pomodoro – tomatoes. Our bruschetta, when they arrived, were covered with something totally unrecognizable as tomato, so pale you could have sworn it was onion … not only that Glen’s bread was completely different to mine, and all were floating on a sea of olive oil. Good olive oil is delicious when generously drizzled, but this stuff was abysmal. Clearly, as tourists we could be given any old thing. I’m oft one to quietly mutter and put up with poor service but not so in this instance. Waitress was flagged down to inquire about the lack of ripe RED tomatoes. With a shrug she begrudgingly went to talk to the kitchen. “Don’t bother” … we paid for the iced tea, and left.

Awoke to rain. The patio and furniture were dripping, the sea obscured by mist. But wait … things suddenly looked brighter. A check of the forecast for Siracusa …. SUN — all afternoon. Yes! Threw stuff in a backpack and raced to the bus station dodging cars and scooters … side-stepping around slow pedestrians. Ten minutes to spare. Even though we used our BEST Italian to check with a student standing in the same line (she was studying Chemistry at the university and lived in Siracusa) if this was the right bus … she answered in English! I guess we just look “from away”.

Online was full of helpful hints on what one should do to blend in: wear muted colours, nothing bright and definitely nothing purple (that’s for funerals) …. no worries there, but have they seen the people walking around town in primary colours so vivid they hurt the eyes?? And yes, purple too! Next up Hats: they seem to be non existent, excepting an occasional toque or ball cap … women just DON’T … period! Hmm, not giving up our Tilley hats, I’m afraid. Shoes are on the list … EVERYONE wears spotless, brand new, pristine white runners – often with soles the thickness of pillows (and with sparkles) …even for dog walking. Or it’s leather boots with high, clunky heels that look very awkward to walk in. Men usually wear comfortable leather or suede. I guess we fail here too (see photo). We’re doomed, so best get used to it. But I’d love to know what they do with their old, scuffed and less reputable footwear.

Siracusa has a diverse selection of churches and cathedrals in wildly divergent styles — this one: Santuario Madonna delle Lacrime is often referred to as an upside down ice cream cone! https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Madonna_delle_Lacrime,_Siracusa This is also the birthplace of the ‘Greek’ mathematician, philosopher and scientist – Archimedes … Sicily used to be part of the Greek empire. There’s a large brass pi sculpture in the middle of town (sadly we’d just missed Pi-Day …. 3.14) A statue of him stands on the bridge and a rather grand fountain with rearing horses in the main plaza.

The Greek Theatre (Teatro Graco) is one of the largest in the world and entirely excavated from rock. Its floor was being renovated while we were there with a new wooden structure. Apparently it still offers evening performances during the summer months … a sunset would be an amazing backdrop. There were cave-like ‘rooms’ around the rim overlooking the theatre … delicate ferns had taken root in the ceilings and one even had a waterfall. Wildflowers were in bloom all around … deep pink Mallow … miniature yellow snapdragons, tiny bells of blue campanula …. purple bindweed (morning glory) trailing over walls and shrubs.

Along a walkway cool and shady with Olives, stands of tall bamboo and glimpses through to orange groves. Statues (heads missing but usually repositioned elsewhere – often under an arm or in the crotch!) nestled in grottos or round a bend in the path. And then suddenly, The Ear of Dionysus … probably Syracusa’s most famous cave. A massive ear-shaped rent in the cliff that has astonishing acoustic properties. According to legend, Dionysus used to house his prisoners there and eavesdrop on their conversations. Oh to have someone sing an impromptu rendition of The Pearl Fishers or Con Te Partiro or in this case, a choir https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eUZI5_vSS7A Caves further along had mirror-still pools with curious colourful sculptures appearing to float, while dozens of tiny finches flitted among the high ferny overhang, singing beautifully. The security guard kept a wary eye on us while having a more mundane conversation on her phone.

Ortygia is a small island connected to Siracusa by two short bridges – nice photos here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ortygia Just as we were debating whether to visit (it’s a bit of a walk) a hail from the road, and there was an ape (pronounced a-pay … Italian for “bee” … sounds like one too) …. the diminutive three-wheeled workhorse of Italy … used for trucks, mobile fruit/veg/food stands, and transport in general. In this case people (like a tuk-tuk). This was a retired guy, official tour guide, and offered to take us over to Ortygia — pointing out places of interest along the way. Great way to travel. BTW Vespa … as in motor scooters, mean ‘wasp’ in Italian. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piaggio_Ape (Of course Glen wants one).

Such a pretty spot … an inner harbour filled with multi-coloured fishing boats, glorious older buildings with elaborate wrought-iron balconies jostled side-by-side with apartment buildings in the Mussolini era with curious semi-circular balconies, but still quite elegant. A fortress and monumentous winged statue guarded the seaward end. (I must find out the significance of miss-placed heads and severed hands around the ankles!) Walking back along the waterfront big, scruffy fish boats contrasted nicely with the sleek, shiny ocean cruisers. One boat in particular took our fancy … fishing floats strung up, bits of washing, tubs covered in fish scales and tattered remnants of flags fluttering in the wind.

Instead of the bus, we took the train back. Very oddly, Catania has two train stations mere minutes apart (by train) – often with trains leaving for the same locations at the same time. Europa (close to us) still has a roundhouse which is visible from our balcony. We arrived at platform 2 in the main station with 11 minutes to figure out where the connecting train would leave from. We hadn’t budged a step when zooming into the same platform was (apparently) the train to Europa via Messina (2 hours distant) Rather nervously we stepped aboard … it’s only one stop … would it actually stop, or whisk us off to the end of Sicily? It cruised at a sedately speed into the station and deposited us nicely … steps away from the apartment.

Squeezed into Helena’s car and deposited at the bus station … ticket said to be there 30 minutes beforehand, but that would have been a waste. People stood around in a desultory manner … on phones … eating … chatting. Exactly at 11 the bus tor Catania arrived and we set off to strains of The Wall, by The Who. A great start.

Not the mountainous terrain we were expecting … instead a vast, flat plateau covered with farmland, stone walls and olive trees, gradually descending to orange groves completely covered with bright orange fruit. Mount Etna sat glowering off to the left …. its summit draped in clouds and snow so we don’t know if it was smoking or not.

Our apartment this time was on the 8th floor (only the penthouse above) overlooking the ocean and coastline all around the bay. Wow! Massive terrace, too. Interestingly, the only DVDs in the apartment were a set of The Sopranos! Picked up groceries at a Lidl store including some very nice Nero D’Avola. The guy in front of us was obviously stocking up on wine — must’ve had a dozen or so. Maybe that particular one was on sale, but they fitted nicely into their child’s stroller (pushchair).

Catania is OLD … busy … gritty … lived in … interesting. Dating back goodness how many centuries … first taken over by the Greeks … then the Romans … survived Mt. Etna’s eruption in 1669 and then a huge earthquake 30 years later (the populace must’ve wondered why they were being punished so). Being a resourceful bunch they rebuilt each time using a lot of the readily available resources … lava rock … hence the name “black city” … when used effectively with white marble the results are dramatic. There’s an affiliation with elephants too … apparently a diminutive species of pachyderm, no more than a meter tall, used to be a mascot, so a black statue of Liutu the elephant greets all comers to the city.

A bus trip 10 km up the coast with stops along the way was a couple of hours well spent … to the tiny villages of Aci Castello and Aci Trezza — the first with an impressive Norman-style castle atop a volcanic mount … the second with fascinating lava outcrops called the cyclopean isles … rather like giant teeth.

Down to Catania’s famous fish market … although we were too late for all the action (will catch that another day), there was certainly a lingering aroma denoting the fact. Sidewalk restaurants were just re-opening after their afternoon break (2:30 to around 5:00) … menus looked tempting with specials that you knew were freshly caught that morning. Scirocco was highly recommended for seafood in traditional paper cones. The fried catch-of-the-day one contained prawns, anchovies (fresh), squid and another small whitefish. Piping hot and crunchy. There was a dish of octopus and potato salad, and bags of arancioni – deep fried balls of rice, meat or fish filling. The one with squid ink was disconcertingly jet black inside.

Catanian composer Vincenzo Bellini (1801-1835) – like Mozart – began composing at the early age of 6. He was greatly influenced by Rossini, who had taken all the Italian theatres by storm, however the elderly masters at the Conservatory in Naples opposed any form of imitation as they considered Rossini a “corrupter of good Italian tradition”. Bellini went on to great acclaim at La Scala in Milan, London and Paris, where many of his famous operas, including Norma, were performed by the likes of Maria Callas and Joan Sutherland. Here in town he has a dish named after him – Pasta alla Norma … pasta in tomato sauce with fried aubergine and grated ricotta cheese.

Discovered a little Frutta e Verdura along the street . . .. not quite as nice as the one in Ragusa. Here the owner insisted on picking out the produce for us — unfortunately, the clementines were definitely past their best … but the piselli (fresh peas), and the long, green Romano beans we’d first discovered in Spain, were exceptional.

Villa Bellini Park was a quiet, expansive garden with fountains, sunny piazzas, shady benches, cool treed hideaways … and a cricket game going on. Families on the sidelines … a child’s tricycle as a wicket, and a tennis ball … outfielding was a touch haphazard as children ran onto the pitch, or dogs made off with the ball. While watching the pigeons from our shady bench, music could be heard off in the distance … Hmm – sounds like Staying Alive by the BeeGees … and oddly, the male pigeon desperately trying to impress his ladylove with his dancing skills DID have all white feathers! Oh, now it’s YMCA by the Village People … it’ll be The Macarena next!! A closer look revealed an older gentleman with speakers and a boom-box set up … doing his rendition of John Travolta, albeit with a little less agility. You have to give him credit, though … and he did attract a couple of young women and some children to join in. Bellini Chiosco was doing a fine trade in freshly squeezed orange juice, coffee, granita and sweets. Chioscos (Kiosks) are the centre of every neighbourhood … a meeting place for refreshment and local gossip in equal measure … young and old alike.

One of the main pedestrian thoroughfares was awash in people out for a promenade. Parents with strollers, families, groups of teenagers, those still in their Sunday finery from church, dogs of every description, friends gathered on the sidewalk for a coffee and chat. And we joined in … ordering a caffe and a couple of cannoli … well, you have to, this is Sicily after all (they were delicious) … and indulged in some people watching.

Back through the plaza and the Cathedral to St. Agathe (patron saint of Catania) … past the two mounted police (one on his cell phone) … past a second church to St. Agathe … the light at this time of evening is gorgeous … down a litter-strewn lane to an area where an unofficial street market is held daily. Gone now, but replaced by a sidewalk crowd, some sitting atop tables beating time, others dancing to toe-tapping Brazilian samba.

Elevators in apartment buildings here are generally really compact — 4 people maximum and maybe a bag of groceries. Definitely not designed for moving furniture. We got a front row seat of the apartment building across the way … one couple were moving from their 9th floor apartment on one side to a 10th floor one, slightly over. First you hire TWO trucks with extendable ladders which can reach the tenth floor, but they have to be nimble enough to squeeze through the security gates, past a line of scooters, miss the trees and potted shrubs in the courtyard and position themselves directly under the appropriate balconies. Stabilizer legs were deployed, ladders extended, then retracted (wrong position) … one team member on each balcony directing …. truck driver below operating the ladder mechanism … and of course the home owner chipping in his (or her) two pennyworth. There was a lot of shouting (despite the cell phones) hand waving and pauses for discussion … all with cigarette lodged firmly in corner of the mouth. A trial run with wheeled basket … up and down. Then with sides down, creating a flat platform. I counted about 9 people involved … the two truck drivers, two workers on the ground moving stuff, four more up on the balconies loading … and one PR guy who supervised the front doors … kept the tenants up to date on what was happening … chatted with delivery persons, mail man, old dears heading off shopping, etc.

Once in place, the operation was pretty slick. Boxes, chairs, suitcases, household goods, furniture, blankets, potted plants were all loaded onto the wheeled platform … nothing was secured or strapped on, no hard hats worn. Down the platform would hurtle at great speed … wobbling precariously … stuff rapidly transferred over to the second platform … whereupon it would zoom up at break-neck speed to the next apartment. We hung out the window thoroughly enjoying the show…. and speculating on the probable cost involved. Can’t have been cheap.

Another cool, cloudy day. Helena mentioned there was a big market in upper Ragusa every Wednesday and Thursday morning. We timed the number 31 community bus beautifully and the driver waved away payment. It wound its way through ridiculously narrow crowded streets jam-packed with cars, people, delivery trucks and scooters. A tirade of toots and honks as indignant drivers found their ways blocked … a dialogue between bus driver through his open window and a police car going the other way … which then prompted a conversation among several of the older passengers. Clearly traffic was not what it used to be judging by the tsks, head shakings and wild gesturing of hands. Wonderful stuff!

The market place was HUGE … independent lorries and carts lined up outside (obviously not wishing to rent space) … while the inner enclosure was set up with dozens and dozens of canopies under which was every manner of item imaginable. Produce … of course. It must be artichoke season because there were boxes and boxes of them — long-stemmed, green and purple-tinged. Rainbows of fruit and veg … wheelbarrows full of tiny oblong clams … vans selling formaggio (cheese) and carne (meat) …. long, portable counters of fresh fish, gleaming and smelling of the sea … stalls with shoes … underwear … outer clothes … handbags … knick-knacks … trinkets woven from palm leaves and decorated with coloured ribbons. It was a glut on the senses … and quite marvelous. THIS is what a market should be.

Walking back we stopped for a coffee … a macchiato … tiny and delicious. Past a post office that didn’t sell stamps, yet had a post box — apparently one needs to go to a tabacchi (a tobacconist) for stamps! Side tracked through a portion of the Jungle Walk of Ragusa … a deep ravine with dense trees, shrubs and prickly pear cactus growing up the sides, a tumbling stream along the bottom and the rusted remains of old railway lines and tunnels. Bird song filled the air and occasional shallow caves dotted the sides. A pleasant interlude.

That evening we took a nighttime walk down to Ibla … the buildings were all bathed in golden light or shadow. Although it was the most amount of people we’d seen since arriving here, none of the restaurants seemed to be doing much trade. I wonder how they make a living in off season. The community bus whizzed us most of the way up the hill again … only two flight of steps to reach our place.

Our Hosts Helena and Giancarlo were heading into Modica on Thursday morning and offered to take us along. A good opportunity to practice our Italian … although to be honest, their English was vastly superior. Modica is another town draped over a mountainside with impossibly balanced houses one atop the other, higgledy-piggledy like miss-placed children’s blocks. We were to meet up at around 1:30, so off we set to explore. We had hoped to find the Syphilis Museum (well, who wouldn’t?)

One of Modica’s famous sons was Tomasso Campailla. Although not a doctor by profession, Campailla nevertheless managed to promote medical studies in the County of Modica leading him to experiment in 1698 with his famous “barrels” (later called Campailla barrels ) mainly for the treatment of syphilis (considered the disease of the century), but also rheumatism and osteoarthritis. The the barrels were made of very hard wood 20cm thick. Large pieces of coal were placed in a fire in an adjacent courtyard then moved to the brazier in the barrel where cinnabar and incense were added. The temperature in the barrel reached 60/70 degrees C. and the patient normally received 9 treatments on alternate days. Originally, patients sat with only their heads poking out of the barrels, but surely all those Mercury fumes would prove much more beneficial if taken in on the inside … so future models had people totally enclosed! The results were so satisfactory that Modica acquired notoriety throughout Europe, and examples still exist today inside the ancient Hospital of S. Maria della Pietà. What doesn’t kill will cure! Or did I get that the wrong way round! We found his house, but sadly not the museum.

Two cathedrals divide the populace of Modica … San Pietro in the lower half (closed so we couldn’t see inside) … and San Giorgio for the upper regions. The interior is gorgeous in white, blue and gold … tasteful, understated with paintings and statues commemorating St. George and the dragon. Perhaps it’s my imagination, but the facial features do seem quite feminine. An Osteria on the main street offered Piatti del giorno (special of the day) and one looked particularly interesting — zupa de cece (chickpea soup with wild greens). A customary basket of bread and bottle of olive oil for starters …. this olive oil was delicious … smooth and fruity. Then the soup … in gigantic pottery bowls the size of saucepans … complete with their own ladle – enough for three helpings each! It was delicious, but certainly left no room for coffee or dessert.

Our meeting point was right outside Modica’s famous chocolate factory — known Europe-wide for it’s product. Like the one in Ragusa its chocolate is made using the ancient Aztec way where sugar granules provide just the right amount of sweetness and texture.

A lovely day …. gracious hosts … impossible scenery … we shall be sorry to leave tomorrow. BTW I’m still full after that soup. Perhaps just a nibble of chocolate . . . . !

It was cloudy and cool today … dark skies threatened but after a sprinkle or two, didn’t do anything. There are countless ways of walking down to the lower section of town (Ibla) — all involve stone steps of varying widths and steepness … criss-crossing the road at times, or winding past doorsteps in a most personal fashion. Being Sunday most shops are shut tight and the streets are so quiet (apart from the church bells ringing every hour) it’s like we’re the only people about. In the main thoroughfare tobacconists are open, as are the churches, and family meals at restaurants are popular. A sign pointing to the chocolate factory … being Sunday I imagine it’s closed, but no, the owner had just locked his door but opened it again just for us. Google translate was a boon as he explained the two types of chocolate produced there … traditional with cocoa butter, which is smoother … and the original brought over by the Spaniards which just uses cocoa and sugar. The texture is quite different as you can feel the grittiness of the sugar before it melts on the tongue. The reason being it makes a great hot chocolate drink when heated. This is also a Choco Hotel … with several B&B rooms upstairs for those who want a total cioccolato experience!

On the way back up, the sun peeped through, and a couple of pauses to enjoy the views provided very welcome rests <I wonder if anyone has actually counted all the steps?> Phew! https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ragusa,_Sicily The first photo in the link is our view over Ibla. Not bad eh?

On Monday, we had a car booked for two days so the night before thought it prudent to check out the location so we’d know where to go. The address was 398C. Arriving at 398 there was only a dilapidated store and a vacant one on the corner. Well, this is not encouraging. We walked all around the block in case it was around the back … nothing. On the off chance I wandered across the road … “Glen! There’s another 398 here … and 398B and there’s 398C! This is Sicily … expect the unexpected!

Months ahead, long before we left Canada, the booking was checked and rechecked, assurances made that we could get 100% comprehensive for 70 Euros a day. Today however forms in Italian and English both stated (to varying degrees) that only a maximum of 80% would be covered, any accidents or damage would require us to pay the rest. We’d had no trouble getting full coverage in Spain and UK … and this was not good enough (especially with some of the drivers around). So, we said grazie ma non grazie, and left. There’s so much to see locally, not having a car wouldn’t be a hardship.

A small farm truck was just unloading fresh veggies to a grocer’s as we passed … everything looked so vibrant and dewy fresh, we just had to go in. Shelves of oranges, clementines, apples, pears …. boxes brimming with white AND purple cauliflowers, potatoes, broccoli and beans … bunches of fat, orange carrots like bouquets … and strawberries … oh the strawberries – in petite trays like perfectly polished rubies worthy of any jewelry shop window. A stack of thick brown paper bags (large and small) sat on the counter for customers to fill with their choice of produce … no guanti plastico (plastic gloves) required these days (even though they were available). Between our smattering of Italian, the shop assistant’s bit of English and a lot of nodding, we came came away with a shopping bag bulging with goodies. Plump pieces of chicken from the butcher’s shop across the street completed our purchases … that’s dinner sorted for tonight!

Tuesday — Brilliant sunshine, not a cloud in the sky. After much rummaging in the cupboard beside the washing machine and translating the fine print on all bottles and packages – no washing liquid was to be found, however Helena’s partner Giancarlo popped round with some and soon two loads (it’s a tiny machine) were drying outside on an airer. After lunch we took the bus to Marina de Ragusa on the coast … apart from one other person we had the coach to ourselves at first, but it soon filled — mostly with students leaving school. Out into the countryside … patchworks of spring-green fields each edged in miles and miles of neat dry stone walls topped with rounded caps … intermingled were huge swaths of brilliant yellow flowers (from the bus they looked like dandelions, but I don’t think they were), or paler primrose yellow cape sorrel with ribbons of bright orange calendulas or blood-red poppies. Along the verges were patches of low-growing magenta plants. If only we could stop and take photos! But this might give an idea of the flowers: https://smudgedpostcard.com/wild-flowers-sicily/

Marina de Regusa was a quiet seaside town … its enormous marina housed hundreds of sailboats, but also some truly massive catamarans … the size of houses. There were a couple of unusual geese sunning themselves and preening … one was easy enough to identify as an African Goose https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/African_goose however the other remains a mystery. In some respects it looked like a Brandt with its white collar, but it had an orange beak not black. Perhaps it’s a hybrid.

The washing had almost dried, but the heated towel rail in the bathroom is the BEST — finished drying the clothes in no time. Just like Spain every place has washing machines … but no-one has dryers.

Dinner tonight was a crisp salad and fresh tortellini stuffed with Parma ham (we concocted a sauce from tomatoes, peppers, zucchini, onions and dried Sicilian oregano) … mopped up with bread, of course. Creamy apricot yoghurt with tangy chunks of fruit was a nice finish.

Breakfast in a sun-filled room with blue and while table cloths and a wide selection of comestibles — such a civilized way to start the day. Ernesto swept in with a large pot of freshly brewed coffee and another of milk (your choice of hot or cold). Juice, sliced meats and cheeses, yoghurt, croissants, crusty rolls, jams and an interesting-looking cake dusted with icing sugar (coconut and apple – quite delicious). There was an hour before our bus, so Giovani stored our bags and we wandered down to the beach area … it had been dark when we arrived the night before. Pozallo had obviously been quite a grand place in previous years, but now was slightly faded . . . obviously more of a stop-off place for those taking or arriving by ferry … but it wasn’t really tourist season yet, either. There were tranquil gardens with massively-trunked trees, one actually used a nearby tree to prop itself up. A curbside gas station — no need to leave the road or get out!

Although Pozallo used to have a running train system, it’s now defunct … the old train station is still used as a pick up point for Tren Italia buses. Coordinates plugged in, we set off. Indeed there was a train station – desolate and shuttered … no sign, notice or indication that this was a bus stop. We stood on the side of the road and waited. People drove by and stared curiously … well that gives us confidence, not! Stopped a man on his morning constitutional to enquire whether this really was the bus stop to Ragusa. Apparently not. We needed the bus station … go down this road, turn right, round the roundabout then left (sinistra). Along the way saw a coach that was going to Catania, so we enquired whether they knew where the Ragusa bus left from. The bus driver and assistant consulted — over the road, but not until 1:00pm! There was noo bus stop that we could see. Off we set again and this time encountered a tradesman with his truck …maybe he knows. He thought we should go back the way we’d come … no, no said his friend we need to go to the main road along the waterfront and catch a bus there. A lady’s voice from the balcony above joined in and there was a lively three way conversation – the general consensus was to head to the waterfront where there were lots of buses.

By this point we were feeling weary. It was getting quite hot dragging our cases along behind. We found a shady bench overlooking the sea and considered our options. A phone call to the Tren Italia help line assured us that yes, there was a bus on Saturdays from the Old Train station at 11:00 am and 4:00pm. We purchased two more tickets, this time for 4pm … three and a half hours to kill. It was no hardship sitting eating gelato while watching the waves and children in the park. Further along there was a cafe with excellent coffee and a very friendly waitress … then back to the deserted train station to see if the bus would show up this time.

Rather ominously, parked outside was a taxi … it was our friend from the ferry terminal! This didn’t look promising. He slowly drove up and as anticipated said, “No bis on Saturdays … you need taxi … where you want to go?” We told him we had bus tickets and would wait. He drove off … but returned a few minutes later with ANOTHER taxi driver … both claiming there was “no bis oggi” – no bus today. Do they have a deal going with Tren Italia? We know when we’re beaten … we took a taxi to Ragusa. The driver was actually very nice, the scenery was jaw-dropping — with towns literally dripping down hillsides … and we were deposited right outside the door. Helena arrived two minutes later and we were soon ensconced in her wonderfully quirky, eclectic, comfortable and spacious apartment. Gorgeous plant-filled patio, a hammock, and views out the gated archway right across the valley … and a huge bowl of fruit on the dining room table with apples, pears, lemons and three types of oranges. Wow!

No question we’ll get a workout while here – there’s absolutely no flat ground anywhere. There are two parts to Ragusa … Superior above us and Ibla below and nothing but hundreds of steps or steep roads in between!