"pasta is life"

"Have you been to the Greek theater yet?" Giuseppe asked at breakfast. I sighed. Another amphitheater. I had been to the Colosseum and the one at Pompeii where Pink Floyd played and the one at Siracusa....

"No, this one is better," he insisted. Because of the sea.…

It was raining when I woke up. Cold rain that turned to hail during breakfast. We watched it on the rooftop in disbelief. But it cleared up. I bundled up and trudged off.

The settlement of Naxos dates to 734 BC. After its destruction in 403 BC by Dionysus of Syracuse, Tauromenion was erected in its place in 358 BC.

The city became a Roman military colony in the 1st century BC and ultimately was razed by Arabs in the 9th century AD. It's a lot closer to the mainland than the rest of Sicily, so a lot easier to get to, and invade.

But in the mean time, this glorious theater on the hill hosted first plays and later brutal Roman spectacles, with ostriches and elephants.

(I learned some of this from eavesdropping on a tour group. Although the acoustics are excellent, so I was seated a ways up. One man stood at center stage and sang, and then the woman with him kissed in a passionate embrace.)

Etna got a fresh coat of snow last night. Giuseppe said he went up there, and it was freezing and miserable. He also said that eating pasta is why Sicilians live to be 100. Maybe it has something to do with this view.

On my way to lunch, I passed these ruins of the terme—historic thermal baths. It was just me and a couple of wary cats.

I decided it was time to try eggplant parmigiana.  Here it was baked, with a sweet tomato sauce. The waiter caught me sopping up the sauce with a roll and nodded approvingly.

But I couldn't bring myself to order a cassatine, now that I know they are meant to be the breasts of poor St. Agata.

When the sun went down, the temperature plunged again and the wind picked up. Ultimately I abandoned my plan to hear a New Year's concert (of local boy Bellini!) at a church on the other side of town, in favor of huddling in my warm room, celebrating the return of Nancy Pelosi. 

Rome will seem warm after this. Right? 

I will miss Sicily, from the lively resort towns to the temporarily deserted cities. The info signs around town say Taormina Cult, documenting the rich heritage of writers and composers and painters who've lived here. They missed their chance at a good slogan for souvenirs. If there's a cult, count me in. 

Sizzling

I'm winding down my days in Sicilia. In Germany, the sunny island is known as Sizilien. 

I am going to miss the food. And wine. And random Greek and Roman ruins. These luscious poached pears are for Liz.

You might run into Pinocchio anywhere.

I took the slow bus north east to Taormina, a sort of fractal route along the coast.

It's been chilly at night, and Etna wears a fresh coat of snow.

In the summer, there's a circum Etna train line that stops at wineries and Bronte, where the best pistachios come from.

Sigh.

But here's the view from my new B&B. I even have a teeny balcony.

It's about half the size of my last room, the famous Amelia room at Casa Barbero. Which means it takes a lot less time to heat. The temperature range from sunny daytime (high 60s) to after dark (40s) is stark. I expect to be sobbing by the time I get to Dublin.

Unhappy Madonna mosaic. It must be time for lunch. Giuseppi recommended Casa Niclodi, which was quite elegant. A glass of Moscato was indeed liquid sunshine. This is sfera di mazzancolla (raw prawns) wrapped around burrata and garnished with pistachios and arugula. It was delectable.

My next course was squid ink ravioli, filled with smoked salmon and ricotta. Served on pureed pumpkin, which was arguably the best part. After, the owner poured me a vial of dessert wine made from Malvasia, and I stumbled off, happy and full, to explore the historic district.

In the middle of Taormina is a 14th or 15th century church, now the public library archives. The collection includes several cinquecentos, books from roughly the 15th century.

Amusingly their English language collection is more popular than rare. Yes, that's a copy of Ulysses, and they have all of Dickens. But also Wilkie Collins and a few dictionaries and atlases from before I was born.

Now it was time for an adventure. Taormina is on a very steep hillside. As steep as any in San Francisco. Think Telegraph Hill with moscato. To get down to the beach, you take a gondola to Mazzaro and Isola Bella.

It looked a little scary, so I encouraged a couple with a little boy to ride down with me.  That way I wouldn't be the only one crying.

Yes, the car ahead of us is lurching to the side. That's my new friend Andre, from Malta. The car descends slowly and then suddenly much faster. Steeper and steeper. All 4 cars go together. I think it must be counterbalanced by the cars going down at the same time.

The views are pretty great.

This mini car (for 4 tiny people) is for sale. Actual size.

Taormina faces northeast, and the sun was just vanishing behind Etna behind us.

This pretty rock is Isola Bella (beautiful island). It had an estate on it, and the Sicilian government purchased it 20 years ago, and turned it into a natural preserve.

There are resorts along the beach in Mazzaro, and you can fish and dive from the beach. But they're all shut for the season.

I mentioned the steps, right? Taormina is like doing the Dipsea or Peak to Peak. Training. My cute B&B is up 5 or 6 flights of stairs, on Via Giuseppe Verdi off of Via Cappucini. And then two more flights up to the rooftop and balcony. The price we pay for this view.

Zooming back up the hill on the cable car seemed faster. Maybe because it was darker. Fine as long as I didn't look down.

The cable car goes right over a soccer field, with game in play.

In case a map would be handy. That's Reggio Calabria, on the mainland, that we see in the distance, across the water. Taormina is like the ball of the foot.

Taormina is close to Messina, the antica city destroyed in an earthquake and tsunami in 1908. I had originally considered take a night train from Naples to Sicily but was talked out of it. The train cars are put on a ferry between Reggio Calabria and Messina.

 Back through the arch for a snack.

 Oh, hey, I'm home.

Bam bar is the spot for granite. In the US, granita is usually espresso flavored. But the origins of granita more general. Granita is what we call Italian ices. The most typical flavor is limone, or any of the local citrus (orange, blood orange).

I got pomegranate and lemon. I was still full from lunch, so I didn't get it with the traditional accompaniment: a brioche! Awfully good. Taormina is a total resort town, so after days of being surrounded by locals (or maybe Italian tourists), there are now people from all over. A young couple at the next table was posing for ridiculous photos.

Some poetic but questionable detail on granite from a guidebook:


The firm and rich slush of Palermo is the ancestor of the modern ice cream. Its creation dates back to the time of the domination of the Arabs, who introduced the recipe of the sherbet, an iced drink flavoured with fruit juices or flowers. They used the snow fallen on the mountains of the island, then gathered in natural caves. In the summer, the ice was scratched in crumbs and seasoned, then as now, with typical and natural seasonings.

Hope your new year is off to a good start.