Road trip diaries: Eastern Sicily in 48 hours
A road trip through a blur of Baroque towns, Volcanic terrain, hidden Nature Reserves and the food which fuelled it all.
The ferry arrives at the port of Messina and we anxiously wait for the doors to open and the strong Sicilian sun to greet the rows of cars shrouded in industrial darkness, all as eager as we are to drive towards the welcoming light. Patience is needed, but finally it is our turn to start the engine and roll towards dry land, further traffic and eventually, the open road.
Our first stop is the inimitable Taormina, town of endless elegance, ancient past, and legendary cannoli. We stop for a coffee at Bam Bar, uncertain of how we secured a free table among the busy August crowds, but we do not question our luck. The streets of Taormina are full but not unpleasantly so. Nonetheless, after our cappuccino, cravings turn to the sea and we stroll down to the beach.
The icy water shocks our systems more than the caffeine and sends sweet saltwater shudders through our bodies. Any remaining trace of drowsiness from the early start and the hours of driving are washed away. The Mediterranean Sea is the strongest medicine for tired eyes and stiffened limbs. We have forgotten our towels in the car, but we dry off within minutes, sprawled on the hot pebbles, the eager sun lapping up the drops of water on our skin. It is difficult to pull away from the smothering rays, but we manage and are on the road again, driving down the eastern coast.
We are playing Italian classics at full blast, singing along, the windows slightly down to feel and smell the Sicilian breeze. Suddenly, Mount Etna appears before us, a ring of smoke above its tip. The volcano that sleeps with one eye open, surprising and thrilling the island with its occasional eruptions that mean no harm but only delight.
With Etna following our every move, we turn into a dirt track and eventually the road is so off beaten that we abandon the car and go the rest of the way by foot. We are searching for the Parco Fluviale dell’Alcantara, a secret River Park where waterfalls and rock pools are nestled among slabs of rock made for basking upon in the summer heat. As we walk in search of it, our ears stay alert for any sound of gushing water that may guide us in the right direction. We fuel ourselves on fig, walnut and blackberry trees that line the ascending, dusty path, and we are spurred on by the unspoilt beauty that greets us at every corner.
Finally, we reach the top of a hill and take in the all-encompassing natural landscape. In the distance, we see the stream that leads to the waterfall and before long we are cooling off beneath it. We could have remained in this sanctuary forever, but our growing hunger spurs us further on in our adventure.
Somehow, we found the car again and drive into the town of Catania during the sleepy siesta hours of the day. We find one trattoria, Me Cumpari Turridu, that has stayed awake while the rest of the city dozes and we wolf down plates of seafood pasta and white wine. After lunch, we stroll around but cannot stay long. We still have plenty of road to cover before we reach our destination.
At dusk we arrive at Ragusa, town of baroque splendour. Driving along the winding road that leads to the city, we are dazzled by its sight; it radiates a strong and inviting glow of lights that illuminate the buildings that are stacked on top of each other one by one. It looks calm, untouched, uninhabited from afar but inside, it is palpitating with hazy yellow energy. We walk through the streets absorbing and remitting the tangible evening excitement; it is all new to us, but it seems like every summer night in Ragusa is like this. Not wanting to remove ourselves from the city’s buzz, we find a spot for dinner in the thick of it. We eat at I Banchi, a modern trattoria. It is uncertain where the outdoor seating ends and the pavement begins so you dine as the city’s current continues to flow alongside you. The food matches the sublimity of the atmosphere. Predominantly serving fish, each bite tastes like the island. When in Sicily, its delicacy, sea urchin pasta must be tried.
The after-dinner hours are a blur. I am still not sure how we made it from the restaurant to the car to the villa to the bed but the next thing I remember is waking up to the sun eagerly forcing itself through the cracks in the shutters, easing me awake and begging me to enjoy its nourishing rays.
The day is spent doing just that and, in the evening, we drive to the enigmatic Ortigia, an island off an island. It is connected to the rest of Sicily by a small bridge, and it feels like a past world. Smooth, creamy stone adorns the baroque piazzas, and its bay which is dotted with a row of laid-back bars, breathes in sea air and breathes out a kinetic soul. We stop for a drink as the sun starts to turn the buildings from velvety white to flaming orange and when they are eventually draped in the blue night sky, we head to our last supper at Ristorante Don Camillo.
We awake the next morning, excited to start our return journey because there are still so many sights to see. Coffee consumed, bags in boot, ignition ignited, we make our way to spectacular Noto, a town of honey-coloured stone structures. The arid sun creates sharp shadows on the rows of steps which lead up to the grandiose buildings but despite Noto’s exquisite design, the atmosphere is casual and unpretentious. We are there in the early morning and on a national holiday, so we relish the tranquil streets and uninterrupted calm.
We cannot leave without a stop at the legendary Caffè Sicilia, whose world fame does not detract an ounce of charm from the people or the place. Known for its granitas served with brioche, you choose a flavour and dip your fluffy pastry in the fruity concoctions. To go with our brioche, we chose sour cherry and almond granitas and a pistachio sorbet – a quenching and filling breakfast to power our journey home. Unable to leave without purchasing some cannoli and other Italian sweets to go, we must promise not to touch them until we reach home and can share them with our friends.
Back in the car, we cover long stretches until realising that we cannot leave Sicily without indulging in arancini. Deep fried domes of risotto originating on the island more than 10,000 years ago, we start hunting for this historic street food. We make detours into towns, villages, and hamlets but most bakeries are closed for the day. Giving up is not an option and after 2 hours we come across a tiny shop in a tiny town displaying row upon row of giant arancini. We do not hold back and purchase 12 gilded nuggets. We are barely out of the door before we tear open the parcel that has been delicately wrapped to protect these treasures. But like greedy looters, our frantic hands steal into the layers of paper and extract a rice ball. Every bite tastes like gold and affirms that our extensive mission to find an open shop was the right decision. Now we are late, and we have a great distance to drive to make it in time for the ferry’s departure.
Revitalised by the flawless Sicilian cuisine, we rush to the car, head up north and make it back to mainland Italy, taking the cannoli and remaining arancini with us but leaving a piece of our own selves behind.
We will return one day to collect it.
