Category Archives: Italy

A collection of travelogues from my trips to Italy, peppered with reviews and recommendations of accommodation, walking tours, restaurants and pubs.

Travelogue Sardinia 2: Oristano to Olbia

ORISTANO TO OLBIA

25 – 29 September 2022

We awoke to pouring rain in Oristano which was a bit of a thorn in the side of our plans. We were destined to go to Alghero via the town of Bosa, mentioned more than a few times as being one of the most beautiful towns in Italy. 

As several rows of Smartie-box townhouses embedded against a steep hillside, neatly placed between a wide river at its entrance and an ancient castle overlooking the town, it was not the ideal excursion for a rainy day.

Not keen on canning the plan completely, we decided to lay low for a bit and check-out of our hotel at the latest possible time to give the rain a chance to blow over. This also gave us a lot more time to enjoy the breakfast buffet which, as per the previous we’d experienced in Sardinia so far was a gluttonous mix of charcuterie, cheeses, pastries, eggs, yoghurts, juices, cakes and puddings. Heaven for a sugar junkie like me!

Leaving at 11 (the hotel, not the buffet; I would have literally burst if I spent any longer in the breakfast room) we made our way 40km up the coast and, fortunately, seemed to drive through and ahead of the rain. By the time we got to Bosa it was grey but clear.

We started our self-guided city tour at the Bosa Marina to have a closer look at the tower at the water’s edge. Unfortunately it was closed to the public so it was just a case of going up to the tower, taking a snap and repeating the return journey back to the car to proceed to Bosa town. 

We took a walk up to the Castello Malaspina, which made a brilliant vantage point to overlook the town below. Much like what we had seen in Cagliari old town, it was a dense packed community of mostly 3-storey tall buildings very close together, winding their way down the hillside on cobbled streets.

While we had been efficient in taking the steep steps up to the castle, we opted to take a more leisurely zigzag down from the castle which proved to be an interesting activity in itself. 

We had noted that the Sardinians were generally a nation petite in stature, but were still surprised and tickled by how many of these old houses had really tiny doors – to the point that they were barely wider than my shoulders and took me up to my chin. We also commended the locals on their managing the bumpy and slippery cobblestones which were even tricky in our top-end trainers! 

We also noted that Bosa, wise to being a tourist town – clearly evidenced by the number of fellow tourists who were speaking English, French and German, had several restaurants bucking siesta conventions and serving a roaring trade of pizza, pasta and seafood.

Some of the restaurants were no more than a handful of tables; all that could fit in the narrow alleys and small apertures at their disposal. 

If Julia’s story was true about these towns being purposefully built as a labyrinth with narrow winding rows to slow down and confuse enemies, then it would have taken a highly motivated army of Lilliputians with instinctive better-than-modern-Mini GPS and Nike-level sandals to even bother with Bosa! Maybe stop in for a pizza en route to raiding the next village though…

The last leg of our journey was 60km to Alghero. We had begun an audiobook called ‘As Good As It Gets’ by a British comedian called Romesh Ranganathan and the three of us made our merry way. 

It was a very scenic drive through the countryside with parts where we climbed up and through mountain roads that gave spectacular views across the green fields and to the hint of the sea on the horizon. At other parts it was dense greenery, obscuring anything that lay beyond.

Entering Alghero it was very clearly a seaside holiday town. Double lanes on either side for the nobody-in-any-hurry cars, holiday flats lining the inland side with restaurants and shops selling holiday tack below. 

On the beach side, there was a palm tree-lined 3 or 4 metre wide smooth walkway, with demarcated bicycle lanes. Bubbles of cafés and kiosks serviced the  visitors, either seated to face the beach or spilling onto the beachsand. The sea glistened and shone, gamely gently bobbing the yachts and washing some of its crystal blues waters up the sand to give everyone something to watch.

Great spot for a couple of days’ downtime.

We had rented an apartment for our stay. Even though we were a bit early for our 4pm check in, we made our way to our neighbourhood such that we could park the car, have a walk around and worry about the admin later. 

When we arrived though, the receptionist was there and we were able to check in and offload.

We were on the opposite end of the beach to the old town, so the obvious plan was to amble our way back along the beachfront road we’d come in on, all the way to the citadel.

You’d think that by now these historic fixtures would be getting a bit like wallpaper to us… but no. The same fascination at being immersed in an open air museum! 

It helps that Alghero has many exhibits along the battlements so you can freely touch and snap catapults and cannons as you walk along the battlements. 

Of course it was thirsty work, so one must stop for an ice cold Ichnusa every now and then to keep motivated! 

The evening trade was just coming to life. We Googled to find somewhere opening at 18h30 and found a delightful rock bar cafe called L’Anfora down a side street. We were standing in their doorway when they opened…

Although the restaurants open later, there seems to be a tapas culture on this side of the island, which we assumed to be a latent Spanish influence. Assumed and applauded, that is, as we tucked into the basket of chips that was served along with our beers.

By the time we left all the tables outside the bar were full; most patrons enjoying charcuterie boards with their drinks. Perhaps that was the way to survive the fasts between meals, but in our state a few slices of cold cuts and a wedge or two of fancy cheese would not have gone far!

We moved on to dinner – again the first arrivals at the place. We’d chosen a place called El Pultal because it had a rooftop terrace. Not that it had a view of the sea or anything, but it was quite novel to be among the rooftops with the fresh air and the soundtrack of the streets below.

Ordering a simple Diavola pizza and penne Ragu (bolognaise back home), we marvelled at how the quality of the Italian process made the meal more about the dough and the pasta than the sauces. Not just a delivery mechanism for a laundry list of toppings.

We were still talking about it when we took the long walk back along the beach to get home. The beachfront was still busy, with people just arriving for their evening’s entertainment. We again wondered if we were better off squeezing a secret mealtime in during siesta so that we could integrate… or if we’d like it too much and that would create havoc for our schedule when we got home!

MONDAY

We had the luxury of a leisurely start to the day before donning our runners and putting takkie to tar to run the same loop we’d ambled the night before, and fill in the photo album gaps where we’d been unable to get good snaps because it was too busy.

Even though we set off after 9, we had the place to ourselves. Besides a few cafes lapping up the tourist breakfast trade, the seaside was still sleeping and we were able to clock 7.5km or so with photo stops in well under an hour.

Not that there was any rush. With a lazy day ahead, we weighed up our options on things to do and decided to hunt down a seafood lunch and then do a bit of wine tasting.

Reassured from our Sardinian experience thus far that there was no such thing as a bad beach, we decided on the closest out-of-town, Spaggia del Lazzaretto with a restaurant called La Torre that had good reviews.

We only had 6km to drive, which was a win since we were nothing short of literally starving. 

Paying the very least passable amount of homage to the majestic ocean, we moved briskly to a seaside table in the restaurant and, with necessity being the red-headed step child of intention, we poked like Neanderthals at the menu so that the waitress was clear about our predestined spaghetti vongole and calamari platter order. Getting a strawberry granita (grown-up Slush Puppy) for an additional fingerpoint was an unexpected win.

The lunch was delicious and plentiful. We debated the latter. Just because we were full, should it really be described as plentiful? we certainly would have gotten more or paid less at home. Was that a quality / standard of living / forex rate debate? Or were we adjusting; getting indoctrinated? Would we start making micro meals in the middle of the night when we got home?! 

Clearly a week into the holiday we were decompressing and our contextual barometer was calling the shots on what should be blown out of proportion!

What a perfect time to add vino into the mix!

We tootled down the road to a wine farm called Sella & Musca (named after the attorney and engineer who had founded it in 1899). Although the wine tasting and tour for 3pm had already been fully booked, we’d decided to wing it with an unannounced arrival, figuring our lack of Italian would both be a good reason and a good excuse not to bother with the tour.

Turns out that our hosts were as chilled as their wine, and we were able to take up a table on the terrace and sample their sparkling brut and rosé options.

We were so delighted with our experience that we thought we’d pair it with the other farm a few kilometres down the road. It was not to be, however, since we found on arrival that they are not open on Mondays. Oh well.

With the sun still reasonably high in the sky, we returned to our own home Beach for a dip in the sea before opening our own bottle of Red that we’d had to excuse-buy in Bonifacio.

Despite Chris having to pull some quite fancy moves to remove the cork with the broken opener in our apartment, we were soon(ish) sipping on an absolute quaffer, enjoying the last of the afternoon sun, overlooking our swimming pool and (one of us at least) catching up on a bit of traveloguing.

TUESDAY 

Being a driving day, we had had the foresight to plan an in-home breakfast. Sourcing from the large supermarket in front of our holiday apartment block, we had intended a simple ‘eggs on toast’ sort of formula.

Procuring the two requisite items had triggered some grocery tourism though and we found ourselves engrossed in how different even the staples were from our choices at home. 

There was an entire aisle – both sides, from end to end  of the shop – of pasta options of every conceivable shape, size, colour and dietary requirement! More biscuits than you can imagine, with the vast majority looking like butter cookies / shortbread rather than the rainbow we are presented at home. 

By contrast, the eggs were tricky to find because the display was a small stack of a single brand in two sizes plus a free range option, where the Sardinians would be shell-shocked by the wall of options they’d be faced with if they shopped in South Africa.

While browsing we spotted a rotisserie chicken at the deli which completely outshone the eggs idea and would make for a splendid sarmie.

Filling sorted, we now needed bread of some sort. From the bounty of choices, the most odd was a loaf of 12 slices, packed as 3 side-by-side rows of 4, rather than the conventional straight loaf. There was a long row of baskets with rolls made on-site; easily a dozen or more options of round white rolls. We poked and prodded a few and picked a bag of 3 buns, each big enough to cover my hand with fingers extended.

Breaking our West to East coast journey with a stop in Sassaria (which we figured must be important since it’s the city after which the province we’d been in for the past few day is named), we set off. 

We barely had time for a chapter of our Romesh audiobook before the 32km had whizzed by (relatively speaking, with a 70km speed limit most of the way).

On arrival, we underwent the now-expected exercise of finding an available parking bay somewhere we were allowed to park. Opting for a residential area, which we rationalised was only reserved for resident’s overnight parking pleasure since they would surely be out at work during the day, we parked and set off on foot to see the sites of Sassaria.

We were just arriving at the Palace – stated as ‘Open’ on Google Maps – when suddenly the clouds opened. Stepping into the foyer, thinking we’d miss the cloud burst by taking the tour, our hopes were dashed when the security guard told us the guide would only be arriving at 12 and there was no entry until then.

He did give us a tourist map and we asked many unnecessary questions, didn’t vaguely attempt to prompt the gaps in his English, and showed great enthusiasm for his engagement just to sustain our place in the foyer while the rain pelted down.

Too late to turn back to the car (where we had a brolly and a raincoat, I might add) and drenched already, we darted from side to side across the narrow streets in the old town as we made our way toward the other palace the guard had suggested. 

It had all but stopped raining by the time we sought solace in a shop doorway across from our desired destination. No more than a few minutes later, when the rain had abated, we set off to take our walking tour and get slightly bedraggled photographs along the way.

Perhaps it was just our literally dampened enthusiasm, but Sassaria didn’t manage to hold our attention. 

We were very happy to keep on moving and get to Olbia, where we would be spending the next two nights.

Accommodation in Olbia had been quite expensive, with no clear low-end options, so we’d thrown caution to the wind a bit committing to the Grand President Hotel right on the Marina and at the base of the main drag. With free breakfast and free parking, the total cost evened our with some of the budget options that would potentially leave us logistically scrambling on arrival.

WEDNESDAY 

Having had a marathon session at the hotel buffet (how can you not when it includes everything from starters to desserts?!), we headed out to find somewhere pretty to work off our breakfast.

Chris negotiated the 11 short kilometres to get us to Porto Rotondo, where we easily found parking for the car (hooray!) and headed out on foot to explore a bit.

We walked down to the marina which was deserted, hardly a surprise these days since it was barely midday and nothing happens until the sun is overhead. We admired some of the more impressive yachts and the jetskis that were parked at the quayside.

Following the signs, we visited a few of the local beaches, with 5 or 6 options a few hundred metres from each other on various sides of the small peninsula. But, as per What Julia had told us on our tour in Cagliari, the wind is a make or break for a beach experience – and we found the current gusty weather to be quite impractical for stopping to sit on any of the beaches. We made do with the on-the-go scenery since even when the sea was choppy, the view was spectacular.

Opting to return to the car on the inland route we passed through the charming hamlet of Porto Rotondo, which had some delightfully modern appeal. 

There was a new church (in stark contrast to all the centuries-old ones we’d seen so far), as well as the wide pedestrian walkway that runs through the town which has been embedded with modern artworks including steel fish and whales that playfully guide you along the route.

With the usual smattering of pizza and pasta places to service the holidaymakers, Porto Rotando also offers wine tasting…which might have caught our attention if the threatening rain hadn’t been rushing our road trip or, conversely, had in fact come to fruition.

It didn’t rain though so good sense said to us that it was best to get our sightseeing done while the going was still good.

Onward to Golfo Aranci.

With 5 beautiful beaches around the bay, this would have made for a glorious day of beach-hopping if it was sunny. Each with its own merits, we could have easily spent a whole day shifting from one to the next, sipping and snacking on delights from the kiosks as we slothed.

In the wind, it was nowhere near as much fun, so we reminded ourselves of how much we had already seen and done in Sardinia and how there was nothing wrong with having a down day to just relax.

With that we returned to the hotel for a lazy afternoon; a marathon sitting of Friends, fuelled by the complimentary cakes biscuits and sweets from the hotel bar and a cappuccino station in our room. 

Our last spurt of ambition was to take a walk up the main pedestrian shopping street to find somewhere for dinner. Walking the full length and back we decided that there was nowhere better than the brilliant restaurant we had visited the night before, so with plan in hand we were able to hibernate back to our room with a clear plan and to countdown until our last supper.

A couple of hours later we headed to the restaurant, where we were again surrounded by tourists since it was way too early for any self-respecting Sardinian to be having their evening meal.

Despite being sorely tempted to reorder the exact same meals as the evening before (they had been that good!), we complimented our previous evening’s selection with the alternatives we’d tussled with, reasoning that if we were not going to be exciting in our variety of restaurant, we were at least going to show some variety in our order.

We languished in the extravagance of ordering a pizza to share as a starter when the main courses should have been enough to sate the largest of appetite, and then still, being our last night, had no choice but to end off with a dessert. Our last unticked box was one of Julia’s recommendations – a deep fried pastry filled with cheese and covered with warm honey.

What a sweet ending to sweet trip.

Travelogue Sardinia 1: Cagliari to Oristano

SANTA TERESA TO ORISTANO

22-24 September 2022

This holiday had begun as a roadtrip intended to circumnavigate Corsica, but quickly expanded to include Sardinia when we realised that the two islands are joined by a 50 minute ferry between Bonifacio and Santa Teresa.

Our enthusiasm was channeled into mapping a route that would allow us to see most of the two destinations in a reasonable amount of time, resulting in a fast-paced action-packed 2 week itinerary crafted on a one-day-on-one-day-off driving strategy. Day 1 in Sardinia would thus be covering the long snaking 300km-odd backward S, which would take around 3 hours with 110kmph max speed limit.

Never did we consider that our single-minded roadtrip was actually across two countries and it was only when we collected the car in Bastia that it dawned on us that we were contracted in France… and on reading the documents not endorsed to take the car to Italy and, more importantly, not insured if we left the country. 

We had wrestled with the decision on whether to take our chances or, if not, what to do with the car we had. Our itinerary was to travel the length of Sardinia on our first day, thinking we’d get the big drive (3 hours from the ferry port in the north to the capital, Cagliari, in the south) behind us and enjoy the return journey at a more leisurely pace. This meant very real risk upfront in unknown territory.

It was only on the morning we were due to leave Corsica that the decision made itself. The risk was too high to abscond to Italy with the French car. We would leave it in our hotel parking in Bonifacio and get another rental in Sardinia. We jumped online and booked a car in the ferry port town on the other side, Santa Teresa.

Confident we had made the right choice, we slipped back into our gameplan; fresh pastries and crusty footlong sandwiches from the artisanal bakery next to our hotel.

With a backpack full of baked goodies, we walked to the ferry at the end of the promenade, checked in, boarded and were off to Sardinia to start our Italian episode.

When the ferry arrived in Santa Teresa we were able to use the offline Google Maps we’d saved in advance of the trip to direct us to the car rental agent, only a few hundred metres away in the tiny town.

The wind was taken out of our sails when we presented a South African drivers licence and were told that Italian law required an International Drivers Permit and he was expecting a hard copy original with some sort of official stamp. An absolutely outdated bureaucratic convention! But a showstopper nonetheless. 

The chap at the store was sort of helpful, Googling the phone number for the South African Consulate in Rome in case we wished to seek their help (!) and letting me use his phone to go online to clarify the rules and seek alternatives. 

We tried the two other rental agents in the vicinity; one held the same opinion about the IDP and the other wasn’t concerned, but didn’t have a car available until the next day.

We weighed up our options. Spend the night in Santa Teresa to get the car the next day? Or catch a bus to the nearest big town, Olbia, where there would be more options? 

We chose the latter and found out that there was a bus to Olbia Airport leaving from the Santa Teresa bus terminus at 2, which was an hour’s wait… but not terrible with a beer garden adjacent where we bought refreshments and sponged some poor soul’s internet (who has an open network from their phone?!) to keep ourselves entertained – and procure an online IDP to have a first line of approach should we be asked to present something at the next place.

The bus ride wasn’t terrible. Very comfortable coach and a bargain at €4 for the hour and a half ride. We even contemplated staying on the coach all the way to Cagliari and just using busses for the remainder of the Sardinian chapter… until the man sitting in the seat in front of ours got up, swaggered to the front, garbled something at the driver, swivelled towards the door and then proceeded to violently projectile vomit what looked suspiciously like Alfredo sauce (from the unsettlingly distinct ham and mushroom pieces) into the lap of the lady sitting in the front row!

There was much excitement as the bus was stopped, Alfredo was ejected and the poor lady mopped down with wet wipes and tissues from pitying passengers.

Fortunately there was not much left of our journey because the waft of Alfredo’s recent ex-lunch wasn’t great.

Olbia Airport had a generous selection of car hire options. The first, Sixt, had no qualms about renting us one – no IDP required – and we were soon zooting off in a spanky black Mini Cooper.

We plugged our destination into the Mini’s dashboard nav and let the lady lead us out of Olbia and onto the open road. She took us over a windy-windy mountainous route, which was slower going than the National roads but very pretty scenery that was not that different to parts of home, truth be told. The golden plains punctuated with dark green bushes and trees and backdropped with blue grey mountains could probably be mistaken for the likes of a Van Reenen’s Pass back home. It is remarkable though that there is so much of Sardinia still uninhabited and undeveloped considering its size.

Thankfully the Mini was a pleasurable drive because at times the twists and turns, blind corners and narrow roads felt like a video game. Would have been a nightmare for poor Alfredo.

We arrived into a bustling Cagliari evening. The roads were very busy and it was tricky to navigate according to the GPS lady’s instructions when she very clearly didn’t have a handle on the congestion or the impatient drivers hooting as they manically changed lanes.

Fortunately our hotel was only one road in from the main marine parade, so easier than it could have been if we were deeply bedded in the city. 

We found a parking quite close to the hotel which seemed too good to be true… and it was. On checking in our concierge told us that the parkings in the Marine district require a permit so we’d have to move. I agreed to finalise the check in and move to the room while Chris moved the car.

Almost an hour later Chris arrived back at the hotel, after an unsuccessful mission and with the car back in the same too-good-to-be-true parking bay.

We returned to the concierge to seek advice on options and he produced a magnetic parking card for the pay parking bays a mere 200m from the hotel, available at €8 a day fee. Why had he not offered this to us before?!

We parked the car and walked into the Marina district to get some dinner. I had spent my waiting time doing some Google research on where to go, so at least we had a single-minded purpose. And a reservation waiting.

We were warmly greeted on arrival at White Rock and, having done my online research of the menu, it was an easy ordering process. 

The food was delicious and we enjoyed our pasta and steak dinner, washed down with local Ichnusa beer and entertained by Attila, a teacup dog in a teeny-tiny puffer jacket who kept trying to escape his parents to join our table. 

FRIDAY

Vowing to leave the car in place all day, we planned our schedule to allow a generous allocation of time to the hotel buffet breakfast (included in our room rate) before dashing off to meet for the walking tour we’d booked for 10am.

Our guide, Julia, was ready and waiting and we were soon off to hear all about Cagliari as we walked through the 4 districts that the tour covered.

We started at the Saint Rémy Bastion; an impressive facade that we couldn’t help but notice on our arrival. Although in 1700s neo-classical styling, the bastion had been nearly destroyed in World War II so the current structure we were seeing was a rebuild that was intended to match the original as closely as possible. (Along with much of the city which was heavily bombed as as part of the Allies’ strategy against Mussolini).

We were given free time to wander the large open terrace, admiring the panoramic view of Cagliari and the natural beauty of its surroundings, before moving to the next district, Castello, entering through Lions Gate.

We walked through the narrow streets (for ventilation and protection, according to Julia) listening to anecdotes about Sardinian history and culture. Being in the middle of the Mediterranean, it had been valuable to the stronger nations, resulting in defeat and rule by the Pisans (wanting to make Cagliari a mini Pisa), Spaniards for 300 years until the Italians took over in the 1700s. 

The story is summed up in their national flag which has a white background, a Red Cross (like a + sign) and the silhouette of 4 Moors facing west (Spain). This is to represent how St George helped the King of Aragon to defeat his 4 Moorish enemies, each wearing an earring to symbolise them as savages and with their eyes closed to symbolise how they were blind to Christianity.  In more modern times the flag has been updated slightly, with the heads facing east (Italy), the eyes opened and the earring removed as a sort of acknowledgment that they may be seen as racist in the new world.

The woke world we live in is a far cry from the brutal history Cagliari has seen. The Elephant Tower with its 13th century inscription at the gate, still bearing the coats of arms of the families that united to create the fortress to protect their families. The lengths they had to go to! Layers of hand-smithed metal gates on primitive but effective pullies to keep invaders out. With a wooden interior scaffolding on the interior of the gates so that if they did succumb to their enemies, it would be easy to quickly burn to the ground.

Later, during the Spanish rule, the wooden interior of the gate was enclosed to make a prison. It was renowned for being one of the most brutal and intended for the cries and howls of its prisoners to warn the citizens what would become of them if they didn’t play by the rules. 

The Castello also had a curfew. It was only inhabited by Spanish soldiers; the Sardinians who worked in the bastion had to be out by the time the gates were closed at 8pm. Those who missed the curfew were unceremoniously thrown over the high boundary wall, to fall to their death below.

Once the tour was over, we walked to some of the further sites not included in the group route to visit the likes of the archeological museum and the Roman amphitheatre which is still in remarkable condition seeing as it’s more than 2000 years old!

Done with the culture part of the day, we planned to pass a relaxing afternoon at the beach. We had asked Julia for a recommendation on which beach to visit since Sardinia is known equally for the quantity and quality of its beaches.

She shared that while most of the beaches are breathtaking, Cagliari is windy so it’s best to choose according to where the wind conditions are most favourable. Fortunately there is an app for that, so she logged into her MayBay app and checked a few places – they even have a web cam so you’re not just relying on stats – and suggested Poetto, which we could access on foot, by car or on a selection of busses.

We walked the 5 or so kilometres to the beach seeing as we were in no hurry and all the sights were new to us anyway. 

The beach was gorgeous! Blue blue sea, golden sand and only a hint of a breeze which was welcome in the brilliant sunshine. We thoroughly enjoyed a couple of hours of swimming and sitting. 

Doing nothing can be thirsty work though, so we hoofed back to the hotel to get cleaned up for a sundowner and some dinner. 

We marked off the Guinness Index (R107.95 each) at an Irish Pub called Old Square and then had dinner in one of the very many restaurants in Medina, sharing a pizza – we’d been hankering after all day – and a stuffed pasta local favourite that Julia had recommended that we try.

SATURDAY 

Based on Julia’s advice, we made a slight detour on our plan for the day – a 107km drive north to Oristano on the west coast – to latch on a visit to Pula and Nora due 37km further south. 

The significance was twofold: an archeological site with ancient city remains and the destination for an annual pilgrimage in May in honour of St Efisius who was martyred in Roman times and still emotes devotees to walk from Cagliari to the church in Nora where he is laid to rest. So devout are his followers that the pilgrimage even happened through World War II when Sardinia was being bombed!

We checked out of our hotel, Chris liberated the car and used some very poetic licence to drive up to the door of the hotel to collect me and our heavy suitcase and then we were off!

We followed the blue blue ocean along the coast and, despite a few red herrings from our onboard GPS, had little trouble finding our way.

Nora was founded by the Phoenicians in around the 8th century BC on the Capo du Pula. The shelter of the cape allowed safe sea landing no matter which winds were blowing. Based on the gustiness of our ‘not windy’ visit, this must have been a make or break back then.

The Romans arrived around the 2nd Century BC and built their settlement on the foundations of the Phoenician settlement. It was only around the 2nd Century AD that the Romans invested more heavily in the area, building the big fancy houses they are famous for as well as a temple, forum etc. 

The Vandals made their way to Nora in the 5th Century AD and ransacked the city, which prompted the inhabitants to disperse into smaller agrarian groups. By the 8th century AD, further continual raiding by the Saracen pirates made the area completely impractical and it was abandoned once the few remaining inhabitants moved inland for their own safety.

Not much of the Phoenician town still exists, but the Roman remains built over the original town offer an interesting wander through time, with quite a lot of buildings still distinct and tangible finishes like floor tiles still clearly visible and in remarkable condition, bearing in mind how long they’ve been there and exposed to the elements.

Easy to see why early settlers chose the place – beside the access, the shelter of the cove etc etc, the beach is beautiful. Even old St Efisius didn’t do too badly to have this as his final resting place (although, arguably, not being martyred in the first place would have been a bigger win).

Back in the car, we abandoned Mini’s phantom roads and followed the signs to Oristano. 

We arrived to a dead. Quiet. Town. 

Not. A. Soul. About.

Even the Spar was closed. Looked like their siesta was from 2-5.

We checked in at our hotel, prepared to lay low for a bit until things woke up. We checked the Tourist Office hours and coincided our re-emergence with their opening.

Oristano is small and we were staying centrally so it was only a few blocks to the Office and we soon had a simple walking tour map in hand and a worthwhile mission to keep us entertained. It was easy to get epic photos of everything with so few people about!

One of the sights is The Tower; clearly one of the ancient city wall entrances. Besides finding signs of life at the cafe on its piazza, there were sound rigging people setting up some pretty impressive gear. Looked like Oristano was preparing to party!

We did some people watching and pre-sundowners for a bit before the munchies set in. Googling didn’t help the situation, revealing that almost everything only opened around 8. It wasn’t even 6 yet! How do these people survive waiting that long for dinner? Especially since everything had been closed all afternoon.  When was lunch?!

We circled the route we’d been on earlier, rationalising that the busier touristy roads were more likely to wake up first. It was slim pickings but we were drawn in by a cocktail-bar-cafe called Lola Mundo, playing The Cure and advertising sandwiches.

Happy for the snack to keep us going, we ordered. My toasted cheese, ham and mushroom was delicious… but a mere morsel as one slice of bread folded in half and served as a single toasted triangle. Clearly Sardinia is not for the South African appetite! (Although, granted, the people of Sardinia are generally petitely proportioned).

While enjoying the playlist, piazza and free wifi, some research of the area produced result of an Irish bar a mere 120m from us. It seemed rude not to poke a nose in!

Old Town Birreria sure had committed to Guinness. Not only was there painted signage on the outside of the building and the usual assortment of beer mats, coasters and other branded goodies on the bar itself, Old Town had literal Guinness murals on the walls! Although we’d marked Sardinia on the Guinness Index already, this kind of commitment had to be rewarded.

Our good karma was rewarded with a large tower of complimentary French fries served with our pints, as a sort of Tapas.

Wandering back to The Tower we discovered that the riggers had been setting up a free open air concert, by the looks of things hosted by local radio station Sintony.

There was a chap with a mixing desk and three others playing violins and a cello at the top of the tower, with digital screens at the bottom, around which a generous crowd had gathered to enjoy the show.

Young and old were having a merry old time in the vibrant piazza. How fortunate we were to have been in the right place at the right time!

Travelogue Italy 6: Pompeii & Vesuvius

POMPEII & VESUVIUS

22 June 2017

Even though Mount Vesuvius was only a few miles out of Naples, we had decided upfront in the itinerary planning to rather double-bill it with Pompeii on the Sorrento leg of our journey.

We’d done little research from home, thinking it would be an easy one to arrange from our homebase when we arrived, but the receptionist at our hotel pipped it on check-in when she said (unprompted) that we needn’t book a tour as the local train service delivered you to the entrance to the ruins, where you could join a tour or get an audio guide.

This corresponded with what our friends from home – who had been there only a few weeks earlier – had told us, adding that the Rick Steves audio guide app was essential, so we’d already downloaded it in prep for our self-guided tour.

The hardest part of the whole plan was getting out of bed (it had been a very busy holiday with the very taxing Amalfi cruise the day before) and tearing ourselves away from the buffet – although Continental, it was a good spread of cheeses, cold meats and cakes, with a stunning view over a little orchard next door (lemons of course; there lemon trees on every inch of uninhabited land in this neck of the woods!)

We compromised and caught a later train, jumping on the 10h20 Express train, which had us in Pompeii in just over half an hour.

True to form on what we’d read, touts were hanging about at the gate, “helping” tourists to make the most of their visit; to access things that they wouldn’t get in normal tickets, to avoid the hours of standing in the queues at the gate, to save them loads of money with added-value packages. You know what they say about things that sound too good to be true.

We deftly sidestepped them all and headed straight for the gate – which couldn’t have been more than 50m away – booking tickets online as we moved in order to avoid the “hours-long queue” we’d be warned about.

There were no such queues but, with our shrewd last-minute purchase, we did go to the front of the Online Booking queue and were in the main gate minutes later.

We switched on the audio tour and let Rick Steves and his sidekick Lisa tell us all about Pompeii and how it had come to be.

Now inland, Pompeii (established in about 600BC by the Greeks) had previously (prior to the Vesuvius eruptions) been a coastal town, and a busy port in the early ADs since Rome controlled the Mediterranean so it was essentially one big trade zone. It was a strongly middle class town, that epitomised Roman life in its time.

We walked through the town, marvelling at the simple genius that the Romans applied so very long ago. Basic things like using broken pottery to make pavements that not only hid the plumbing that lay beneath and was functional recycling, but was also studded with chips of white marble that reflected like cats’ eyes at night to light the way.

They had stepping stone crosswalks so that pedestrians didn’t have to walk on the wet roads after they were flushed clean with running water each day (can you imagine that kind of municipal service now??) and the number of stepping stones also indicated the classification of the road with 1, 2 and 3 signifying one-way, dual carriageway and major road respectively. So practical!

Moving onto the Forum – the central town square – was the first real immersion into the fact that this was a town, living and breathing in the shadow of Vesuvius, the backdrop only 5 miles away.

Vesuvius had erupted in August 79AD, to the utter astonishment of a town that had no idea they were living on a volcano since it hadn’t erupted in 1200 years!

There must have been pandemonium as the volcano shot smoke, rocks and dust 12 miles into the air and the wind swept ash right over the town, falling like rain or snowflakes until it buried the whole place, with 2,000 of its 20,000 population along with it.

Oddly, it was the fact that the city was covered in ash that helped to preserve it, saving it from the various plunderers that ravaged the region as battles were had and empires rose and fell around it.

The tour was eerily “everyday life” and took us through a couple of homes, a bakery, a brothel and even a take-away outlet. Life didn’t seem quite so bad back then, especially the steam baths, with their heated floors and the aquaduct and pumps to ensure they had satisfactory  a water pressure. The Romans were very clever engineers and seemed to focus a lot of their energy on convenience and creature comforts!

The tour ended off with the set of amphitheatres – a small intimate one and another grander one that had a stage and scaffolding set up so was clearly still in use.

The Pompeii complex of ruins, being an entire town, could take as long as you wanted it to. We’d really enjoyed the commentary on the audio guide – we fully intended to use Rick Steves’ relevant chapters for our Rome sightseeing! – and found it quite comprehensive in covering all the things we wanted to see in a couple of hours.

This left us the afternoon for Vesuvius.

Easier said than done. The Pompeii tour had ejected us into (the modern) Pompeii town, so we were at a loss as to next steps. Googling didn’t help as the info we got all seemed quite contradictory, so we picked a side and headed off in the direction that corresponded with the McDonald’s golden arches signs, figuring that if we got lost, we could have a tactical burger and a regroup.

We didn’t get that far. We spotted an info desk a few blocks down and when we asked the chap for directions, he pointed at his van that was about to leave for Vesuvius and, since he had 3 seats left and it was about to leave, he lobbed off €5 each, which sealed the deal and we were packed in with the other 10 or so people headed on the same adventure.

Arriving at the park, we were set free and given time to climb the path alongside the crater to get to its peak to peer inside and get panoramic views outwards. There are a few pitstop points along the way, where you could catch free guides that talked you through what you were seeing. When we got to the first pitstop, the Italian group was just leaving and a German group was being gathered. Too impatient to wait, we started up the trail ourselves.

It was quite a trek, but just because it was unrelenting uphill, not requiring any skill or abnormal level of fitness. We managed to catch up with an English tour and the guide was a wealth of knowledge.

He told us that Vesuvius was said to be the most dangerous volcano in the world because it was so close to so many people – with a couple of million people in Naples which was only 9km away and more than 600,000 people living in the 18 towns in the Red Zone (within 12km) of the volcano that would certainly be destroyed in the next eruption.

The threat was not just the volcanic ash, as was the cause of the devastation in Pompeii, but also the lava, heat and gasses that could have catastrophic consequences. The day after the Pompeii disaster the volcano erupted again, this time creating a cloud of ash, pumice and gas, which sped down the hillside so fast that nothing in its way stood any chance of escape. It was when this flow reached water and exploded that it decimated the people of neighbouring Herculaneum, and the resultant hot mudslide buried the town, turning to stone as it cooled.

Scientists watch everything very closely, checking temperatures, gasses, seismic activity, all the indicators and early warning signs so that they can give as much advance notice for evacuation, which is estimated at 72 hours (not accounting for the inevitable hysteria).

Fortunately though, Vesuvius didn’t erupt the day we were there. We were able to climb to the full 1200m tip and peer into the crater, where you don’t see the swirling cauldron of molten lava you might expect in movie. It was just a massive hole, with grey and black streaks where lava has solidified and, most scarily, steam coming out of crevasses to remind you that Vesuvius is still alive, well and will inevitably erupt again.

Also bear in mind that the cone of the volcano as we know it today was only a fraction of the original. From Pompeii we’d seen more clearly how mammoth the original volcano was; when it erupted it literally blew its top and left behind the active cone we were now standing on as well as a smaller one to the right hand side that is part of the caldera (the large cauldron-like depression formed  by the collapse of the volcano). Following the escalation of the outsides of the two to complete the full cone, you got a rough idea of how enormous that volcano was – and how scary that eruption must have been for all those people in 79AD!

Not that that was its last show. It has erupted dozens of times since then, and had a handful of notable episodes in the last century, including a spectacular display in 1944 in full view of the Allied armies who had taken Naples a few months earlier and whose bomber planes were rendered useless. Mother Nature pulling rank, no doubt.

Our session with the guide had really brought the experience to life, but it was only when he gave specific instructions to rest of his audience that we realised we’d unwittingly joined a paid tour!

Nobody seemed to mind though, so we were on our merry way (in the opposite direction to the group) and headed down the trail to get back to our bus.

It turned out to be a good thing that we had the tour bus as the driver was good enough to take us all the way to the train station after he’d dropped off the full-price planned group at their respective hotels. It saved us another “where in the world are we? And where do we need to be??” situation!

The train we caught back was clearly not the Express as it stopped many times along the way and, although it did seem intent on attempting a landspeed record in the tunnels, took over an hour. Which was OK really as we had seats and we didn’t have to drive so after a long day’s trekking it was kinda nice to just sit for a bit.

And book dinner.

There was no way we could wait until Italy-o-clock to eat an elegant late-night Mediterranean dinner, so we threw caution to the wind and booked a 19h00 at the lovely restaurant we’d designated as our last hurrah.

A flash through the shower and a fresh set of clothes and we were ready for action again.

A bit too ready possibly, as we jetted down the Corsa Italia (the main road that ran in front of our hotel, the length of town and which our restaurant was at the end of) so hastily that, in fact, we were running early for our super-early dinner.

Fortunately, when life throws you lemons, you’re likely to be in Sorrento where lemons are plentiful. There was a little lemon orchard just before our restaurant and it was not only open for a looksee, but also offering limoncello tasting.

The orchard was, as you’d expect, rows and rows of lemon trees and a few mandarin trees for good measure. Not a blade of grass though. It was weird; Sorrento had been much greener than any of the other places we’d been that were paved end-to-end, but it was all lemon trees on sandy patches. But the trees were full of fruit and the lemons grow HUGE so maybe they’ve got it right with doing the one thing properly.

The tasting was a little less successful with a mouthful of very strong limoncello, mandarincello and a nasty strong liquorish liqueur. All those on an empty stomach (yes, we hadn’t eaten since breakfast!) was enough to make me a trifle giddy!

By now it was dinnertime and we were relieved to see that another couple had beaten us to the restaurant so they were ready and serving. The pizza oven wasn’t hot yet though so we switched up our usual and had our pasta first and the pizza to follow. This was no time to be stuck on pomp and ceremony – we were starving.

Having eaten, we couldn’t help but stop in at the pub across the road… An Irish Pub called Shannon, to log our Guinness Index and review our day and plan the next.

En route home, we detoured past the market for Christian to buy the Italian leather work shoes we’d seen on the first night. I should have put money on it – he bought all 3 pairs!!

Travelogue Italy 7: Rome

ROME & VATICAN CITY

23-24 June 2017

Having shortlisted what all we wanted to see in Rome into a quite manageable whirlwind itinerary, we decided that we needn’t go tearing out and away from our lovely Sorrento.

At a leisurely pace, we prepared ourselves for the 10h20 train (the same one we’d caught the previous day for Pompeii) and took it to the end of the line to Naples (in under an hour) to change over for the final leg to Rome. There were 3 different speed options and we again went with the Express option, which had us in Rome in just over an hour.

Hotel Gallia  was very conveniently located a few hundred metres from the Centrale Termini (and all downhill, thankfully!) and we were surprised at how nice it was. Considerably cheaper than the Sorrento hotel, we had a massive suite in a 19th century classic building that still radiated old world charm and elegance. Glamourous hotels are generally wasted on us though since we spend so little time in them and this was no exception. Once our bags were in the room, we were out the door!

We’d had such a good experience with the Rick Steves audio tour for Pompeii that we left our fate in his hands to see us around Rome. We’d downloaded several of his walking tour options and had a rudimentary plan on patchworking them together to fill the next two days and cover the best the city had to offer.

The first, “The Heart of Rome” covering the major attractions, required us to be at Campo de’Fiori to begin. Thanks to Google Maps, getting there was relatively effortless and we marvelled at how Rome is like a living museum as we passed imposing statues and impressive buildings all the way along the route to the main event.

Campo de’Fiori was a very busy square, noisy from the fruit and veg sellers that had been using it as their market all morning (as had been the case for centuries, in the very beginning catching pilgrims en route to the Vatican) and now packing up for the day, such that the transformation could begin into the neighbourhood’s living room for the evening sitting.

With the appearance of a lively hub, Rick Steves filled us in on some of its darker history, starting with the statue of the hooded monk that stands in the middle. It was of Giordano Bruno who was a Dominican priest in the 1500s who tested the society of the day by voicing radical notions like the earth revolving around the sun (before Galileo did) and by scribing satirical plays about the church and its morality. He was exiled, excommunicated, returned, imprisoned and eventually burned at the stake at the very place that now hosts the monument that celebrates his nonconformity and his martyrdom to freedom of thought.

You could also see the columns from the Theatre of Pompey, on the steps of which Julius Caesar was stabbed to death. The massive theatre (it took up an entire city block) was hosting Senate at the time, but now all that was left were the columns, absorbed into the structure of modern ramshackle apartments.

The audio guide led us with magnificent accuracy through twists and turns, intuitively knowing when the pauses needed to be and filling the wait with more generic info on the city, like its attempt to make the city more livable through traffic control in the form of strict permits only for buses, taxis, delivery vans and residents. All while we waited to cross the street named after Victor Emanuel II, Italy’s first ruler after unification in 1871.

Our winding walk deposited us at Piazza Navona, the famous long oblong ex-racetrack, turned into one of Rome’s most popular sights and meeting place, built in 80 AD and recipient of a major urban renovation in the 1600s – a gift from the Popes of the time, trying to put some scandal behind them through a peace-offering to the public. They went to town (literally) on this one and added 3 massive Baroque fountains and the elaborate facade of the Church of Saint Agnes. A great spot to take a load off, listen to the elaborate stories about what every nook and cranny represented (boy, were those Romans big on symbolism!) and, so we were told, to get a legendary tartufo gelato from Tre Scalini cafe.

It was unbelievable to be wandering around a neighbourhood that was 2000 years old! Basalt cobblestones underfoot mined from volcanic mountains, exactly as the ancient Romans used to do. This was Campus Martius, a place 5 times the size of Disneyland set aside for military training. It was on the outskirts of town and besides open fields, parade grounds and barracks, it was home to racetracks like the Piazza Navona and temples to the gods like the Pantheon (which was next on the list).

As Ancient Rome fell, the Forum was constantly pillaged by barbarians, so this became the new centre for its merits of easy access to water and being close to the new centre of power, the Vatican, providing a lucrative flow of pilgrims headed to St Peter’s.

The Pantheon was the best preserved monument to the greatness, magnificence and splendour of Ancient Rome at its peak – and the scale they built on. The columns are 40 feet tall, each carved from a single huge piece of granite. The huge bronze door. The inside a magnificent room with domed ceiling that inspired later domes (including Michelangelo’s and St Peter’s). Exactly as high as it is wide, the 142 foot perfect dome and the symmetry of the building makes an overwhelming first impression. At the top of the dome was the eye-in-the-sky 30-foot opening called the Oculus – an open sun roof that serves as the building’s only light source. The altar, the statues, the niches and tombs. Magnificent survivor of plunderers and times. Really magnificent!

Rick Steves artfully maintained our interest through some of the ‘second tier’ sights, guiding us past Palazzo Capranica and telling us about the skyline of stone towers in Medieval times, the Parliament and its Egyptian Obelisk (which didn’t sustain our interest as much as photobombing in the background of a TV reporter’s live bulletin – we may very well be famous on Italian TV by now!), Piazza Colonna and its 100-foot second-century column, the Via del Corso that for 2000 years was how travellers from Northern Europe first entered Rome… and on to Trevi Fountain.

A “liquid Baroque avalanche that showcased Rome’s love affair with water”, show-offs as they were for their mastery of aquaducts, carrying fresh water to Rome from the distant hillsides through stone channels powered exclusively by gravity. Rich people even had it pumped directly into their homes… while the poor brought their jugs to the likes of Trevi.

Besides all the crashing water, the Trevi Fountain was crushingly busy so it was a very short visit and a few snaps before moving on to the last stop on the tour. The Spanish Steps, a wide, curving staircase of 138 steps with the Sinking Boat Fountain at the bottom (designed because the water pressure was so low that they couldn’t shoot water in the air), fanning into a butterfly shape at a midway terrace and culminating at the top in an obelisk framed between 2 Baroque church towers.

As the end of the line on the audio tour, it was convenient that there was a Metro station right there on the square, for us to catch a ride to the main attraction for the day, our Vatican Tour.

We’d booked the Friday night tour summer special, extended opening hours that are rumoured to be less busy than the jam-packed all-day-every-day tours that traipse 30,000 people through this mega-museum that was once the Pope’s breezy summer palace on the hill.

We met at the tour office and were assigned to a guide that from the introduction was clear she was going to give us an interesting narrative from the way she expressed herself and set context for our evening ahead together. She walked and talked us around the corner to the Vatican City entrance. Although (allegedly) less busy than usual, the Vatican was still very busy, but at least a lot cooler than it must be in the blistering summer sun.

We entered through the new Vatican Museum entrance and our guide showed us the Apostolic House. She shared that Pope Francis refused to stay in the opulent penthouse, opting rather to stay in a small room in the guesthouse.

On to the Renaissance style basilica, which was the biggest church in the world and where by tradition St Peter, Jesus’s chief apostle and Bishop of Rome,  was buried. Roman Emperor Constantine the Great had the dome built in the 4th Century to celebrate the conversion from paganism to Christianity. The present construction took over 120 years to build, completed in 1626.

Michaelangelo was a sculptor commissioned to do the painting of the Sistine Chapel and although he thought painting was beneath him, he conceded to the request of the Pope. He worked tirelessly under crazy conditions, literally bending over backwards to paint, even sometimes with a candle on his forehead so he could see what he was doing.

It was well after 22h00 by the time our tour concluded and, sweaty and thirsty and very keen to put space between us and everybody, we passed up our primary plan of a late night dinner at the Trastevere in favour of a large refreshing granita (crushed ice drink) and a metro back towards our hotel.

SATURDAY

The next morning we were up bright and early to get a solid breakfast – served  a on the rooftop terrace with a magnificent view over Rome – and on to the Colosseum ahead of the madding crowds.

The previous day we’d been approached by several tour guides warning us that we’d not get into the Colosseum without booking ahead and that we’d spend the day in the queue etc etc. We did not buy from them, opting for online tickets at a fraction of the price… And we were in within minutes.

To call the building impressive is a colossal understatement! With a 48m outerwall housing 4 oversized storeys (the height of 12-15 conventional ones), 189m long and 156m wide with a 6 acre base area, the Flavian Amphitheatre as the biggest stadium in the Empire seated 50,000 people – and 100,000 thumbs dictating the fate of the poor souls who were made to fight to the death with wild animals and each other, all in the name of blood-thirsty spectator sport.

Although the building is stone now, it was then painted brilliant white with brightly coloured trim and statues of the Greek and Roman gods, perfectly blending genius Roman engineering with sophisticated Greek art and decor. Ironically cheery considering the intended goings-on.

With 80 arched entrances on the ground level and wide passages called Vomitoriums since they could “vomit” all those people in or out of the stadium in 15 minutes. A far cry from the bottlenecked turnstiles that are there now!

Travelogue Italy 5: Sorrento

SORRENTO & AMALFI COAST

20 – 21 June 2017

Having caught the ferry from Capri after a day of fun in the sun and the sea, we were desperately in need of a shower… And even more so after we’d trekked up to our hotel on the main drag in Sorrento.

Consulting Google Maps as we arrived in the port, we made the executive decision to walk to our hotel since it was only 800m away. Little did we know that, with Sorrento sitting atop a sheer cliff-face, the 800m walk was a 45 degree path that was at least double the distance since it wound back and forth!

We were grateful to arrive into the prettiest boutique town, which was Stepford in its perfection. With the horse and carriage clippetty-clopping on volcanic grey cobblestones past us on a pretty little piazza with gaily-coloured flowers, (perfectly flat) Sorrento was a breath of fresh air.

Our hotel was a chip and a putt from there, neatly nestled in a quiet sideroad off the main drag, and its blue and white tiled hallway made us feel fresher already.

We checked into our room (the receptionist was astounded that we’d walked up with our luggage and whispered to me conspiratorially not to tell Christian that there was an elevator from the Port!) and had the long awaited shower – bliss! – before consulting The Fork for our dinner arrangements (since all that self-portering had left us famished!)

With an 20h00 reservation in place, we took a whip around the town, delighted to see that the main street was closed off to cars so pedestrians were milling about, shopping, eating and unapologetically people-watching from the many bars and cafes that had their chairs laid out theatre-style facing the road. Judging by the number of pink sun-slapped faces, we assumed that this town was a favourite among the Brits and Scots.

There was also a wonderful market street running parallel to the main street, selling all sorts of wonderful locally produced wares like leather goods, linens and all things lemon (production of which the region is famous for). We would have to return after dinner when we were strong and focused enough to enjoy the experience.

We’d chosen our restaurant for its story. A new place, opened in 2017 by 2 sons to celebrate their father’s apparently illustrious career in waitering. The story, with the weighty name ‘Miseria e Nobilta’ had us curious enough to need to try it out.

We had the most delicious crumbed and deepfried mozarella fritta and croquettes to start, with a most unusual pork and beans pasta and a lasagne for main course, served with a (cold) garlic broccoli. Amazing food and very attentive service with the owners themselves handling drinks and table service.

Happy to have supported a new local business and happier to have been fed to bursting, we took a wander through to the end of town and then back again through the market.

I managed to get a fabulous handcrafted (in Sorrento!) leather bag with, coincidentally, a “C&C” logo punched on the silver clasp, for a bargain €20! And a less elegant, but no less classic bargain Italia supporters hoodie. Christian resisted any immediate purchase, but from the way he was earnestly haggling with the sales lady, I sense the procurement of a collection of leather work shoes in his future!

AMALFI COAST CRUISE

Christian had pre-booked an Amalfi Coast Cruise for us so that we could see as much as possible in the single day we had to explore the massive coastline and all the little towns and villages dotted along it.

Somehow, we’d forgotten to bring our printed tickets but the situation was easily resolved by calling the Get Your Guide call centre, who graciously traced the booking and emailed us a digital ticket.

We met the tour bus at the designated spot – coincidentally outside the restaurant we’d eaten at the night before – and were transported to the Marina where our boat was ready and waiting (with several others).

We were seated at the front of the boat (“with the young people”, how flattering!)  and were soon jetting off down the coast.

No more than about 15 minutes’ sailing in, we stopped for a swim in a sheltered inlet between a triangulated island and 2 rocky outcrops. We were told this was Isola Regale, owned by Sorrento guy who has built a villa, a church and a restaurant on his little island. The boat provided masks, kickboards and floating rings for us to use while flopping about like we owned the place.

Back on the boat, we sunned and lounged on the padded bow as we sailed along the Amalfi coastline, admiring the view and marvelling at how the houses and villages wedged into the cliffs ever came to be. It would be hard enough today with all the construction technology we have now, but how in the world did they manage it all in yesteryear? And how did they get anywhere, when their homes were so remote with what must be hellish walks to the nearest town!

Our first shore stop was the town of Amalfi, a charming little village constructed around a magnificent Cathedral and bustling piazza. Our hosts on the boat gave us each a pre-packaged roll to serve as lunch-on-the-go during our couple hours to explore.

As a tiny little town (hard to believe once the commercial leader of the Mediterranean), we saw all of it in less than half an hour, which might have been less had the back end of the town not started ascending into the slopes of the mountain into which it was built (and might have been more had we had visited the paper and/or the compass museum).

Being midday, everywhere was busy and it was hot so we got an ice-cold Peroni quart and settled in the shade at the beachfront to have our lunch.

Initially unexcited by the prospect of the Caprese sandwich (mozarella and tomato), we were pleasantly surprised to find that it was really tasty, with a fresh and chewy sourdough style roll and pesto and the tomato to add some zest and moisture. It still could have used a slathering of butter, but that didn’t seem to happen here. We’d yet to have butter served at the table with the mandatory basket of bread – and when we’d asked, we were brought a bottle of olive oil. And there had also been neither salt nor pepper on the table anywhere for that matter.

Applauding the success of the simple traditional fare, we felt it time to try a “baba“, which is a sort of cross between a cupcake and a tall skinny muffin. From what we’d seen and read, the standard one comes soaked in rum (yuck) so Amalfi was the perfect opportunity to sample since they were known for lemon baba! (And all things lemon really; we saw a lemon the size of my head at one of the stands we passed!)

They were more elusive than you’d have thought. But we found a little bakery that had them and wasted no time in ordering one each… And a lemon cannoli each for luck. Both were beautifully fresh and light and, we surmise, excellent examples of these delicacies.

With half an hour left we braved the pebble beach, hobbling and hopping to the water like we were walking on hot coals! The swim was worth it though and we were a lot less sweaty getting back in the boat.

The skipper guided the boat along the shoreline, moving closer to show us things of interest, like a grotto, a natural rock arch, a really tall bridge (that crazy people jump off for fun), natural coves, bays and even a little waterfall, which he slowly backed into so the people at the back of the boat could touch the water.

Our next shore stop was Positano, which was on the shortlist of places we considered to homebase from. So very glad we didn’t!

A busier, fancier version of Amalfi, the little town – while very pretty and an architectural wonder wedged into the mountain as it is – was a bit devoid of character and felt to us, even as tourists, to be too much of a tourist trap.

Being much of the same, we did a quick whip around to make sure we saw what needed seeing and then spent a good hour sitting in a garden terrace restaurant that served over-priced everything and had terrible service… But it had those fans that blow fine mist spray so was easily the coolest place in town. And a great place to sample a granita, fruit slush.

Finishing off the visit with a cursory hobble into the sea, it was back on the boat for the sunset ride home.

The cruise was great… But we agreed that had it to do all over again we would probably have taken the bus tour which was quicker, cheaper and included another town (Revello) and a sit-down lunch. Nevermind, we live and learn (from these #firstworldproblems).

Back in Sorrento – and after a heavenly shower! – we had our second dinner in Sorrento at an amazing restaurant called La Tavola Di Lucullo. Even with an 20h00 booking, which is early by Mediterranean standards, the restaurant was very busy.

We ordered our water and (now standard) Margherita-to-share starter before even looking at the menu because we were starving, having survived the whole day on the hotel Continental breakfast and the Caprese roll (the Italians are certainly not afraid of carbs!!). So far we’d not had a bad – or even average – meal in Italy, and this dinner was up there among the best.

We had had aspirations of visiting Sorrento’s Irish pub to log the index, but the long day in the sun had us beat so we called it a day, responsibly saving something of ourselves for the next day’s trip to Pompeii.

Travelogue Italy 4: Capri

CAPRI

20 June 2017

The plan was to do a day-long pitstop in Capri island between our visits to Naples and Sorrento, since this famous playground of the rich and famous lay conveniently between the two gulfs of Naples and Solerno, at the end of the Sorrento peninsula.

We’d booked our tickets to Capri at the port when we arrived, so all that remained to be done in the morning was eat breakfast and check out before walking (back past Castel Nuovo) to the ferry.

We were surprised and delighted to see some hot fare on the buffet, which had all been strictly Continental until this point. There was a little bain-marie with 3 dishes and we served a spoonful of scrambles and a hearty serving of streaky bacon – but we passed on the green peas (!!) with little blocks of ham.

After onboarding just the jetfuel we needed to lug our suitcases across the Harbourfront to our jetty, where our ferry was ready and waiting for us to board.

The journey was pleasant (thanks to great air-conditioning mostly) and an hour or so later we saw the paradise coast of Capri.

We alighted at Marina Grande and followed the directions we’d found on the internet for a place to store our bags for the day. As luck would have it, the baggage store was opposite the other ferry terminal, where we’d be catching the crossing to Sorrento at the end of the day. For €3 each, it was cheap at the price to be rid of the bags for the day with the peace of mind they were safe.

Capri was a small island so there was a finite list of things to do and it was easy to knock a few off right away to make our itinerary fit the day. We were able to lob off a whole coast by skipping their Blue Grotto in the North West (starting to feel like “seen one grotto, seen ’em all”) and the collection of forts in the North East, and decided to catch the bus to the farthest point and work our way back.

That took us to Anacapri. The ancient Greek prefix “ana-” means up/above, signifying that this elegant little village lies above the village of Capri (which is why we took the bus, to avoid further climbing).

Anacapri was less famous than its counterpart and even drawing out our little tour couldn’t have taken more than half an hour and, having seen all 3 major sights in Anacapri, we took the famous Phoenetician Steps down to the Marina Grande, which had been the only access from Marina Grande and Anacapri until 1877 – quite a mission at almost 1000 unevenly spaced and sized stone steps!

It was thirsty work getting down all those steps – don’t be fooled, downhill is still hard work! – and swimtime was a good incentive to keep up the pace.

The beach was, as we were discovering to be the norm, a sliver of pebbles, with the usual half designated to side-by-side extortionately priced loungers and the other half a patchwork of sunbathers. As usual, being South African, we packed all our things into our bag, covered it with our towel (the trusty free-gift towel from Catania. What would we have done without it??) and kept and eye on it from the sea.

As much of a mission as it was to get in and out of the sea because of the blasted pebbles, it was also nice to be in the water, cooling off.

And essential, since the next trick was to climb the path to Capri. It was quite a steep and winding path to get you up the mountainside and again we were reminded that Google Maps doesn’t take altitude into account and not all 650m walks are made even! It felt like an epic achievement, but bearing in mind it was the main path through Capri’s suburbs, this was (still) everyday life for a lot of people!

We’d timed it to be in Capri town for lunchtime, to not only get a bite but (probably more so) to miss the worst of the midday heat. We’d booked a pizza place on the edge of town, fancying it to be a little less busy – the town square, Piazza Umberto, was known as “the lounge of Capri” because all the restaurant tables and chairs blend into one –  and we were right. With a lovely view and on the edge of the chaotic little town, we enjoyed a salami pizza that took forever to come, but was delicious when it arrived.

All that remained for the afternoon was a visit to Marina Piccola, which was supposed to be the smaller, quieter beach, so we set off on foot to enjoy the winding panoramic downhill road.

Marina Piccola was smaller. It was not quieter.

With a section of (pebbled) shoreline servicing two channels of water with a massive boulder in between, there were people everywhere. Worse still, there were teenage boys goading others on the massive rock to jump into the shallow waters. I couldn’t bear to watch as 2 of them jumped in, fearing we were about to bear witness to these youngsters’ undoing.

They were fine. We were off.

We got the bus back up to Capri and trotted down the path back to Marina Grande, which now seemed so much quicker that it was a familiar route.

The ferry schedule gave us lots of options, but we figured our day in Capri was done and successful so we might as well beat the rush, catching the 16h00 ferry to Sorrento.

We got our bags from the luggage check and got on the ferry, which was so full we couldn’t even find seats together. Not a big deal though with only a 20 minute crossing to get us to our next instalment.

Travelogue Italy 3: Naples

NAPLES

19 June 2017

We hadn’t even intended on visiting Naples, thinking we’d catch an overnight ferry or train from Palermo to Sorrento. We’d ascertained in the travel planning that Naples was the nearest airport to Sorrento, but it hadn’t been in the running… Until budget airline Volotea had their 5th birthday special and I managed to nab 2 one way tickets to Naples for €5 each!

So, there we were, in Palermo with a 07h00 plane to catch. We booked a taxi on the Sunday night so we’d be sorted for our 05h15 pick-up (Palermo airport was 40 minutes out of the city) and cursed our choices when we had to get up at 04h45 to get ready to leave.

As it turned out, we could have had another 20 minutes sleep because our driver was an absolute maniac – who probably could have taken flight himself at the speed he was driving! – and, thanks to clocking 145kmph on a few occasions and aggressively driving right up to cars in front and flashing his brights at them, we were at the airport in what must have been record time. Thank heavens it was so early. I can’t imagine how hair-raising the chap must be in traffic!

Volotea turned out to be the greatest budget airline ever. I had had some difficulties doing our online check-in on Sunday (something about a payment type conflict, no doubt because of the international credit card) and dropped a mail to their customer care. They replied within minutes, explaining the problem, apologising for our inconvenience and having concluded the check-in for us. The plane left on time, was empty enough for us to have a row of 3 seats each and arrived at our destination early, with our bags already on the carousel by the time we got there!

Having done our research, we bypassed the taxis and caught the express bus to the harbour, which dropped us off 20 minutes later.

We then had to navigate around the famous landmark, Castel Nuovo, to get to our hotel in the pretty suburb on the other side. Having heard stories about Napoli’s reputation for its crime (always, as a South African, taken with a pinch of salt), we’d erred on the side of caution and avoided staying in the tourist centres, as we usually did for convenient access to the sights and amenities.

We were way too early for check-in, so dumped our suitcases (on instruction, in the corner of the entrance hall – where it would be safe. We’d never do that at home!) and went foraging for food.

It was a lovely morning so we got traditional Caprese Napoli sarmies and went to eat in the park, in the shade, with a view of the sea and the castle.

We’d googled for walking tours and planned to meet the Old City tour that met at the Castle but, while we lingered with our sarmies in the park, the group must have left without us because somehow we’d mixed up the times and the tour was actually 10h30 not 11h00.

We followed the route the tour was taking anyway, since it obviously covered all the basic must-see stuff. Although there was nothing basic about our first stop, the Piazza del Plebiscito with the ridiculously impressive San Francesco of Paola Basilica on the one side and the Palazzo Reale on the other.

Grandeur to the enth, the Basilica was originally planned as a tribute to Napoleon, but by the time it was finished in 1816 he had already been dethroned so it was converted into a church instead, dedicated to St Francis of Paola who had stayed in a monastery on that site in the 1500s. It was massive. More massive than massive even, reminiscent of Rome’s Pantheon with a portico resting on six columns and 2 ionic pillars, and a 53m high dome beyond housing all sorts of priceless relics and altarpeices.

We wound our way through the Spanish Quarter and up Via Toledo and were thinking this was going to be more of the same – squares, churches, monuments, churches – until we stumbled across something a bit different to do.

We joined the afternoon Napoli Sotterranea tour, going 40m below ground to see what lies beneath the city.

The Greeks, innovators as they were, excavated below Naples (their Neo Polos or “new city”) 4 centuries BC to make cisterns to aid water supply and sustain their new city.

The first cave shows how they carved out the caves in the “soft” rock, excavating small bricks for building houses and big bricks of the darker lava rocks for use constructing the roads and delivering them to ground level using a pulley system through holes in the ground that served as wells when the cavaties were filled. The second cave showed how the cisterns had ladders so that the water could be cleaned “pool guy” style with a chap who would sweep the well using nets, to clean off the dust from the cave and clean out impurities that might have fallen in. After that it was a series of very narrow tunnels where then water was funneled from one well to another – and a visit to one with water still in it.

These cisterns were drained in 1940 to make bunkers during WWII. The wells were sealed, floors paved and stairs built, allowed for 2000 people to stay in the cavities for up to 3 days at a time during the raids.

There has been conjecture on how to continue to use the space functionally, so they’re trying out a Botanical project to see what plants can live sustainably underground. It was 16 degrees and they were given lots of water and UV lights for 16 hours a day to balance light and dark. There was varying success with the collection of samples, with Basil seeming to be the most prosperous (but I could have told them that, with my bipolar spurts of amateur veggie gardening experience!)

Other ideas were an underground kindergarten (!) and an underground water transportation system with small boats or similar to carry people along the kilometres that the caves cover, but the space was too small.

After the aquaduct tour, we were taken above ground to a building that didn’t look like much more than a block of apartments from the outside but, on entrance to a ground level unit, were shown that this building sat on top of an ancient Roman Theatre!

42 families had unwittingly been housed on top of the ancient theatre for the past 500 or so years when condominiums were built over it during a mammoth urbanisation surge in the burgeoning city. The family in this apartment had been using the theatre’s backstage area as their wine cellar, with its floor trapdoor almost comically covered by a sliding bed that retracted into the wall to reveal it. The cellar had been blocked off from the rest of the theatre until archaeologists got hold of it and had now restored the rooms and tunnels to their former structure. The rest of the building was still inhabited as flats though, which was quite unusual, especially since some of their inner windows open into these archaeologically-revealed passages.

Since the underground tour was close to the meeting place for an evening walking tour we’d decided to do, we hung about in town and had a very premature sundowner in order to get off our feet for a bit.

Turned out that it wasn’t necessary as when we met at the prescribed spot, the tour guide arrived only to tell us that he wasn’t feeling well and although he was ill of health, he felt worse for letting us down. He offered to make it up to us with buying us a coffee, but that really would have been insult to injury.

It was 17h30 by now and we had been up since 04h30 and on our feet all day so we admitted defeat and went to the hotel to complete our check-in.

We’d had a completely wonderful and crime-free tourist experience in Napoli, but were still grateful for the hotel we’d chosen as it was in a block of gorgeous art deco buildings, sandwiched between 2 famous landmark castles, on the seafront. A very lovely and relaxing location to end off our day.

We were now very much commited to The Fork – not only because of the discounts, but because the solid recommendations so far gave us a neat way to slim down the options between the abundance of restaurants everywhere we went.

We booked a pizza restaurant to tick off the authentic Neapolitan pizza experience, which is a Margherita garnished with tomatoes, mozzarella and basil, to represent the colours of the Italian flag. This formulation was invented by Neapolitan chef Raffaele Esposito in honour of Margherita of Savoy and he’s said to be the first baker ever to add cheese on a pizza. Apparently one of its distinctions is that it must be made with San Marzano tomatoes, which grow on the volcanic plains to the South of Mount Vesuvius, and perhaps give it the sweeter taste to what we’re used to (sort of like the tomato sauce in tinned spaghetti).

Traditionally not a wildly exciting pizza variant at home, we’d ordered the Margherita to share as a starter and then followed up with seafood mains. Christian had his usual seafood pasta with clams and mussels and whatnot and I had an incredible Calamari al forno, which wasn’t what I expected at all. Instead of a sort of pasta bake, it was a large piece of octopus that had been sort of armadillo’ed and oven-baked. Delicious!

Fed and happy, we walked back to our hotel to call it a night in light of our early start to Capri in the morning.

Travelogue Italy 2: Sicily – Palermo

SICILY | PALERMO

18 June 2017

We arrived into a damp Palermo on the bus after an almost 3 hour ride from Catania. It’d been drizzling a bit as we approached and we were fearful we were in for a rainy day, which we could ill afford since we only had the afternoon to explore Sicily’s capital before moving on to Naples the following day.

Our fears were unfounded and even the small puddles the drizzle had left had already started to dry up.

With only a few hundred metres to our hotel from the bus depot (and, probably more importantly, not a taxi in sight), we moved swiftly on foot, our trolley cases clattering on the stone pavements.

Trying not to ruin the walking tour we’d planned for the day, we rushed past the few places of interest we passed en route, and arrived at the Eurostar Centrale Palace hotel.

Walking into the plush reception, we were pleasantly surprised at the calibre of hotel. We’d booked on the Emirates Rocketmiles website, which claimed the hotel to be 4*, but we’d assumed it to be an oversell based on the price. It was not! Heavenly high ceilings, shiny marble floors and glimmering chandeliers welcomed us as we waited to check in.

We were given our room key; the most impractical massive brass keyring with our room number embossed on it, adorned with a bunch of maroon rope tassels like you normally see on curtain restraints.

Our room was just as nice. And quite different to the Albatro Rooms that had been our home in Catania the previous three nights!

Being midday already we were keen to get started… With lunch.

Stepping out of our hotel we found we were located in a vibey shopping street and bee-lined for the first café for a traditional Palermo experience – a panini and arancini (crumbed and deep-fried rice balls, stuffed with mince and ham & cheese respectively). I would have had the baked pasta but *everything* has aubergine!

With a clearer head, having eaten, we were able to get our bearings and map our route.

Our hotel was indeed in prime position, on Via Vittorio Emanuele (the same name as the street the travel agent was in in Catania; mental note to look him up and see why he’s so famous), and we were sandwiched (in more ways than one, thanks to the lifesaving panini) between 2 of the sights on our map, the Quattro Canti and the Piazza Pretoria (there’s a sign for you!)

The Quattro Canti (4 Sides) or, officially, Piazza Vigliena is an octagonal crossing built in the early 1600s made up of four sides being streets and the other four near-identical curved facades of 4-storey Baroque buildings which contain fountains with statues of the seasons and the four Spanish kings of Sicily. The resultant effect is quite spectacular… And was complemented by the horse-and-carriage vendors stationed there looking for patrons.

Piazza Pretoria had a less grand reputation. In the late 1500s, the Senate of Palermo bought a fountain that had been intended for Florence. It was so big that they had to demolish some local homes to make space. Adorned with sixteen nude statues of nymphs and mermaids, the fountain earned the nickname “the Square of Shame”.

Quite the contrary, the epically impressive Cathedrale Di Palermo, consecrated in 1185, dominated a massive block and was really a sight to behold! With lava inlays, it was a very dramatic, magnificently adorned piece of architecture and we were starting to realise that if there was to be one word to describe Palermo, it was to be “impressive”!

Using a very simple tourist map, it was easy to negotiate the city and impossible to miss the landmarks on account of their scale. Those Romans didn’t muck about when it came to putting together a church / theatre / piazza – and there were several of each.

We’d round a corner and see an impressive building, consult the map and it was just the lowly local church. And when I say local, I mean micro-local since there was a church on just about every corner!

It worked very much to our benefit that we were touristing on a Sunday. The roads were quiet and there was ample opportunity to take good pics of the famous buildings that must be swamped during the week seeing as they are still in functional operation. Plenty of shops were still open though and the roads were buzzing with shoppers and socialisers out enjoying their Sunday, and the pleasure of the closed off pedestrian streets free from the crazy drivers.

We did accidentally happen upon some sort of major religious ceremony, with scores of groups parading in procession – with each having a heralded flag thing in front and everything – in front of a magnificent church with a sermon and hymns being belted out from loudspeakers mounted on the lamposts. There were even Scout and Girl Guides groups in attendance, so we knew they meant business.

We’d discovered the church parade while looking for our dinner restaurant – another reservation through The Fork – but we were disappointed to see that it was shut tight. Perhaps because of the parade, perhaps not, but it left us without a plan, so we took a seat at a sidewalk Café and – with the sun still high in the sky – did some people-watching, rich with content from the droves of passersby.

The benefit of our vantage point was observing the restaurant’s menu in real-life and, despite ourselves (since the only thing we’d agreed earlier on that we wouldn’t have for dinner was pizza), ended up ordering a 3-pork pizza (bacon, sausage and salami) that turned out to be quite delicious.

Travelogue Italy 1: Sicily – Catania

SICILY | CATANIA

16 – 18 June 2017

Having done the short hop from a very relaxed first half of the trip in Malta, we had a skrik of a start to Sicily, with our taxi driver having torn through the dark Catania town – including what appeared to be a pedestrian shopping street – and dropping us off in front of a very large, very closed wooden door. We pressed the intercom for “Albatro Rooms“, but got no response.

Checked the booking form, but there was no phone number. Checked for free WiFi (having not yet bought an Italian SIM card) to Google for a number, but there was none. Pressed the button again. Repeatedly.

The door opened. A bewildered woman glared at us, swatted past us to put her garbage down, being careful to block the doorway with her body. We tried to ask her for info on Albatro, but got the blank eyes of someone who really truly doesn’t understand you.

She closed the door. With us on the outside.

Christian had seen a Vodafone sign on our drive in, so we figured if we could get a SIM card then we’d be back in business. Suitcases ‘n all, we trundled down the road.

Obviously the shop was closed (it was 22h30 after all).

A lady walking past noticed our obvious distress and stopped to offer us help. She Googled the hotel and got a number; called it, but there was no response.

She asked where the hotel was and when we pointed, she offered to come there with us to see if she could broker entrance (or information) for us with our future neighbours. It was very kind of her because, by now, we were several blocks away from the hotel.

We made our way back, Christian and I on either side of her to make sure she didn’t attempt to lose us. She managed to get the attention of the night desk and, after thanking her profusely and repeatedly, we were soon being led by Antonio up into the building and to our room (which, although very basic, was massive).

It was nearly midnight and although we could hear from the music and laughter leaking in through the windows that the city of Catania still had lots of life left in her for the night. We did not.

FRIDAY

The Albatro Rooms hotel provided breakfast in the form of a voucher for a coffee shop down the road. It was a simple but deliciously light and fresh pastry (custard for me; jam for Christian) and juice or coffee.

Having no wi-fi in the hotel and too-weak-to-be-useful wi-fi in the coffee shop, first order of business was to get connected. A great decision and €20 later we were 10GB richer… And on our way to the Tourist Office, passing the ruins of Roman Amphitheatre on the way.

We firmed our choices as down the coast to Siracusa (by bus) on the first day and up the coast to Etna (on a private tour) for the second day.

20 minutes later we were on the bus heading South when I got a message from an old friend from home, saying she was currently living in Siracusa and we simply must come and visit. Kismet seeing as we were on the way already!

We agreed to meet on the bridge between Siracusa and the Old Town, Ortygia, at midday. And we did.

Lynne-Marie had moved to Siracusa 2 years prior, so was well-versed to show us around, point out the sights and filling us in on life in Sicily in general, including her very interesting job processing refugees from North Africa who apparently arrive on the Sicilian shores in their droves in summer.

We talked as we walked into Ortygia, the small island historical centre of Siracusa (Syracuse in English), which contains many historical landmarks.

Lynne was our kind of tour guide, starting with a mandatory visit to what she termed The Best gelato shop, so how could we not? The cold, creamy gelato was welcome on such a hot day, which we were told was mid-thirties degrees and could flirt with 40 later on! Plus, we were in Old Town Square with the magnificent Cathedral in front of us, so the gelato surely doubled as a cultural experience??

We wandered around the outline of Ortygia Island, taking in the picture-perfect sea, appreciating even the mildest breath of breeze that came from it and absorbing the buzz that came with the cafe lifestyle on our left and beachlovers on our right.

Almost at the end of our walk we came to Castello Maniance, which usually allows tours but they turned us away because they were closed for a film shoot.

We’d worked up a thirst so ended off refreshments at a sidewalk cafe close to where we’d met earlier, with a great view of the ruins of a Roman Amphitheatre that had once seated thousands of people (in the baking heat) watching gladiators fight wild animals to the death (in the baking heat) which, beyond gruesome, all sounded quite exhausting!

Lynne had other existing plans for the later afternoon so we parted ways, grateful for the couple of hours with our personal tour guide.

We’d skipped lunch (disinterested because it was so hot) but there was an oasis of a fruit juice stand at the bus stop where we got a freshly-squeezed fruit juice slush that was pure heaven!! The kiosk owner was so tickled at my delight that he gave me a frozen melon as well!

An hour in the bus back to Catania wasn’t as labourious as it might usually have been, thanks to the comfy coach and air-conditioning and soon we were entering the city limits again, with the sun still high in the sky so there would be plenty of time to explore our homebase.

With our trusty tourist map in hand, we worked through the list of sights. With most clustered on our road (Via Etnea) and around the tourist office (Via Vittorio Emanuele II), we were comfortable with our surrounds and ticked off the essentials at record pace – church, university, palace, church, fountain, monument, church, piazza, cathedral, monument, Basilica sort of thing.

Very sweaty from our day out, we decided to go home to clean up before dinner so ambled up our road, browsing and shopping as we went (in no hurry since shops only shut at 20h00). At the one shop we bought where we actually bought something, the cashier gave us a brilliant free gift; a beach towel that folded into a zip-up bag. We were so delighted with the ‘present’ that we gave her one back – the melon the juice guy had given us. She was beside herself at our gesture (although must surely have wondered why we were walking around with cold melons on us).

Dinner was as yet undecided so we consulted a few sources and discovered that there was a concentrated pocket of options in a few square blocks in the Old Town. Less than a kilometre’s walk, we decided to take our chances.

We walked up and down a few streets consulting menus, but our final choice was made at first sight when we spotted some activity down an alleyway.

Following a group in, the alleyway opened onto a courtyard where a couple of restaurants had chairs and tables set up, that were near full already.

We got a cosy table at the back and proceeded to be served incredible food. Unsure of portion sizes, fearing that pasta might be a course rather than a main (based on the prices) we had hedged our bets with ordering 2 pasta entrees (€7 each) and 1 main course (€4) and proceeded to be served a mountain of pasta!

Christian’s seafood pasta was teeming with mussels and calamari and topped with an enormous prawn; my carbonara was easily the best I’ve ever had. Our main course extra, which the waiter automatically served as a savoury dessert was pork, thinly sliced and rolled with onions and cheese, crumbed and deep fried. Superb!

Having sat down to dinner after 22h00, we were grateful for the walk home to shift some of the feast so that we could get rested for the big day tour the next day.

 SATURDAY

Our tour was starting at 09h00 from the travel agent next to the tourist office so, comfortable that it was only a short walk, we had time to get to the coffee shop up the road for our complimentary breakfast. Christian had the same jam Danish, but I switched to the pain au chocolat… Which was crammed to bursting with creamy chocolate filling! Unbelievably good!

We trotted down the hill and, seeing as we had 20 minutes to spare, took a turn past the morning fish market, which took place in the area behind the palace and adjacent to the bus terminus – 2 points that had seemed so far from each other the day before when the turf was still foreign and two-dimensional on the map.

The Catania fish market is exactly what you’d expect – damp, noisy and smelly. Fishermen peddling reams of silver shiny sardines and anchovies, while butchers were carving up enormous tuna and swordfish. The resultant blocks of tuna on display were so big and richly-coloured that they could easily be mistaken for sides of beef! And the swordfish cuts were unmistakable with the head and the tail book-ended on their display.

We met back at the travel agent and were introduced to our travel mates for the day: a group of 4 French people and an Aussie couple. Our driver arrived and we all hopped in the Mercedes people-carrier; Christian and I sitting up front with the driver, an Italian who spoke fluent French (we understood his explanation to the French contingent that he’d lived in Cannes for 4 years), but little English.

It was a picturesque drive (after the nail-biting exit from the city – Sicilian drivers were every bit as aggressive and crazy as their reputation!) with an audio soundtrack telling us all about the places we were visiting.

We could see Mount Etna almost all of the journey, being such a large and distinctive landmark at 3346 metres high, making it the biggest in Europe and one of the biggest in the world.

Formed over hundreds of thousands of years with construction and destruction, it was humbling to realise that the gulf that became the volcano that we know today was only defined in the last couple of thousand years – so is as much a part of our “modern” history as all of our stories of our human civilisation.

There were 59000 hectares of park around Etna to protect the fauna and flora, all within the province of Catania, so it was a pretty, scenic drive to where we would be visiting the Silvestri craters; 5 craters formed from the 1892 eruption.

Etna emitted more energy than a nuclear bomb, expelling lava rocks bigger than a car for hundreds of metres and flowing lava that covered everything in its path. The Sicilians at least have been making use of the lava to make stone blocks for roads and buildings, which gave the buildings a gritty greyness that could be mistaken for needing a wash. We stopped at a house that had been excavated from the lava; frighteningly well-preserved, exactly as the lava had instantly set it.

There were already scores of cyclists making their way up the mountain. Very brave with the exuberant and very aggressive drivers that even put our South African taxi to shame in the ‘hazardous’ stakes!

Back in the bus, we wound our way upward and were soon at the craters with an hour and a half to explore.

Our timing was a bit off because we were told short on time to catch the cable car up to the next vantage point (2500m) and we’d just missed the sightseeing train that ran between the 5 craters at Silvestri.

Fortunately, we’re not afraid of a walk, so we set off towards the first crater and were soon at the bottom of it looking up at the rim and imagining what it must’ve been like when it erupted (and hoping it had no intention of a repeat performance today!)

The second crater was much of the same, but deeper and blacker so a bit more sinister.

The trek from crater to crater was a bit of a mission with the sides quite steep and the lava gravel quite slippery, so we bypassed the other craters in favour of a walk to the viewing point to take in the panorama.

Peckish from all the walking, we took the opportunity to sample arancini, rice balls stuffed (ours were mince and cheese), crumbed and deep-fried. Delicious!

Being first back at the van, we opened the back and swapped our sneakers for slops. While we were doing so, the Aussies returned and, wordlessly, moved our things from the front into the back where they’d been sitting, taking the front seats for themselves. While not a problem, it seemed like an odd thing to do.

The next stop was a couple of hours beachtime to swim and have some lunch. The driver gave us the option of bigger, busier sandy Naxos or smaller, prettier pebble-beach Isola Bella. The group chose the latter, but the driver still stopped at Naxos for us to take some snaps, where it looked like we’d made a good choice seeing as every inch of the beach was covered in loungers and umbrellas and the sidewalk the same with cafe tables and chairs.

Isola Bella was busy too, clearly catering directly to the needs of the upmarket resorts that nestled in the steep hillsides surrounding the cove, but very pretty with a little island in the middle of the bay that you could access by crossing a section that had slightly less than ankle-deep water.

We had a wander around, lazed in the water and then appreciated the relief from being in the open sun when we took up a table at the most modest of the restaurants, a little courtyard cafe with pleasant music and great panini.

When our time was up we made our way up the stairs, back to the road and our meeting point… To find we’d once again been re-seated. The Aussies had moved our bag back to the front and were back in their old seats! We exchanged a chuckle with the driver, who made up for his lack of English with a shrug and a smile.

It really made little difference as the next stop was a short hop up the hill to Castelmola, a medieval castle and citadel so named because of the molar shaped big rock on which it’s built.

We enjoyed a wander around its old stone alleyways, trying to find the viewing points that offered spectacular views of the panorama on all sides. We marvelled at how the 2000 odd locals nowadays coped with getting up and down the hill, let alone the poor slobs who had to build the place all those hundreds of years ago considering the medieval city only got steps in 1928 to make it accessible!

The last stop was Taormina, a famously beautiful town set on the hillside overlooking the coast, where the who’s who come to enjoy the NINE 5* hotels this small town boasts!

We were given a couple of hours to experience the historical sights (the Greek Theatre ruins and the Roman relics that were engrained in the town itself) and do some (in our case, window-) shopping. We enjoyed a wander around, took the pics that needed taking and settled at the town’s Irish Pub to log a pint on our Guinness Index.

Returning to the van at the 18h00 meeting time, we’d once again been re-homed and my bag was neatly placed where the Aussies wanted us to sit. So we did. And enjoyed the comfort of the bigger seats in the back while they crammed in the front (where the middle seat was slimmed to accommodate the gear lever).

We were back at the travel agent by 18h45 and delighted to see that the city was a hive of activity, clearly come to life after siesta and ready to rock Saturday night.

We made our way up the hill towards our hotel, stopping to buy a few things – made attractive even in Euros thanks to the summer sales, and made more delightful thanks to their unwavering commitment to ‘gift with purchase’.

We got back to our room with an hour or so to rest and refresh before our 21h00 dinner reservation at a place I’d found on an app called The Fork (run/endorsed by TripAdvisor) that was near to the area we’d enjoyed the night before.

The restaurant was great and we flipped our strategy from the previous night and shared a broccoli and pork sausage pasta to start and then a tuna steak and stuffed calamari for mains, washed down with a lovely Sicilian red. When the bill came, we’d gotten a whopping 50% off (€28) for booking through The Fork! Would definitely be looking into more of that for the rest of the trip!

The whole town was alive on our walk back to our hotel and even though approaching midnight, there were still families with children socialising and relaxing in and around the square. It seemed a shame to call it a night, but we were *finished* from our long day’s sightseeing.

SUNDAY

Having decided on the 09h00 bus to Palermo, we had time in the morning for a run.

Our position on Via Etnea was perfect for it and we started with running up the hill to the end, then the entire downhill to the fountain/palace/fish market piazza (which was deserted so would have made for perfect photos if we weren’t so sweaty and unsightly) and then back up the hill to our rooms. Almost 5km and 30 minutes on the nose.

Showered and packed, we enjoyed our last pastry at Misterlino (the most magnificent custard croissant!) before rolling our cases all the way back down the hill (cursing the Romans and their relentless cobblestones) to the bus terminus to go to Palermo.

Travelogue EE 7: Venice

VENICE

20 – 22 August 2010

The bus trip from Split to Venice turned out to be not so bad after all. Would have been better without the waft of the French stinky cheese feet from next to us (worsened by them having the seats after the middle-exit so they had their legs draped over the railing in front of them and their Pieds de Fromage at our nose level), but still not so bad.

Pulled into Trieste around 7am and were delighted to find out trains run to Venice less than an hour apart. Booked seats on the 08h18 one and busied ourselves with polishing off the picnic pack and playing some cards. Would have liked an hour or 2 to explore Trieste as it seems really quaint (and wouldn’t have taken much time to cover the 5 or 6 worthy sites).

Timing worked out perfectly. Alighted at Venice train station just after 10h30, discovered that the bus station was indeed literally across the road (those ‘just around the corner’ descriptions rarely tend to be literal – especially when there’s heavy luggage involved) and were happily reunioning with Faye, Alex and Robbie 20 minutes later.

Being only 11h00 with check-in at 13h00 (which apparently took quite some negotiation to move forward from 14h00 so was not negotiable), we set to finding somewhere to kill the time. Popping heads in here and there, scanning menus and exchanging snippets with the odd host, Faye and I visualised the perfect spot… And it appeared. Well, there was no fountain and the beer wasn’t free, but it was an awesome little spot down a side street, so was shady and away from the madding crowds on the main drag.

We caught (who turned out to be) Julio as he had just opened the door and was turning the first bar stools off their overnight-on-the-table-upside-down positions. His eyes were bright and his smile welcoming. He had no idea what he was getting himself into.

We managed to avoid economy completely and take up most of the pavement section of the cafe/bar (staunchly to be called “Julio’s” by us, despite considerable branding claiming the place to be called Taverna Ciardi  – and apparently on Facebook so we were told repeatedly) with ourselves, our luggage and our animated conversations and lively hand gestures (no mean feat since the Londoners had been up since 4 and we’d onlysortofslept on the bus).

Before we knew it, it was 13h00 and we were off to our apartment to meet Fabio, our landlord. High 5 to Lixi for her – as always – internet research magic, our place was awesome!!

Double-storey and very modern (like VERY modern with electric shutters and stuff) and light and bright (sky lights, a lovely little terrace) and… Air-conditioned! Even the artwork on the walls was too holiday to take seriously – a series of 3D pieces by Marin Claire with random items (like VERY random things like pepper, paint brushes and flower pots) popping from oil-painted canvases.

After opening and closing the shutters several times (small things amuse tired small minds even more), basking in the air-con, leisurely cool showers and clean clothes, we were ready to hit the streets (and canals) of Venice.

First up, feeding the machines. We found a taverna serving a bargain 2 course plus accompaniment set menu for €11.50. Had a great lasagne (very relieved, Italy was under pressure to deliver me this lifelong favorite) for starter and seafood plate with calamari, shrimps and squidheads with chips for main.

Lix had constructed the world’s best map so we were able to (relatively) easily get our bearings to see where to get to for the touristy stuff. Venice is not an easy city for that. Lots of winding and narrow alleyways, piazzas that look the same, too many churches for them to serve as landmarks anymore, buildings that look like an endless Monte Casino and bridgesbridgesbridges.

Still, we managed to find the highlights, get the right pics of the right things (Rialto Bridge, St Mark’s Square, some buildings and monuments and some things that hordes of other people were posing around so must be important surely), including settling in next to Tina Turner’s leather skirt and Madonna’s black sequinned hotpants for sundowners at Hard Rock Cafe.

Had a stab at the local supermarket (Billa) en route home. Very different to home. Even the simplest things take the longest time as their are new and exciting choices to evaluate in almost every category, new procedures to muddle through and all sorts of absolute essentials that ‘these people surely can’t not have?!’

A few nightcaps at our happy home and, all exhausted, we conceded to Friday being an early night.

What a great night’s sleep! The electric rolldown shutters are masterful and the room is dark as night, even when day comes!

SATURDAY

Saturday morning brought all new good humour. A beautiful sunny day in Venice and we were ready to enjoy it!

Lix whipped up some French toast with a tomato/bacon/onion/garlic salsa side (mmmm), which we tucked into at a lovely breakfast on our terrace that was all very civilised… until RoRo got the party started with healthy doses of vodka. Chris and I had been delighted to find a bottle store on Trogir Island the day before and had splashed on 2l of vodka (and a litre of each of our four favorite Croat draughts) in our morning orange juice. This, combined with our obligation to wait for the ice to set so we could empty and refill the trays to make another batch while we were out, led to things heading decidedly in the direction of messy.

We ended up ‘waiting for ice’ until about 3 o’clock, when we headed for the local Irish pub to watch the rugby (SA vs NZ, so I’m told). Several shooters (enough that I had Jager splashes on the back of my t-shirt), a bleated national anthem (us, ours, on the bar counter) and many spurts of photos later, we’d lost Faye and Lix. Completely.

Never ones to fret, me and the boys went next door to McD’s to have a Mighty Bite bacon and cheese burger meal and discuss strategy.

That was the plan. What ended up happening was Robbie engrossing himself in our neighbouring table, while Christian ate his AND all but 2 bites of Robbie’s burger and then replacing the remnants in Robbie’s container – and Robbie not realising that most of his burger was missing!

Somehow we managed to get separated in our exit and I ended up manning the bridge to the right of us while Chris went to see if Robbie had gone left. No sign of him anywhere!

I’m super-glad it wasn’t me. With my sense of direction and that labyrinth (and no map nor any idea of our address) I’d still be looking for home!

However, Christian navigated with ease – and who should we bump into at Julio’s…? Faye and Alex having very civilised drinkies. The details are a bit blurry (to all) but we were home shortly after, safe and sound… For midnight snacks (chips and verysloppysortof spaghetti pomodoro) and nightcaps.

Robbie came tumbling in an hour or so later – very short on details on where he’s been, but safe, sound, in one piece and very merry.

Luckily there was a tres bizarre TV game show to keep us entertained (Italian terrestrial TV only seems to be infomercials dotted with cartoons and weirdy gameshows) and we had a very low brain-power, high-relaxation end to an eventful day of mishaps and misadventures.

Then it was Sunday…

SUNDAY

Bizarrely, our wonder apartment didn’t have a toaster. But we did have the Alex 2011 with us, so were able to regain signs of human life with fried sandwiches of the best cheese, ham, salami and sliced beef Italy (well, Billa and then our fridge) had to offer. Enough butter to clog an artery… Or in this case jumpstart the zombies on the couch (we were now quite into the infomercials and there was quite pacey discussions about the Stanner Stairlift, the Relax and Tone, Water Smile filters).

Fortunately a channel hop during breakfast left us on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (in Italian, which is weirdly fitting with their Italian painter names and penchant for pizza) and was the perfect impetus for discussing plans for the day’s sight-seeing, which centred around a visit to the Peggy Guggenheim Museum and a trip to Giorgio Island to get pananoramic views of the Venice coast- and skyline.

The walk to the Guggenheim was enough to require a refuel, so we stopped in at a little bar/cafe for a quick snack. They have a brilliant snack strategy – a glass counter displaying a wide selection of wraps, tramezzinis, sandwiches rolls, all cheesed, meated and garnished and ready for a quick whirl in the flatbed toaster before a delicious steaming hot and fresh baked item is served to you moments later. Genius!

Having gotten all the culture behind them (we left the others to go to Guggenheim while we window-shopped and got hopelesslessly lost on our way back), we bought vaporetto tickets to see the city from the waterways, get over to Giorgio and take the long way home around the only unexplored side of the island. Bloody marvellous to just sit and let the view come to us for a change 🙂

Made our own Spag Bol for dinner and did a worthy job of it too! A very lovely and cultured dinner at the table and everything – even with champagne for an early celebration of Lix’s impending birthday.

Did the right thing and popped in at Julio’s for a last fond farewell. Having been sane, sober and present at our communal meeting place of choice, he was able to provide some interesting insights into our comings and goings the night before that cleared things up a bit. And opened up all new questions too! All good though and he said we were all fun in our muddle, so no real harm done. :o)

The Londoners headed off at an ungodly hour to catch their flight, while we enjoyed our last lie in with the heavenly electric blinds (would make a great name for a band). Scoffed down a real patchwork breakfast with eggs and cheese scrambled with spaghetti and top with a spoonful of bolognaise mince, and half glasses of this and that to finish them off (thankfully not the vodka or beers, which Alex, Faye and I had had the good sense to finish off the night before).

Headed to Marco Polo Airport via vaporetto without incident despite having not bought a ticket – €13!! And standing next to not one but two conductors most of the way. And an incident where our driver managed to play dodgems with another vaporetto and a private speedboat causing much arm-waving and heated Italian from the shore, causing the vaporetto to reverse to assess the damage, but seemingly only for curiosity’s sake as no details were perceptibly exchanged, bar a few middle fingers which I’m relatively sure weren’t insurance-related.

We found lockers at the airport to store bags (after runaround from the Lufthansa call centre who said we could check in at midday, the check-in desk who said we couldn’t and the luggage check-in guy who had to wait for the security guy to return – newspaper under his arm, clearly having gone off to do his official ‘business’ – to xray our bags). Baggage-free, we caught the local bus for a few stops to get off and amble through the greater Venice countryside, popping in here and there for a drink and to play some cards to soak in the aircon.

Got back to the airport and checked in uneventfully. Grabbed a slice of sausage pizza (big enough to be half a pizza at home) and a Peroni and we were off again.