It continued to rain quite heavily overnight but by the time we were munching on breakfast the clouds had started to part, some sneaky sunshine breaking up the grey.
With Sam at the wheel again, we set off in our van, quite an anomaly in these parts, the narrow roads (and teeny parking spots) catering far better to cars a little more petite. Having said that, the skinny, winding roads seem to be no deterrent to giant buses who take the hairpin bends at speed, pushing everyone precariously to the edges. At one stage today, 2 buses were passing one another on a crazily sharp bend. Sam had to reverse back up the hill to let them squeeze past. Most cars actually drive around here with their wing mirrors permanently tucked in.
Our 3 young icecream connoisseurs, big fans of Gelato Messina in Sydney, were excited to be driving through the town that gave the iconic icecream institution its name. Some research revealed it was the humble establishment, established in 1910 - Pasticceria Irrera - in the town of Messina, that actually inspired the Australian icecreameries. A visit was in order.
This proved easier said than done with parking in the buzzing little town at a premium. Mopeds whizzing, trucks delivering, pedestrians aimlessly wandering - it was bedlam. We finally found a space big enough to park in - sure it was a No Parking Zone - but hey, no one else seemed to adhere to the rules here. We whacked the hazard lights on and Ross stayed with the car just in case. The rest of us made a bee-line for the delicious gelato, my raspberry and dark chocolate chip number certainly living up to expectations.
Our drive north along the coast road, with tunnels bored through the rocky mountains (🎶 rocky mountain high…Sicily - doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it?) was spectacular. Some of the bridges, soaring high above the sea, were an engineering feat and we made a quick roadside stop to get some photos of the incredible vistas. Toby popped on a bit of Andre Bocelli’s ‘Con Te Partirò’ to get us in the mood and we could see the mainland of Italy - the toe of the boot - off on the horizon; so close Molly was confident she could swim it.
We reached our destination of Cefalu (pronounced cheff-ah-loo) just a smidge after lunchtime, and checked into our cute hotel, located right across from the beach, where only one of the staff on reception speaks English. We all know Italians love to speak with their hands and the bellboy (or should I say bellman?) who came to help with our bags, had honed his animated sign language skills to perfection.
Sam had been recommended a panini shop, slightly off the beaten track, in the stony, rambling streets of the old town. Vespers whooshed past as we walked up vibrant alleyways with washing flapping on lofty lines above our heads, pastel coloured terraces, striped awnings and neighbours chatting across balconies.
The panini shop was suitably busy, given the deliciousness of their food, which we ate down by the beach in the sun. Ross and Tobes grabbed some arancinis and joined us before we all headed back to the hotel to don our swimwear.
It was a nice surprise to find this was a sandy beach (so no awkward, roly-poly entries or exits over slippery pebbles necessary). The coast curves around a rocky corner, separating it into 2 beaches. Toby suggested we swim at the smaller, quieter beach around the bend by entering a tunnel leading, through a cool stone arch, straight to the sand. This diminutive beach is watched over by a charming collection of ancient Italian buildings, with their peeling plaster, weathered stone walls, tiny balconies and windows of every conceivable shape and size, squished together in a row like mismatched books on a shelf and plonked right on the edge of the Mediterranean..
The water was crystal clear and so refreshing, swirling with icy currents on top and warmer water below (a little reminiscent of the kiddy pool at the Aquatic Centre, though hopefully warm for an entirely different reason). There was a jump-off spot and a spectacular view of the huge, rugged slab of limestone rock (with the imaginative title - La Rocca) looming large behind the town.
There are some great shops to wander here, a little less upmarket than Taormina. Ross indulged in some retail therapy, getting a pair of fine, I-talian, leather boots. The boys then ventured out for a pre-dinner drink before Molly and I joined them for some authentic Sicilian pasta under the moonlight in the old town.
Così magnifico!
