The breakfast buffet in our little hotel overlooking the sea put on an amazing spread (and they even had decent coffee). We have really loved Cefalu and it was hard to say arrivederci as we packed up the van and hit the road.
Our journey by road today would take us from the top-right of the island, to the top-left (or for those of you with more directional nouse than yours truly: north-east to north-west). A fun fact for you, Sicily, the ‘ball’ that the boot-shaped map of Italy is kicking, is the world’s 44th biggest island and is about two and a half times smaller than Tassie (which, impressively, comes in on the Big Islands Chart at number 26). Having a car is really the ideal way to see Sicily.
Just like most of the European countries we’ve visited on this trip, Sicily has its fair share of mountains - Etna obviously the celebrity amongst the pack. The coast road was littered with looming peaks, not snowy-topped yet but some of them apparently skiable in winter. The scenery was spectacular.
We had originally planned to stay in the island’s capital - Palermo - but had changed our plans, thinking we might just pop in on our way through today. As soon as we hit the city limits, our dreamy country drive became a nightmare. One roundabout in particular, with several lanes, had traffic banked up to grid-lock, drivers greedily shoving their way into the fray, most without even looking. Masses of mopeds weaving in and out didn’t help and no-one was giving an inch. Taking turns, giving way and using blinkers is obviously not included in the Italian driving test. It was carnage! It took us 17 minutes to drive 3kms! Ross was at the helm of our oversized vee-hickle and I was in awe of his ability to avoid being crashed into.
If parking in downtown Messina had been near impossible, we imagined the situation in Palermo would be exponentially worse (which it was!) Double-parking was rampant, blocking entire lanes and if a parking spot was too small, no problemo - just squeeze in diagonally with your rear poking out into the traffic. Thankfully, we actually did some research ahead of time, greatly avoiding stress and allowing us to find a great, secure spot to leave the van. It was a relief to get out of the car.
Palermo had a big-city-grunge feel to it, graffiti everywhere, rough-sleepers on park benches and seedy backstreets. Rundown residential buildings are so close to the highway, one woman was practically standing on the road as she publicly hung all her smalls on the washing line.
Sam had wanted us to visit a TikTok famous bakery, claiming the best cannolis in all of Sicily. The hard to find cake shop resides inside the Santa Caterina monastery, accessed via a staircase, a marble hallway and by walking through a tiled courtyard, complete with a beautiful rose garden and statued fountain. Ushers manned all the doors and as we joined the queue we were given a ticket. Inside the buzzing bakery was a mouth-watering array of traditional Sicilian cherry-topped cakes, nutty cookies and of course, those famous cannolis. Though not on the selling floor, cloistered nuns from the monastery rabbit away behind the scenes, as they’ve done for centuries, making all these delicious cakes and rolling the cannoli shells - ‘a project dedicated to rediscovering and promoting the ancient traditions of convent confectionery—a significant tangible heritage that must not be lost, but rather passed on to future generations’. Only Sam had the appetite this early in the day to sample their traditional wares but he gave his pistachio, chocolate number a big thumbs up.
Palermo’s old town, with its cobbled streets, boutiques and fancy official buildings, had a certain charm about it and we sat and stopped for a coffee as weaving mopeds narrowly avoided pedestrians and the postie with his overloaded bike made his rounds.
Tobes pointed out a restaurant called ‘PMS’. I heard it only opens once a month and the customer service is terrible.
The 2nd city stop on our agenda was a quick visit to the Palermo football club’s home ground. With a pink kit, the club’s merch is not only pretty unique, but also pretty. Tobes and Sam made some purchases and we had a quick squiz at the pristine pitch before hitting the road for greener pastures.
It was early afternoon when we made it to our destination of Scopello and since our landlord was still half an hour away, we paid a visit to the village main street to find some lunch. Off a beaten path, this place was very quiet and almost gave off ghost town vibes. A small sandwich shop/cafe with an old fashioned set of red scales on the counter and a young bespectacled sales assistant with a loud voice and limited, to no English, was serving anchovy and tomato focaccia and giant oval-shaped prosciutto-filled arancini balls. After studying the menu and ascertaining what we all wanted, Toby stepped up to the plate and ordered our lunch in Italian. When asked how on earth he knew how to speak such proficient Italian, he just shrugged and said he was simply reading the menu. Fantastico.
Rossco drove back to meet ‘Scopello Mike’, our landlord, while we finished lunch and reported back that the accommodation was just ‘OK’. I had thought it was a holiday villa in a complex of villas when I’d booked it but Ross informed us it was a standalone house. It hadn’t been expensive because we are not here during the high season. Ross had me worried that I’d booked a dud place but it turned out he had underplayed it on purpose, hoping to give us a nice surprise when we arrived. It worked.
Very isolated, up a small, steep, sandy street that overlooks the sea, the rendered white house has gorgeous, colourful, hand-painted Italian tiles everywhere, big shuttered windows and a verandah with tiled benches and uninterrupted views of the bluest water. It’s beautiful!
Keen to see the Torre della Tonnara, the huge limestone sea stacks (faraglione) that protrude majestically from the Mediterranean Sea here in Scopello, before the sun went down, we grabbed our cameras and headed off. It turns out these much photographed, landmark rocks have been tangled up in quite the Sicilian saga, with access temporarily restricted due to a land ownership dispute. The historic tuna fishery (that dates back to 1200AD!) and the surrounding land, including a private beach at the foot of the rocks, has approximately 32 owners, which sounds like a recipe for disaster in itself. The gaggle of owners can’t see eye-to-eye about who has the right to manage and operate the area so it’s temporarily closed until they sort it out.
Fenced from the public and guarded by a guy sitting in his car at the gate, access looked well and truly denied but Toby, gaining confidence in his unlocked new language, pleaded for the opportunity to grab a quick photo. ‘Only where I can see you’ the guard growled from his open car window.
We found a good vantage point on the hill behind and still managed to capture some great pics of the towering monoliths in all their glory, the deep aqua water lapping against them gently. Molly, Sam and Toby ventured a little further to get some even better photos and Molly was busy taking video footage on her retro Super 8 camera.
Who doesn’t love a visit to a foreign supermarket? The super mercato in Scopello was brimming with Italian delicacies and treats and we bought some goodies to enjoy back at the house.
On the way home, we stopped in at our local beach, nestled between rugged cliffs and dramatic rocky outcrops, its ridiculously clear turquoise water looking so inviting. Toby and Sam ‘ouched’ their way down the pebbly shore with mountain goat agility and paddled around the big rocks to cool off, before we headed back to our humble abode on the hill.
Our resident gourmet chefs, Sam and Tobes, whipped us up some delicious pesto pasta with crunchy prosciutto and lashings of fresh parmesan, as good as any meal we’ve had on the trip!
Scopello Mike had warned Ross to be careful of the wild boars that roam around the house at night. They might ‘mess things up a bit’. Yikes. We were planning a family game of Pass the Pigs tonight. Hopefully we won’t be passing real pigs instead!
