Month: April 2025

# 11 Prego. That’s Old

We were in the boot of Italy staying in the absolutely charming town of Bernalda, at a very special small hotel built by the Cópala family. The gardens were exquisite and though my family had told me there had been another spring snow storm at home in Calgary, I was still overwhelmed with plans to up my Canadian garden game. Whisteria hung over the garden walls, fig trees climbed around the breakfast veranda, and the geraniums had grown  into bright red geranium bushes.

  Still, we were tempted to drive out of Bernalda, passing families enjoying gelato on their Easter weekend strolls, to discover a true wonder of the world. 

The green hills of Basilicata

   After a trip through hills of the greenest farmland we gathered in an ancient building  to be brought by van into a valley and then carefully led into a cave, or crypt,  where it’s said a shepherd revealed that visible on the walls where he sheltered his sheep were some sort of paintings. Mama Mia! Paintings indeed! Under  special lightening (no photography allowed) we were staring at stunning frescos dating from the 8th and 9th century!

This rupestrian church was discovered on May 1, 1963 by members of the Circolo La Scaletta of Matera.

In 2001, the Zètema Foundation of Matera launched an exemplary, scientifically-based full recovery project of the rock monument with the support of the Central Institute of Restoration.

Called the Crypt of Original Sin – this cave was the “cult site of a Benedictine rock monastery from the Lombard period. It is embellished with a cycle of frescoes painted by the artist known as the Painter of the Flowers of Matera and expressing the historical characteristics of Benedictine-Beneventan art.” 

Sitting in the cool dim cave, listening to an audio presentation accompanied by low gorgorian chanting and imagining the monks painting a thousand years previously, left me feeling enraptured but also very small – ready to jump back out into the light and remembering to keep smelling the roses. 

Quotes and photographs are from the La Cripto Del Peccato Originale website copyright 2023. 

#7 – Oops! Back to Sicily – The Post About Dining!

M and I are on a long holiday to see how much we can eat! … I mean to celebrate his retirement. We’re in the boot of Italy but so much bread, olives, pasta, sausage, calamari, pizza and gelato has gone to my head and I’ve left out this post penned in Sicily.

Back on Sicily we left the Baroque city of Noto, and traveled toward Catalina pausing in Syracuse, the birthplace of Archimedes and home of Pythagoras and Plato, to walk the seawall above the Ionian Sea  and lunch at an outdoor cafe. Beside us a chic and thin Sicilian couple ordered a big plate of crispy  calamari, just as we did. Full of the fat rings of fried squid, we were ready to pay and continue exploring but noted that the Sicilians were  now indulging in big plates of tomatoe and olive covered rigatoni, and you bet they’d finish with gelato and/or cannoli. Observing so many Sicilians dine that excessively I was desperate to know the secret of binging like the bourgeoisie and still mirroring skinny models. Behind us an American told his server the portion was too large to finish. The waiter declared rather emphatically, “This is Sicily. We only have big portions. Enjoy it.”

When M and I weren’t discussing how locals packed away so much fine Italian grub and remained fit, we were back to being blown away by their driving. They flew past us on rough stone roads, with garden walls boxing us in, maneuvering the blind corners with moterbikes overtaking us all. M exclaimed and I gasped and gripped the door handle, convinced the Sicilian drivers had some sixth sense combined with a strong faith in the afterlife. 

Drivers and diners aside,  what I’d like to bottle and bring home is the the delightful transcendent scent that filled the air when we arrived at the country inn we were booked into, situated in an orchard of lemon and orange trees. The afternoon that we’d heard there was a spring snow storm back home in Canada M and I competed for the best lemon tree photograph. I got into bed that night intoxicated not by wine or eperol, but that sweet aroma of lemon blossoms.

#10 My Geography Lessons Didn’t Do Justice To The Boot of Italy

On this special Italian holiday we’ve said arrivederci to Sicily, and Bonjourno to the boot of Italy. M and I flew from our tour of Sicily through Rome, back to Bari in the boot of mainland Italy. We drove the winding highway to a small hotel in Bernalda,  whose wisteria filled gardens made me want to stay forever and also to get home and wake up my Canadian flower beds.

Rome to Bernalda

   After being up close to Mount Etna, Sicily’s active volcano, we might have felt we were finished with astonishing sights – until we took a short drive from Bernalda to neighbouring Matera. This incredibly picturesque town has its roots in the neolithic period and was occupied essentially by cave dwelling people right up until the 1950’s when it was forcibly evacuated by decree of the Italian government. The decree was necessary because of sanitation and health considerations made necessary by the fact that the people, the children, the chickens, the donkeys, the pigs and everything else all lived in the same caves together.

Museum Depicting Traditional Cave Home

Alarmingly, these people relied upon animal manure to heat their homes, which gives something of a view of why in modern times, an end to it all was necessary. 

While the cave houses were condemned and empty for years, under strict regulations, they are now being renovated. Plumbing, sewer and electricity now adorn fashionable apartments owned by a younger generation, at considerable expense. The result is a picturesque and unusual location in southern Italy.

The location is sought after by filmmakers, including the James Bond folks who filmed No Time To Die here. We were told they poured gallons of Coca Cola on the slippery rock streets to make them sticky rather than slick for the speeding car scenes. The clean-up afterwards made them even more shiny white. If you ever are so fortunate to visit the south don’t miss Matera. 

# 9 Damn! That Volcano Is Errupting!

We had an odd experience on our Sicilian travels – M and I were in our lovely hotel room hearing perhaps  thunder – there was an incredibly loud ‘huffing’ outside.  I opened the door and gasped (lots of gasping on this trip). “Mama Mia!” (Okay, my exclamation was in English and more explicit). “M get out here!” I cried. “There are  (another bad word) flames coming out of that volcano!” We rushed to the reception to find out if we needed to scurry for our lives. A hotel employee told us Mount Etna suddenly erupts with flames many times  a year, but agreed that it was frightening, before going back to casually serving drinks. Be still again, my Canadian heart. 

Mount Etna

By morning the flames had stopped and (more scariness)  we drove up, up, up to view the rich black lava rocks high on Mount Etna (with a zillion tourists), hiking over red and black lava rocks. Some believe the volcano is the gateway to the underworld, others credit it for making the hills down to the sea a Mecca of fertility. 

M’s Italian barber back home insisted we must visit the town of Taromina – we wound our way there next, more narrow roads, speedy drivers, ridiculously steep climbs with switchbacks – so more freaking gasps. (Of course). 

   M swears it hasn’t been intentional but we’ve saved loads of Euros by always being in the villages from 12:30 to 4 pm when shops are locked up. But nothing closes in the tourist meca of Taromina. With enough lemon printed linen I focus on the perfect Italian leather hand bag, explaining to M how it’s too well priced to NOT  buy it. Prego. Time to wind back down away from the volcano – a few chunks of lava rock in my new bag. 

Below Mount Etna

# 8 The Godfather

It was the big tour day!  And it was fantastico. To recap: M and I are on holiday in Italy. Our route through Sicily has been created with the suggestions of a wonderful travel agency in Canada aptly called “Quench” but we are driving on our own, except for two scheduled tours. 

We were again steadily changing elevation, this time in our tour guide, Vitorio’s car, rising high above the sea on switchbacks. M and my kids are huge movie buffs, and a favorite film is The Godfather. Vittorio was driving us to Savoca, the tiny mountaintop village where Michael Corleone hid in exile and where he met and married the beautiful Appolonia. Savoca is at the top of a perilous peak approachable only by a goat path road that winds around like a child’s mindless scribble. Vittorio, a local, drove always with one hand while gesturing to us with the other; this so even as he remarked at a passing truck “woo-a, that was a close”. And he nevertheless expressed amazement at Coppola choosing to shoot in that remote, hard to reach village recalling the antiquated cargo and cameras from that age of film.

The view of the sea far below was stunning, as was the revelation that we were being invited to order drinks and granita, (a Sicilian iced dessert), in Bar Vitelli, the actual bar where Coppola filmed Michael convincing the father of Appolonia, that his intentions were honorable. 

Vittorio told us the villagers were the extras, including his grandmother, during that thrilling time in Savoca 53 years ago. Myself, I couldn’t stop thinking about our movie aficionados back home and how I’d love to show them this curious exotic world we’d time-travelled into. Honestly, so many in my family can recite The Godfather from Vito Corleone’s first, “Why did you go to the police? Why didn’t you come to me first? To Michael’s final “Don’t ask me about my business, Kay.”

 Next Vittorio drove us even higher up some more goat paths (ineptly translating to English for us, he mistakenly called them “roads”) which were made of glassy volcanic stone, to the church Michael and Appolonia were wed. He showed us the now tattered robe, hanging (unprotected) on the church wall, that the preist in the movie wore. The priest’s red prayer book, also a prop in the actual movie (presumably rather valuable for this reason alone) lay on a chair like a discarded pamphlet for us to pick up and leaf through.

It was difficult to believe there was civilization any further up the mountain, but Vittorio drove us still higher yet. Our ultimate, even more precarious, destination felt like a village out of a Dr. Suess story, the breeze circling up over our heads in a place close to heaven while the beach and bars beckoned far, far below. M was already texting our kids his photos and exchanging famous Mario Puzo lines.

This tour had all the intensity of “going to the mattresses” coupled with a perfectly reasonable apprehension of “sleeping with the fishes.”

      

#6 Greetings Cheek to Cheek

On a sunny afternoon M and I wander the Baroque city of Noto single file, as the sidewalks are comparable in size to Canadian curbs. A crosswalk is barely a suggestion. Ie. drivers might consider slowing here, but hey, probably not. I lag behind M, staring at the array of doors that personalize the look-alike  storied townhouses constructed hundreds (and hundreds) of years ago, remembering to glance up, so as not to miss the boxes of geraniums, the ancient swirly cornices, and ok this seems silly, but even the crisp laundry flapping in the Sicilian breeze looks artistic, rather than messy to my foreigner’s eye.

We pass containers planted with small wonderfully cheery lemon trees. I’m a sucker for the popular sunshiny lemon-printed fabric and worry about how many pretty tablecloths,  runners, and cloth shopping bags I’ll go home with? Thank goodness the shops close from noon to four preventing me from purchasing a pile of them. 

The highlight is strolling Noto at night with the shop doors open, and locals calling out greetings to each other, Salve! Buona Sera! When they meet, they touch each other cheek to cheek. So much energy and enthusiasm but M and I wonder what do they do during those four hours in the afternoon? 

  What we don’t question and want to emulate back home, is the Italian talent for outdoor lighting. It’s another world after dusk, eating our pistachio and stracciatella gelato under the illumination of the ground and twinkling accent lights brightening  churches and historic walkways.

From the grand steps of the Cattedrale di San Nicolo – I wonder, can I light up my Canadian poplar tree and lilac bushes to shimmer from the bottom up? Prego, I’m going to try. 

# 5 We Dare To Drive in Sicily!

Driving! Mama mia! After three days in Palermo we rented a car to drive through the middle of Sicily from the north coast to the south coast. First nerve racking task – leaving Palermo. The roads have lanes but no lines. Motorcycles, and there are plenty of them, seem to be exempt  from all rules of the road, and where in Canada other vehicle drivers might catch your eye with a look, or even a nod, here it seems like the attitude  is to avoid indicating intent, rather it’s “I’m just going where I’m going. You watch out!” 

Mama Mía!

Finally we’re on the open (skinny) road winding through the Sicilian hills. Unlike on a trip through the Canadian Rockies, we rarely lose sight of farms, villas and orchards. Amongst the greenery, the houses in the fairytale hillsides are exclusively shades of yellow or gold. And the magnificent vistas! – layers of hills, farm land, and then the Ionian Sea.

  Looking for a pizzeria in the city of Caltagirone, we found the streets quiet and shuttered.  Settling for a Italian McDonalds (no Big Macs or Quarter Pounders) we learned that Monday is the only day of the week that Caltagirone’s businesses ‘take a rest’. 

Back on the highway to Noto, our next destination , the landscape levels somewhat to an impressive variety of vegetation: palm and cypress trees, whole groves of prickly pear cacti, orchards of olive and lemon trees. M got used to me gasping at each hairpin turn, with drivers passing us to head straight for oncoming traffic, like why wouldn’t they? 

    For a distance we followed a giant semi and worried what impatient Italian might try to pass us both. On a hairpin turn it wasn’t a vehicle slowing traffic but rather  a horse and buggy. Mama Mía! 

Semi and horses

At last we were inside Noto,  where I thought we’d be stuck to this day! The cobblestone roads, shrunk in width as we drove. Back at home we might call them sidewalks. The strident voice of Google maps, demanded we turn left in between two ancient buildings a few feet apart. Seriously!? Behind us three drivers were waiting for us to get on with it. The walls of the buildings on each side of our rented KIA’s supposed path were scrapped with paint from non-Italian drivers who’d passed this way before. 

Seriously?

M now insists it wasn’t so big a deal. (What?!) My solution,  cried out between bad language, was to just let the Italian guy in the car behind us take the wheel in our car and get us out of the jam. M is far too much of a red blooded male to have considered that – and he persevered, manoeuvring by inches until our car could move forward. With adrenaline still rushing through my Canadian veins we made it through Noto to where the Google maps lady said, ‘Your destination is on the right.’ And Prego! A giant double door opened to a courtyard with parking for our hotel. Be still my heart. It was time for an afternoon cappuccino and an Aperol Spritz! 

#4 Take the Cannoli

My husband, a guy not always crazy about organized tours suggested one dull winter day, as we planned our month long Italian adventure, “Oh go ahead, book us a few tours.” Prego. I picked one I’d love. And one he’d love. Mine was for our second day in Palermo, Sicily  and was fantástico! Discover Sicily has been an exotic, sometimes scary adventure. It has a rich history marked by centuries of conquest and influence from Greeks, Romans, Arabs, Normans. Our tour was called Ten Tastings of Palermo and went beyond our expectations in culinary delights!

Mercato di Ballaro

The aromas! Oh the tantalizing aroma’s! And the vivid colours! Michelangelo, our guide with a company called WithLocals, was too good to be true. It sounds corny but it was as if we’d met an old friend – an Italian history foodie-type old friend – our kid’s age,  but stay with me! 

   He described Palermo as being layered like a lasagna. It’s Sicilian cuisine has been influenced by Arab countries, the French, Spain, Greece, and North Africa and to explore this Michelangelo took us to the historic Mercato di Ballarò. Located in the Albergheria district.

Our first delight was a piece of fluffy Arabian style salted bread hot off the grill. Our taste buds were awakened. From their we let him deliver us through milling customers to a booths selling tuna crouquettes, and lightly battered asparagus, mushroom, and artichoke where described the artichokes as as being as big as a baby’s head. Michelangelo then insisted we’d never tasted egg plant parmigiana if we had eaten it in Sicily. So true – it was an alluring mouthwatering mix of the ‘aubergene’, tomato sauce and gooey cheese.

Sicilian Artichokes

From there we stepped through a bottleneck of people, to an open area with American music blasting, and all ages of folks dancing and laughing in a square crowed with food booths, and plastic tables and chairs. Michelangelo called out an order to a  woman behind another grill and soon presented us with our last plate of hot delights.

Since our arrival in Palermo we’d noticed people everywhere, seriously everywhere – sipping on bright orange drinks, resembling orange Fanta – but not. It’s an apéritif known as an Aperol Spritz, a mix of Aperol, prosecco, and soda water. On that sunny afternoon we discovered its refreshing appeal to accompany our thinly battered, crispy fried sardines and the best ever lightly spiced potato croquettes. 

With our bellies bursting Michelangelo suggested we stroll to a wide seaside boulevard when we walked amongst local parents and grandparents pushing little bambino’s in fancy Italian strollers, kids on scooters, cruise ship passengers, and dog walkers of decidedly Italian dogs. 

In the afternoon sunshine, we were treated to creamy Sicilian gelato and the popular cannoli. Prego.

The tour I booked with M’s heart in mind won’t be for a few days, but here’s a hint – ‘leave the guns take the cannoli.’ Ciao for now.

# 3 Three Coins In The Fountain

 Third day in Rome, but on this day we have a concrete plan. Prego! (We’ve learned that  ‘Prego’ – is a word for – well, everything – You’re welcome. Please. Go ahead. Prego. Prego Prego.) 

So finally we were setting out with a set of destinations. It’s a jubilee year in Rome, something that the Pope declares every 25 years and Catholics from around the world make pilgrimages to Rome, filling the streets with tourists, as well as groups of travelling nuns and priests. 

Traveling nuns in Rome’s airport

In a day ripe with sunshine we grab an Uber through the city to stand before the iconic Spanish Steps. The Spanish Steps are a grand staircase connecting Piazza di Spagna to the Trinità dei Monti church, and the 1953 film “Roman Holiday,” starring Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck, made them famous as a romantic backdrop. M and I take a zillion photos but don’t traverse the steps. Some trivia: there are 135 steps, dedicated to the Holy Trinity, represented  by three tiers, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. 

Iconic Spanish Steps

From there we wander amongst the high end shops, stopping for a glass of vino to watch the folks stroll by, then with dreams of tossing a coin in the fountain a la Audrey Hepburn, we head off to the Fontana di Trevi. The younger crowd will know the song as the one Steve Martin, not John Candy, sings in the movie Trains, Planes and Automobiles – “Three coins in the fountain,

Each one seeking happiness

Thrown by three hopeful lovers

Which one will the fountain bless”

It’s so Jubilee-busy that there is a controlled line a block long to get anywhere close enough to toss a coin. Now, if we had tossed our three coins what would be our reward? One coin ensures a trip back to Rome, two coins and we will find love, and three coins guarantees we’d marry the person we found love with in Italy. Thank goodness we have each other because M and I settle for a selfie of us grinning before the crowd, the swirling fountain water behind us.

No coins in the fountain

Our next patio stop is for an Italian beer, and a cappuccino, ignoring ChatGPT telling me Italians never drink milk in their coffee after 11 am. Finally, we traverse the cobblestones, again following the mix of worldwide tourists to the colosseum. We face it, where it rises above the crowd, the world’s largest amphitheatre, almost 2000 years old. Perhaps, it’s the jet lag coming back, but honestly I sit in awe even of the marble bench we rest on  that feels worn so smooth I imagine Romans who have sat right there, through the centuries. A busker begins to play something classical on his violin  – ah Prego!

2000 years old

Another wonderful day traversing Rome. Tomorrow it’s off to discover Sicily, another world entirely. First stop Palermo – remember, “In Sicily, women are more dangerous than shotguns.” (The Godfather).

Rome: Awe-Struck Jet-lagged Wonder

April 2025. We’re here in Rome, Italy! I’ll skip past the actual travel days, with sleepy boredom in an airport lounge and then almost missing our connecting flight having miscalculated the distance to the gate in Frankfurt’s insanely enormous airport. And I won’t go on about my vow against airplane breakfasts (icky icky eggs) or the usual circadian rhythm mess of a 30 hour day. All the same, the triumph of Rome is so alluring that its wonders were magnified by the state of our stunned jet lagged brains. Jumping ahead eights hours with only poor sleep and a bunch of niggly naps, heightened the marvel of that first mixed-up day of sleep deprived sight seeing.

With clearer  heads we could have performed speedy searches on our phones to name the monuments, to pin point the cathedrals,  and understand the streets direction,  but that would have subtracted from our awe struck confusion. 

The coliseum

From the fresh squeezed morning orange juice to the midnight cocktail on a six story rooftop, the day unraveled in a winding, blur of awe. We tread over cobblestones trying to follow that blue dot on google maps, stood stunned  before ornate fountains, magnificent cathedrals, and ancient (like really, really ancient) statues of the likes of Neptune and Caesar.

And why so many leather goods shops I pondered, buying a cute little purse I didn’t need, (though who couldn’t use one more cute little purse) while trying not to be run over by scooters and motorbikes, ubers and taxis. Like sheep we followed a crowd to St Peter’s Basilica mesmerized by a single guitarist serenading us with the Beatle’s tune ‘Here Comes the Sun’. Lingered before  midcity  architectural digs, pizzerias, and pubs all the while listening to the  sing song-y Italian spoken around us. 

Time travel archeological sight

There was an afternoon nap, before our dinner of fat olives, rich gnocchi with ragú sauce and then chocolate topped  basil gelato. Fantástica. But the highlight was the nighttime stroll home.  Rome is amazingly lit from the ground up, cathedral windows, marble fountains, and tall cypress trees glow in the black night.

We walked slowly, well satiated, our feet tired, staring up at seagulls flying in and out of the light. It was ten pm as we lined up for pistachio gelato, then relied on Google maps blue dot to end our circular route through narrow alley ways with curious closed shops. In bed with closed eyes,  I still viewed marble angels, Roman gods, and the wide rolling Tiber River. Tomorrow we’d set more exact goals of  historic sights. And throw coins in that fountain.