High Point: The living history lesson that is Siracusa. Anyone who remembers history lessons were boring at school should come here. It’s a revelation. We explore the old quarter of Ortigia, wandering down backstreets little more than an alley’s width, admiring door arches; the carved stone corbels supporting wrought iron balconies; the tiny piazzettas colourful with flowers. You can still see the columns of the original Greek temple inside the town’s splendidly baroque cathedral. Archimedes is reputed to have advised on the defences of the forbidding Byzantine Castello Mariace (which doubles as the starboard hand entrance to the harbour). This along with the site of his alleged tomb is a complete fabrication, although it is true that he was born in Siracusa. It tickles us to imagine him sitting in his bath having his ‘eureka!’ moment.
Low Point: The high summer heat is beginning to get to us. It turned our visit to the fabulous Greek theatre here a bit of an ordeal. It’s sweltering in the sun by breakfast, and at night when the wind drops, it’s airless in the cabin making it hard to sleep. The harbour water doesn’t look clean enough for a swim, so there’s no obvious way to cool off. On occasions, tempers start to fray……
It took us a couple of days to get our bearings in Siracusa. A good supermarket is surprisingly hard to find, for example. One day we go on a mystery bus ride in search of one to an out of town shopping centre which we’re told has an Auchan hypermarket. We realise long before we get there that it’s going to be much too far to get back by taxi, thus ruling out our plan to stock up with a carful of provisions. The launderette is easier to find, as is the public water tap where we can fill our jerrycans – over the week here we’ve managed the uphill task of filling our 700 litre capacity tanks using three containers with a combined capacity of 40 litres. And Leighton finds a good hardware store to buy engine oil and connectors for the holding tank. As usual once we start getting to know our way around a town, it’s time to leave.
One evening we see black smoke towering above the shore on the far side of the harbour. The fire is well ablaze, and for almost an hour two seaplanes (Leighton says they are modified Russian stunt planes) swoop down and pick up water in their floats to dump on the blaze. Two helicopters with buckets slung beneath them join in to fight the fire. Their combined efforts finally pay off, and peace is restored.
We have loved our stay in Italy and will be sorry to leave. The historic sights; the wonderful choice of fresh food from the market, the friendly reception from people – all this will be hard to beat. There’s an endearing quality too about the dramas and the chaos of much of everyday life in Italy. The way Italian drivers treat kerbstones, pedestrian crossings and traffic lights as minor inconveniences that get in the way of where they’re going. The way that the bus ticketing system is designed to be completely incomprehensible even to the locals. The way they manage to run out of stamps in the Post Office.
However many times we do it, we don’t embark on a long passage without a twinge of apprehension. The passage ahead of us across the Ionian sea – 270 miles - is the longest we will do this year, and although we don’t say so, we are both a bit nervous as we go about preparing for it. Leighton likes to check and service the engine. This time he’s even moved the fuel filter to make it more accessible. Cathy likes to pre-cook a couple of suppers and get the nutty cupboard well stocked up with nibbles. We spend loads of time at the internet café picking up ugrib files and the latest forecasts. It looks OK to go on Wednesday - three days time - but you never know. .
No comments:
Post a Comment