Hailed as one of Italy’s most beautiful villages, the tiny hamlet of Sávoca has a spectacular mountain setting just four kilometers inland from Sicily’s eastern coast. Among the legions of people it’s charmed is Francis Ford Coppola, who filmed the Sicilian scenes of The Godfather here.
We took a detour into Sávoca while returning home to Palermo from Taormina. Up in the mountains, the weather had taken a turn for the worse — we got soaked with freezing sleet, but it made for more dramatic views over the surrounding landscape. Totally worth it.
Most people who live in Savoca work in nearby Taormina, so it felt like a ghost town during our visit. We had wanted to stop in for a drink at Bar Vitelli, which is where the wedding party of Michael Corleone and Appollonia was held. Apparently, the bar has become a sort of shrine to all things related to The Godfather. But it was closed.
We stayed just long enough to get a few pictures of this gorgeous town. It’s easy enough to reach, and definitely worth the effort to see one of the island’s most picturesque towns.
Our planned ascent to the craters of Mt. Etna had been foiled due to high winds. So finding ourselves with a beautiful, sunny day and nothing else to do, we hopped back in the car and took a long drive around the volcano.
We decided to move around Etna in a clockwise fashion, and started our journey at 6 o’clock on the dial. Nicolosi is the main town on the southern face of Etna, ten miles due south from the peak. The road to the Refugio Sapienza leads from here, so it’s the best base for planning excursions to Mt. Etna. Nicolosi is home to a tourism-based population of 7000, and in 1669 was completely destroyed by one of the volcano’s most violent explosions.
Throughout the day, Juergen and I would debate the motives of the towns perched so confidently in the shadow of Europe’s most active volcano. If you don’t have to, why spend time and money building a town in a location that will almost certainly be one day destroyed? As with most questionable/dangerous decisions, the main reason that these towns have sprouted up on Etna is probably economic. The volcanic soil is richly fertile, allowing a wide range of agriculture. Vineyards abound around Mount Etna, as do orchards full of lemon and orange trees, and fields of fennel, almond trees and artichokes.
Still. It’s not like city-flattening flows of lava happen all the time, but they do happen! One of these days, Nicolosi is going down. We’ll try not to say “we told you so”.
Back on the road, we came upon the town of Adrano at about 7:30 on Etna’s clock-face. We arrived at lunch time on a Sunday, and were astounded to find this large city of 35,000 souls almost completely deserted. We lingered for a bit in the town center, where there is a pretty cool Norman castle, but didn’t spend too much time. We were starving, and there wasn’t a single restaurant in Adrano open for business.
We had better luck in Randazzo, on the mountain’s northern side, just shy of midnight on the dial. This historic little town is absolutely gorgeous, and despite being the town nearest to Etna, has somehow managed to continually escape its wrath. With a number of beautiful churches, archways and palaces to see, our walk through Randazzo was surprisingly rewarding, and we even found a place to grab a snack. This was the most lively of the towns we had driven through, and we could have happily spent more time here.
The remainder of our drive, along the eastern side of the mountain, went by quickly — much of it was on the highway connecting Catania to Messina. Though our drive wasn’t as exciting as a trip to the top of the volcano would have been, seeing Mt. Etna from all its sides was a pretty cool consolation. And fifty years from now, when we hear on the news that Adrano, Randazzo or Nicolosi was buried under lava, we can say “Been there!”
The eastern coast of Sicily is defined by the looming presence of Mount Etna, the largest and most active volcano in Europe. Though it had just erupted spectacularly a few days prior, we couldn’t resist checking it out during our final road trip on the island.
According to guidebooks and acquaintances, an ascent of Mt. Etna is one of the most exciting things you can do in Sicily. After having stayed the night in nearby Viagrande, we woke up early and drove up the southern face of the mountain. The wintry Sunday morning was crisp and clear, and we were the only people on the road. Midway through the 40-minute drive to Refugio Sapienza, which is the base for excursions, we stopped to admire the view over Catania and the Ionian Sea. “I can’t believe our luck”, I said to Juergen, while stretching and taking a deep breath of freezing mountain air. “This day couldn’t be any more perfect”.
Of course, such luck couldn’t last. As we were about to get back on the road, we saw a car winding up towards us. And then fourteen more immediately behind it. When we finally rejoined the road, we had become a tiny piece of a massive caravan on its way to the refuge. The change from peaceful solitude to crowded chaos had come so suddenly, that I almost suspected an island-wide conspiracy against us. “Lure them into a sense of tranquility… and then spring our trap!”
By the time we reached the Refugio Sapienza, thousands of other people had already arrived. We hardly found a place to park. And, looking up at the immobile cable cars, we realized that our day on Etna was about to suffer a sad, truncated end. The skies were clear, but the wind extreme, and cable car service had been suspended, meaning that the upper craters (and everything of interest) were inaccessible.
Nobody else seemed to care. They had not come to climb Etna, but to make snowmen, sled and have snowball fights. We were, apparently, the only ones not having any fun. The only suckers. We walked around the small crater that borders the refuge, went to the bathroom, and then called it a day.
Set in the mountains just ten miles east of Palermo, the town of Carini enjoys a privileged view towards the sea. With a population of only 35,000 and a world-famous castle as its main attraction, it sounded like a nice, easy escape from city life, and we chose a Wednesday morning to explore it.
Getting to Carini wasn’t as simple as we expected. It sounds impossible, but the bus from Palermo takes an hour and a half. For a town ten miles away! Palermo’s terrible traffic was a major reason for the delay, and then there were frequent stops and windy mountains roads. We left at 9:30 and didn’t arrive in Carini until 11.
When we finally got off the bus, it was much later in the day than we had anticipated, and so we made a bee-line for Carini’s castle. Set on the city’s northern bluff, the castle was built in the 11th century in the Arab-Norman style. Throughout its long life, it’s been spared most of the ravages of war and conquest, and is still in remarkable condition. We were the only visitors, and had fun running around with no one to monitor us. There are a lot of rooms, some of which conserve their ancient paintings, and the chapel is pretty impressive.
The castle is perhaps most well-known for the crime of passion which occurred here in 1563. The Baroness of Carini was caught in flagrante with her lover Ludovico Vernagallo. Her father murdered the couple, and readily confessed to the crime. There were immediately whispers, though, that the Baroness’ husband was the true assassin, and was less concerned with being a cuckold than eliminating a wealthy rival in Vernagallo. The father took the blame because Italian society, at the time, had a certain respect for honor killings.
After we were done in the castle, we set out to discover the rest of Carini. The town is centered around the Piazza del Duomo, and we liked both the plaza and the cathedral. Unfortunately, Carini suffers from the same traffic problems as Palermo. There was no tranquility on the streets, no rest to be had. Downtown is clogged with honking cars and, besides the cathedral and the castle, we didn’t encounter much of interest. After an hour of walking around, we gave up exploring and went to eat. Our lunch at New Miramare was terrible. The pasta was awful, and it turned out to be the type of establishment which brazenly rips off tourists. (We asked for the house wine, and they brought out a €25 bottle, remaining quiet about the price until the bill arrived.) Avoid it at all costs.
Carini was a mixed bag for us. The castle is cool, but the rest of the town wasn’t all that compelling, and definitely not worth the three hours we were trapped in a bus. If you have a car, it’s worth the trip, but otherwise take a pass.
In 1968, the hillside town of Gibellina was devastated by a 6.1-scale earthquake. Somewhat like the residents of Noto, who befell a similar fate, the town decided to abandon the ruins and start from scratch in a location which was close by, and hopefully more stable. Between 1985 and 1989, a Sicilian artist named Alberto Burri used the old city’s ruins as the canvas for his most audacious work of modern sculpture. The resulting concrete cemetery is a bold piece of art, a comment on death, and a moving tribute to the devastated city.
Burri covered the streets of Old Gibellina with concrete, preserving the layout of the blocks. Walking around his monument is unsettling. You’re not just standing on the gravestone of a city, but actually tracing the lines of its corpse. Block after block of grey concrete rises from the concrete ground, like the ghosts of buildings. They’re high enough to peer over, so that the rest of the graves are always visible, along with the verdant valley stretching out into the distance.
I might have expected to feel despondent while walking around this modern graveyard, but in truth I experienced something closer to comfort. Nature might have the strength to effortlessly topple our cities and wipe out huge swaths of our population. But we have the ability to make artwork out of the damage, transforming devastation into something eloquent and meaningful with our creativity. Nature may be more powerful, but humanity is cooler.
Segesta was founded high upon Mount Barbaro by the Elymian people, one of three Bronze Age cultures that flourished in Sicily before the arrival of overseas powers. Eventually, though, the foreigners would come knocking. After a doomed alliance with Carthage, Segesta attached its fortunes to Athens. The Romans and Arabs also took possession of Segesta, but the city was abandoned completely at some point during the Middle Ages. This desertion allowed Segesta’s ruins to survive relatively untouched, shielded from the destructive march of history.
The Doric Temple of Segesta is one of the most well-preserved Greek temples in the entire world. It looks as though it were built a hundred years ago, not twenty-six hundred. The 36 columns are fully intact and the view over the valley is commanding. A few clues lead scholars to believe that the temple wasn’t ever actually finished. Building tabs that should have been removed are still present. The columns aren’t fluted. There was never a roof. And it’s noteworthy that an exceptional Greek temple was built in a predominantly non-Greek town.
These facts lend credence to a theory we read in a thorough summary of Segesta at SeePalermo.com. The city had been looking to Athens for assistance in its struggle against Selinunte. To ensure that visiting Greek diplomats would be sufficiently impressed by Segesta’s size and importance, a glorious temple was quickly constructed. Once the allegiance was secured and the diplomats had departed, the townspeople didn’t even bother to finish the temple.
High upon a neighboring hill are the ruins of the city itself. A small amphitheater is the most impressive, with a spectacular view over the Gulf of Castellammare. Productions are still staged there in the summer. Remains of a church and public forum can be found, as well as original street pavings from Greek and Roman times. Built on top of these more ancient ruins are the remains of medieval buildings. It’s fascinating to see the layers of three distinct time periods laid bare.
If you’re in the area, a stop at Segesta is absolutely essential. The archaeological site is just meters off the A29 highway connecting Palermo to Trapani. Along with the Neapolis of Syracuse, this collection of ruins provides the most mesmerizing window into the past that we’ve had the chance to peer through, during our time in Sicily.
Until recently, the weather during our stay in Palermo had been uncommonly pleasant. But luck never lasts and, eventually, the rains and cold came. The day we chose for our visit to Cefalù was unpredictable, with clear blue skies suddenly giving way to thunderstorms. Secretly, Jürgen and I both wanted to postpone the trip, but didn’t want to be the wimp to suggest it. And so, full of pride and regret, we hopped on the train to Cefalù. “Well, I don’t mind going but, honestly, if you’d rather not…”
Cefalù numbers just 13,000, but its population balloons in the summer. The town is one of Sicily’s finest beach resorts and attracts sunbathers from all over Italy and Europe. From what we’ve heard, it’s unbearable when crowded. And although we found the streets were empty in December, the emphasis on tourism was abundantly clear. €3 cappuccinos and stores sadly hawking magnets and postcards to phantoms.
Cefalù is most memorable for the giant rock which flanks it. Throwing its massive shadow over the old town, La Rocca juts up vertically alongside Cefalu, and is crowned with the ruins of the Greek Temple of Diana. We had a good view of La Rocca from the beach, where we started our visit. With soft, golden sand, the beach is the reason for Cefalù’s summertime popularity, but was difficult to enjoy in the freezing rain.
Soon enough, we left the beach to seek shelter in the city’s cathedral. The Duomo is reminiscent of Monreale’s, built in the same century (12th) by the same king (Roger II). And, like Monreale’s cathedral, it features original Byzantine mosaics; actually older, though somewhat less impressive. Another similarity is the presence of a square cloister, filled with columns that depict interesting biblical scenes.
The Cathedral and the beach are great, but we most enjoyed ambling about Cefalù’s ancient streets, which date from Roman times. Even in the rain, or perhaps especially because of it, the town, with its curvy alleys and stunning natural location, exudes a natural charm. Very picturesque. We went north until finding the belvedere, which faces the sea. There, we found a path which runs along the stones, following the ancient Greek walls, and foolishly decided to walk it. I mean, we knew there were huge waves crashing violently against the rocks. We could see them! But, I don’t know, we were bored or feeling adventurous. But minutes after embarking on this ill-advised escapade, we got trapped by the ocean and ended up soaking wet.
It didn’t matter much, because we were already drenched from the rain, but this final, unwanted shower put an end to our day, and we stomped back to the train station. Still, we had enjoyed the day out. It’d be interesting to see how Cefalù changes in the summer, but if you have the chance, it’s definitely worth a look in the low-season. A beautiful little escape, just an hour by train from Palermo.
Hidden coves. Crystal clear water. Prehistoric caves. Utter solitude. If all that sounds good after the noise and muck of Palermo, hop in a car and head out to Sicily’s first national park: the Riserve Naturale dello Zingaro.
Alright, the “utter solitude” only applies during the winter when tourism is at a minimum. But on the sunny December weekday when we visited the park, there wasn’t a soul to be found, save some workers repairing the paths. Zingaro is on the Gulf of Castellomare, an hour’s drive from Palermo on the road to Trapani, and extends for seven kilometers up the coast. A number of different hiking trails connect the northern and southern entrances of the park.
Upon arriving, we set off on the coastal trail, passing by a number of secluded bathing areas. They were quiet now, but can fill up uncomfortably in summer. Most people, though, choose to remain at the first or second beach and, even in high season, a lonely spot can be found by continuing along the well-marked path. The water here is amazing: Zingaro lays claim to one of the few stretches of Sicilian coastline absolutely devoid of industry.
Zingaro was formed in 1980 after a planned highway along the coast sparked citizen outrage and concern about the region’s rich floral and animal life. Over 760 species of plants can be found in the park, some of them endemic to Zingaro. The fauna is rich, too, with eagles and falcons among the birds, and mammals such foxes and porcupines. We didn’t spot anything but a rabbit, though we did find a porcupine needle. It counts.
On the way back, we took the high road through the mountains. Arduous, but worth the effort for the amazing views over the gulf. Close to the summit, we found the Caves of Peppe Siino, which you can walk into. High up on the hill with a commanding outlook, I imagined that this was the home of VIP cavemen, such as noble Ooka Graak of Toomba-ooga and his wife, the fair Bleegha Utt. I kicked around the cave, mentally recreating scenes of domestic caveman bliss… “Ooka hungry!”, “Bleegha no care”, “Ooka STOMP!”… until deciding to hide behind a wall and spring out, screeching like a vampire, on poor unsuspecting Jürgen. Yep, caves are fun.
Anyway, the path progressed slowly back towards the entrance, up and around the hills. It was exhausting, and I can’t imagine doing it in the summer, when the sun must be unbearable. We were dead tired by the time we left Zingaro, seven hours after having begun. But it was an incredible day, the only time we’ve felt completely alone since arriving in Sicily, and we both felt refreshed enough to head back into the stressful city.
The city of Syracuse is packed with beautiful baroque churches and stunning Greek monuments, still standing in defiance of the centuries. But the building which dominates the city’s skyline was built just seventeen years ago. Say hello to the Santuario della Madonna delle Lácrime. Sigh. They just don’t build them like they used to.
For four days in the summer of 1953, an image of Madonna shed tears in Syracuse. News spread quickly and pilgrims from around the world converged upon Syracuse. Almost immediately, plans were hatched to create a suitable home for the miraculous image. Construction began on the sanctuary in 1966, and would last almost 30 years. In 1994, none other than Pope John Paul came to inaugurate it.
Jürgen’s attracted to modern architectural monstrosities like a moth to flame, so of course we had to visit. The sanctuary’s bizarre shape is meant to resemble a teardrop from heaven hitting the ground, but to me it looks more like a circus big-top. Just less colorful and without any elephants. The bottom floor is darkly lit, and resembles a cave; an ancient Greek road was uncovered while building the church, and its ruins were left intact. There’s a little museum of religious curiosities, filled with things like back-braces which could be thrown off because Little Timmy prayed so devoutly to the miraculous virgin.
Upstairs is a proper church, which is actually quite stunning. When you’re inside of the church, the tent-like design is an advantage, lifting your eyes straight to the ceiling’s peak, which seems to almost touch heaven. There was a service in progress when we visited, so we didn’t linger.
On our second day in Syracuse, we made our way to the Parco Archeologico della Neapolis, where some of Sicily’s greatest ruins are bunched together, almost as though our ancient forebears wanted to facilitate future tourist groups.
We throw around a lot of superlatives in this blog — words like “astonishing”, “incredible”, “mind-blowing”, “superb”, etc etc. But trust me, such words apply to the Neapolis. Standing in the middle of one of the Greek Empire’s finest theaters, where original works by Sophocles and Euripedes were performed thousands of years ago, makes the mind reach for the grandest words possible. And who cares if they’re a little overwrought? Such places were made for overwrought descriptions! This massive theater, carved out of limestone over 2500 years ago, is astounding! Magnificent! It makes you and your silly seventy-year life span feel insignificant.
Just a short walk from the theater is a lush park surrounded by rocky crags, evocatively known as the Quarry of Paradise. This is where the Greeks retrieved stone for their statues. The most striking cut into the rock is called the Ear of Dionysus. Caravaggio coined the nickname for this 60 meter long grotto because of its distinctive shape, and the sound which echoes tremendously inside. Legend has it that the tyrant Dionysus would keep prisoners here so that he could eavesdrop on their conversations.
Nearby, there’s a Roman Amphitheater, which is some centuries more recent than the Teatro Greco, and was used for bloodthirstier entertainment than the Greeks enjoyed. Here, gladiators would duel and chariots race. The amphitheater is not as well preserved as the Greek theater, but the vines and weeds which have grown up inside of it only improve the atmosphere.
We're Jürgen and Mike, from Germany and the USA. Born wanderers, we love traveling and learning about new cultures, so we've decided to see the world... slowly. Always being tourists would get lame, but eternal newcomers? We can live with that. So, our plan is to move to an interesting new city, once every three months. About 91 days.
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