It is hard to find words to describe last night’s experience of the Jadrolinija ferry from Bari to Dubrovnik. Well actually, that’s unfair – once actually on the ferry things went according to plan – it was getting onto the ferry that was one of the most farcical experiences we have ever had. Granted, it had been pretty tricky getting the ferry from Barcelona to Rome, just because the Spanish thought it would be fun not to sign to foreigners where it departed from. But once we had asked more than thirty people where to go, it worked out reasonably well. The Sicily ferries were incredibly efficient and well run, and the ferry from Portsmouth to Santander was positively dreamy.
But last night, Howard and I thought we had been put on the set of a horror movie. We found the port easily enough, and congratulated ourselves on finding the correct area to check in, but after, that it all went wrong. We had arrived in good time, since our ticket said last registration was two hours prior to sailing, like an airport. The lovely Italian lady on the desk, who spoke good English implied that was just a tactic to scare you, and in fact, no-one was allowed to drive the two kilometre port road to the ferry until it was less than two hours to sailing. She told us to wait in the car park, and that at 7pm precisely, we were to drive towards the ferry. It all seemed so terribly clear.
Feeling relaxed, shortly after 7, Howard, along with several others, started driving towards the exit of the holding car park. At this point, a little man with a clip board popped up and said ‘No, no – wait for announcement’ or the equivalent in Italian. Fair enough. So we sat, and we waited, and we fidgeted, and after a while began to wonder why there was no announcement. I spoke to a young Italian lady in the next car, who was equally puzzled, but by this time there was no sign of my English speaking check-in lady to help. Eventually, gone 8 o’clock, I started fretting. I found a man with another clip board and showed him my ferry tickets. He looked alarmed. ‘Go! Go!’ He shrieked, implying we should have been there an hour ago.
We duly drove the two kilometres, passed a man at a barrier who checked our tickets, and then a little further on, another man directed us and about ten other vehicles to pull over, form a queue and wait. Meanwhile, all the other cars and lorries coming from behind us whizzed straight past us and were put in the queue for the ferry. After fifteen minutes or so, everyone in our queue started getting out of their vehicles and questioning why we were sat here waiting. By now it was less than half an hour ’til our ferry left. The Swiss man in his camper van, and an Italian in a car waved arms and shook their heads. After another ten minutes I spotted another clip board type, and leapt out and showed him our ticket. ‘Si, si, that is fine. Stay there’. Nine o’clock came – the time we should have been sailing – still in the queue.
At 9.30pm, we are moved to a queue that appeared to be for another ferry. I say queue in the loosest possible terms – it was a five line bevvy of revving vehicles, all trying to squeeze through one tiny gap – an Italian queue. We had clearly spotted our ferry in the distance, and knew this big white one wasn’t ours. Howard sighs, ‘Well, if we do get on a ferry to Croatia tonight, it wont be the right one, and we wont have a cabin’. Then an ambulance pushed past. Then a coastguard. Then a large van was sent back and had to reverse it’s way through the melee. Then, as we eventually got to our turn in the gap, an Italian border policemen with a big gun came to check our passports. ‘All this for passport control?!’ we thought
We were let through. We go to drive on the ferry. Lots of men shout out in the darkness -‘No,no!” We are waved in another direction towards another ferry. ‘No!’ Someone else shouts with their hand in the air. Eventually, in the far distance, we see a man waving at us, by the ferry we had originally had thought was ours. So we whizz across the tarmac, and go to drive on. ‘No” shouts an elderly fat man in a fluorescent jacket. ‘Over there’. ‘Over where?!!” He concluded we’re idiots, and offers to show us. So now, the rather unfit looking ‘Fat Controller’ runs besides Oscar and points us to park about 50 yards away. We do as we are told. At this point, he notices that some of the other vehicles who had come ahead of us, had parked rather untidily. He picks then out, and demands they go to the back of the line. This included the Swiss man in the camper van, who is now crying. At this point, Howard, rather hysterically, starts laughing.
It is now nearly ten o’clock. We then sit in this queue and wait for over half an hour while huge juggernaut lorries are backed onto the ferry. We watch in the distance as a soldier with a machine gun is called to intervene on an argument between two lorry drivers, presumably as equally as perplexed as we are. By the time we finally are parked on the ferry, it is 10.30. After collecting our cabin key, we sit down for our pre-paid evening meal. It is eleven o’clock. The food looks like it was prepared last year. The vegetables have gone to pulp. As we dragged ourselves to bed, we ask the ‘hostess’ how late we will be arriving in Croatia the next morning. ‘On time’ she cheerfully replies. I suspect this happens every single evening. Complete chaos, some random process of selecting who gets to embark and when, and not an explanation to anyone. In the words of Victor Meldrew – unbelievable!
As we were guided backwards off the ferry this morning, who should give us a cheerful wave, but our Mr. Fat Controller!
The good news is though, that Boris is back. Whilst whiling away the hours in the queue, we eventually worked out how to re-programme the voices. To check that it had worked, we set Boris for Brindisi, about fifty miles along the coast and pressed start. Dear Boris told us our route. It involved two ferries, one to Croatia, one returning from Montenegro, and in total taking 23 hours. You couldn’t make it up!
Needless to say, we have had a quiet day today. Also problems with photos – no doubt Croatian broadband – will try for more in morning.

So today was our last full day in Italy, and we experienced unqualified friendliness and helpfulness that has been a hallmark of our stay here. We set the alarm early, since Oscar had an appointment with the VW garage in Matera for his first oil change. Our hotelier organised for Oscar to be dropped off from his overnight ‘lock-up’, and we set off for the garage. With the help of google-translate, we managed to communicate our needs to the VW guy, Roberto. He then organised his Dad to give us a lift back into the old town, so we could have breakfast, and check out of our ‘cave’. We then spend a pleasant final morning wandering around the ‘Sassi’ area of Matera.
Our hotelier told us of the excavation work going on in the rock cave by our room. Apparently they had found an old olive press, and then discovered a channel in the rocks, where they used to roll the olives down to the press from high above, centuries before. Indeed, ingenuity is something that the Materans seem to specialise in. Yesterday, we had paid a visit to the subterranean cave where they had set up a huge water storage system for the entire city – the engineering was extraordinary, and remarkable considering it had all been dug out by hand.
We have been truly impressed with the amount of activity going on in the city, in preparation for their year of culture in 2019. At every turn, there is restoration work and improvements being made. The city is spotless, and the locals clearly take great pride in their neighbourhood.
The other thing I will remember are the sounds of Matera. There is clearly a Music School in Matera, since as we walked to supper yesterday evening, and again first thing this morning, we heard the sounds of musicians practising their classical instruments. The notes drifted through the old city. Then, as we walked out of the ‘sassi’ to meet Roberto, our VW man, the clock struck midday, and all the bells throughout the old town rang out, from the cathedral, to the monastery, and many churches besides. I don’t know whether this was just because it is Easter Week and Maundy Thursday that all the bells were being rung, or whether it is a regular occurrence, but it sounded wonderful.
Having met up with Roberto, he then informed us he was driving us to a special viewpoint of Matera that we should see before we headed back to the VW garage. It was indeed a splendid vista, looking back across to the old town across the gorge, and showing us the huge extent of the cave dwellings in the valley. We were very touched that he took the time not only to pick us up, but to show us this gorgeous view of his city- completely outwith the usual remit of a routine oil change!
Having duly retrieved Oscar, we happily drove away from the garage, but were then alarmed at what we heard. Instead of the usual deep posh voice of Boris, we were suddenly listening to a very limp women’s voice, with the hint of a lisp. We had taken our van in for an oil change, not a sex change!
We contemplated re-naming it Doris, but after a couple of miles, turned her off in disgust. She spoke so quietly we could hardly hear her, in any case. Later, we shall set about trying to reverse this sorry turn of events.
We then set off for Bari on the Puglia coast, in preparation for catching a ferry tonight to Dubrovnik in Croatia. We have spent half the afternoon trying to organise van insurance to take Oscar into Montenegro, but I think the costs will be prohibitive. In any case, we will have an extra body on board. Edward, our youngest son, is joining us for a weeks road trip with the old folks. We’re not sure yet where we’re going to put him, but it should be interesting. Maybe a week spent playing ‘Sardines’, for those of you who remember that old party game!

Yesterday, our plans changed. Originally we had booked a campsite about an hour north of Messina in Calabria. However, the extraordinary efficiency of the Sicilian ferry system meant that we reached the mainland much earlier than expected. Since I was still feeling under par, and coughing like a trooper, Howard decided that we may as well just keep heading northwards, and treat ourselves to a couple of nights in a real bed. So just at the turn off to our campsite, Howard googled accommodation, and found somewhere in Matera. We had planned to come here for the following night in any case, in order to facilitate an oil change for Oscar. Matera had been recommended by a friend as an amazing destination, and she was spot on. As we drove in to the old town last night, the lights were twinkling, and the town looked like something out of ‘Oh Little Town of Bethlehem’. Howard, in his haste, had not really clocked that the accommodation that he had booked was right in the middle of the old town. We managed to negotiate our way through the winding streets, and arrived at reception with ten minutes to spare. The charming Italian instantly organised someone to come and park Oscar in a secure garage, and then led us up a series of narrow twisting steps to our accommodation. We were pretty surprised to find that we were sleeping in a cave for the next couple of nights! But what an amazing cave it was, complete with it’s own kitchenette, with breakfast laid up, a jacuzzi, and even a personal view of the interior of one of the many cave churches in the city. Wow! We were blown away.
This morning, after a good sleep, we set off to explore. This really is the most extraordinary city. Matera is one of the world’s oldest towns, dating back to the Paleolithic Age. It has been continuously inhabited for over 7,000 years, people attracted here by the cave systems that dotted the side of the Gravina gorge, providing protection and water. Over time, more and more cave dwellings were created by tunnelling into the porous Tufo limestone rock, forming a system of ‘sassi’, the cave homes which make this town famous. In times past, this was a prosperous place, with farmers, artisans, clergy and gentry living side by side. But gradually, the wealthy merchants moved out to the suburbs, leaving only the poorer peasants living in the sassi. At the beginning of this century, the city was virtually a slum, with impoverished labourers living in intolerable overcrowded conditions within the caves. It was known as the ‘Shame of Italy’. At one point the infant mortality rate was over 44%. The air-less caves bred infection, the only source of air and light being the small entrances. In many cases, families lived side by side with their animals inside these tiny abodes. In the 1950s, action was finally taken, and all the inhabitants were moved out, and re-located up in the valley in purpose build accommodation. Old Matera became a ghost town.
It’s resurrection came partly as a result of film producers realising it’s amazing potential for a set location. Films such as ‘Passion of the Christ’ starring Mel Gibson, and Ben Hur, put this city back on the map. The reason being that this place is just like stepping back in time, into a Biblical scene.
So gradually, old city slowly undertook a renaissance. It was re-inhabited and gentrified. The old cave dwellings were made into start hotels and restaurants, and today the city is a hive of restoration activity, in preparation for being awarded ‘City of European Culture 2019’. It is indeed, the most amazing place. You can spend hours just wandering through the labyrinth of streets and alleyways, with wonderful vistas at every turn. It has been a brilliant day, and thank you so much Pauline for telling us about it. A real gem!
I do just wonder though, if being brought to live in a cave for two days will do much to improve my lung function!

Yesterday was our last full day in Sicily, and I will remember it for all the wrong reasons. I hadn’t been feeling well the day before in Erice, with the walk in the clouds definitely aggravating my chest. By the time we woke up yesterday morning, I was feeling crook, but nonetheless we continued on with our journey, conscious that we have a ferry to catch in a few days time from mainland Italy.
In the morning, it was bright and sunny, so we decided to explore part of the Zingaro Nature Reserve, which sits at this far north western tip of the island. If I’d felt better, we would have done some of the coastal path, but instead headed for the sleepy little village of Scopello. There are no roads in the reserve, and rumour has it that the Mafia used the coast’s coves and beaches for smuggling drugs and other contraband. It is suggested also, that the area was only given Natural Reserve status after the nod from the Mafia, but who’s to know? But yesterday, there were no signs of criminal activity, only two local men past asleep on chairs sitting round the small central square. There were a few pleasant cafes, with lovely vistas of the coast below, and behind, stunning mountains with a large watch tower positioned above the village. After coffee, we headed down to look at the coast, with three rock pinnacles sticking out into the azure Tyrrhenian Sea.
Starting to feel increasingly unwell, we headed eastwards towards Palermo along the coastal motorway. I must say, it must be one of the most picturesque motorways I have ever travelled on – for mile after mile it was fringed on both sides by flowering mimosa – quite a sight. Throughout our time in Sicily, we have seen locals picking what we thought were herbs or wild flowers at the side of the road. It turns out it is wild asparagus – I’m sure a real delicacy.
By the time we reached our campsite east of Palermo, I felt truly dreadful, one minute hot, and the next shivery. At no other time in this trip have I wanted my own bed so much! Howard put the bed down in the roof, administered copious quantities of drugs, and put me to bed. I think I slept from 3.30 in the afternoon until 9 o’clock this morning, with a brief wake up to decline my blog post! This morning, thankfully, I was feeling a whole lot better, and even more so, when I heard the news that I am going to be a great aunt again! The view from our van was also quite spectacular.
We set off for Messina, and after some very confusing signage to the ferry port, we drove straight onto the ferry, being the last vehicle to board. Within half an hour, we were back on the mainland, having waved a fond farewell to Sicily.
I think so far, it has been my favourite destination. It is stashed with history, has some stunning scenery, and the people were universally warm and friendly. I would thoroughly recommend it.

Sorry folks – no blog tonight. I’m full of cold /flu bug and am having an early night. Will catch up as soon as feeling better.

It was a rainy and blustery night last night, and despite parking Oscar in a sheltered spot between two trees, the topper was flapping most of the night. As a result, neither of us got much sleep. Howard did get out in the night to check the fixings, which seemed intact, but I still couldn’t get back to sleep. Ever since the Hurricane in the South East in October 1986, when our kitchen chimney fell through the roof, and we lost most of our ridge tiles, I have never been able to sleep in high winds.
We slept in late, dozing and listening to the rain. Howard heroically decided that he would still run, but I was suffering with a slight cold, so made the most of an extra lie-in.
We had hoped to go walking or cycling today, since this area of Sicily has a beautiful rugged coastline, and two small National Parks on this peninsula. Our campsite is very popular with climbers, since there are some stunning rock climbs up the granite cliffs just behind the campsite. But all the best plans etc etc. It was still teaming with rain after we had finished breakfast, so in the end decide to go for a drive, rather than sit in the van doing nothing.
We headed for the medieval hill town of Erice. In the summer, it is a very popular tourist destination, but today in the drizzle, we had it virtually to ourselves. My guidebook says, ‘Erice is easily Sicily’s most atmospheric village, a magnificent mountaintop settlement, … with stupendous views as far as Etna and Tunisia, and narrow medieval streets that are a pleasure to explore’. Well only some of that applied – since today Erice was in a cloud! The town sits on the top of a rocky outcrop, 2,463 feet above the Western Mediterranean, just above Trapani. The road leading up is narrow and tortuous, with endless hairpin bends, with precipitous drops to the side. Consequently, they have built a cable car to take visitors up to the mountain-top eerie from Trapani. But obviously, that would have been way too easy – so we drove. I must say that Oscar did remarkably well with all the hairpins, much better in fact than my ears, which wouldn’t stop popping.
We parked up outside the old city gate, and set off on foot. The mist was so thick when we arrived, it was just like walking in a cloud, and certainly none of the magnificent vistas were on view today. It was, however, just as the guidebook has suggested, very atmospheric. The town has been a hilltop fortress since Phoenician times, then was inhabited by the Greeks, the Romans, and then the Normans. The town is mentioned by the Greek writer Virgil in his ‘Aeneid’. Subsequently the Norman ruler Roger I built an impressive castle, the Castello di Venere over the remains of a temple to Venus. Despite it’s small size, Erice boasts 60 odd churches, and a popular visit is up the bell tower or Campanile of the Duomo, to see the impressive views. Today, we gave that a miss, since there would have been no view at all – we even struggled to find the huge Norman castle in the haze! Despite the weather, it was a real treat to wander the labyrinth of narrow cobbled streets, and stick our heads in to many of the little craft shops selling ceramics. The big attraction for Erice though are the almond cakes! This town is famous for it’s pastries, particularly the ones made from almonds – dolci ericeni, which often involve marzipan, candied fruits and buttermilk curd. The recipes were developed by an orphan, Maria Grammatico, sent to live in the orphanage run by the monastery in Erice. The nuns taught her their recipes, and when she left the monastery, she set up the patisserie that still bears her name. Needless to say, Howard and I bought a selection to have with our cup of tea.
On the way back to our campsite, we paid a brief visit to the seaside town of San Vito Lo Capo. It is a pleasant enough place, with a long sandy beach, and clearly busy in the summer. On arriving back at or campsite we sat down to enjoy our pastries and a cup of tea, when out of the window I spy a Sicilian man leading his donkey through the campsite. At most of the camper vans, he appeared to receive a donation of carrots for the donkey, and at the German van opposite us, a large glass of wine for himself too. Most odd! I’m feeling quite guilty now, that we didn’t contribute to this strange donkey tradition. I may search out a spare carrot in case he comes by tomorrow – I don’t want the other campers thinking the Brits don’t love donkeys!

Well it’s amazing what a difference that extra minute can make to your shower! Not only that, Howard and I devised a strategy. It was a quiet campsite, so Howard lurked by the ladies showers, while I picked my cubicle and undressed. When all ready to go, I shouted the command, and in went the token courtesy of Howard, and we were away. Shower completed, with all the lather removed, we did the same in reverse. No-one seemed to notice that Howard was showering in the ladies, but our system worked a treat. Sadly, we are back to three minute showers in our new campsite tonight, so we will see.
It’s remarkable the number of ‘broken’ card machines there are in Sicily. No-one wants to take cards – it is definitely a cash economy. Whenever we ask to use a credit card, the vendors face falls, and they tell us that the machine is either broken, or that there is no internet connection. The latter was the excuse used by the campsite owner as we left this morning, despite my phone clearly showing 4G!
Our first stop of the morning was the archaeological site at Selinunte. It hadn’t been in our original plans, but since it was literally a few miles back down the road from the campsite where we ended up last night, we thought we’d pop along and check it out. It turned out to be quite marvellous. The site consists of a fairly intact temple and an acropolis, sitting amongst many less well preserved antiquities. The site itself covers a huge area, such that they offer to take you on a little train to the various attractions – we declined. It was a beautiful morning, and all over this massive site were wild flowers in bloom – loads of bright yellow daisy-like plants, a deep purplish red miniature lupin, and beautiful yellow mimosa. In fact, this whole part of southern Sicily has flowering mimosa at every turn. The sight was very quiet, just the occasional other tourist. We put this down to the almost non existent signage to find it (we had just happened to stumble across it the night before), and it’s relative remoteness. But all the better for being almost deserted. We wandered first to the temple, and then the one kilometre or so across the site to the Acropolis, which sat looking out over the azure blue Mediterranean. These Greeks certainly knew the saying ‘Location, location, location!’ After satiating our appetite for temples, we moved on up the coast to a place called Marsala, on the south western tip of Sicily. As everyone knows, it is famous for it’s sweet dessert wine that originates from this area. But as well as that, along the whole stretch of the west coast, from Marsala up to Trapani, it is famous for the salt pans that litter this beautiful stretch of coastline. As we turned northwards from Marsala and drove along the coast road, we saw mile after mile of square salt pans, with large white piles of salt sitting on their margins. At one place we came to, there was a series of attractive windmills, that helped provide the energy for harvesting the salt. There were also long stretches of terracotta tiles laid out to dry. These are used to cover the salt piles once they have dried out, to protect them from the elements. These salt pans have been in existence since the Phoenicians, which is pre Ancient Greeks, I am reliably informed by my resident historian. They were certainly quite a sight, and all the more stunning with the sun reflected in the beautiful blue waters.
We made an executive decision at this point to pass on our original campsite, which would have meant us back-tracking, and instead move northwards to the very north western tip of Sicily. That effectively gives us a rest day tomorrow for walking or cycling, although having just seen the forecast, it speaks of heavy rain all day, so plans may change.
So far, I am enjoying the south western past of Sicily the most, largely because it seems much quieter and less commercialised than the glitzy baroque south eastern triangle. It has much more of an authenticity about itself, but that is not to say that I didn’t love the stunning amphitheatre in Taormina, or the architecture of Syracuse and Noto.
Tonight I am having to temper my disappointment though. Every review I have read about our current campsite raves about the wonderful on-site pizzeria. The owner has just informed us that it doesn’t open for the season until nest Wednesday – gutted. Totally gutted!

We have unexpectedly found ourselves tonight in Triscina, on the south western coast of Sicily. We had planned to stay in Menfi, but when we arrived at the campsite that we had thought we had booked (and indeed, received email confirmation!!), we were told that they were closed. It was with some relief that we phoned the next campsite on our ASCI app, since if it hadn’t have been closed, I suspect we would have left anyway – it looked truly grim! So we headed on to the next available campsite, which has turned out to be quite a find. But first to today.
As I typed my blog last night, Howard went off for a shower. He returned abruptly ten minutes later, wrapped in a small towel (and nothing else), and covered in foamy lather. ‘Don’t ask’ he said, as he reached for something in the glove compartment. With that, he slammed the van door shut, and retreated back to the wash block. It turned out, that our campsite had timed showers – three minutes to be precise, requiring tokens. We had been given two free tokens when we checked in. Needless to say, mid lathering, Howard’s water had run out, so he came scurrying back to Oscar to get another token, so he could wash the soap off!
So, it was with trepidation that I went for a shower this morning. Howard stood outside the ladies, trying to explain the system of entering your shower number into the machine, before dashing into said numbered shower, so as not to waste any of your three minute allocation. A helpful German lady also joined in the explanation, telling me that shower number five didn’t lock, and number seven was out of order. I duly picked number six. I put in my token. I ran to the shower – which was exactly 26 inches by 26 inches in size, desperately tried to undress as quickly as possible, before starting what was left of my three minute shower. By the time I had washed my hair, and finished washing, the water stopped. I was left with a thin layer of soap, which I had to wipe off with my towel, which of course, was also soaking wet, since everything in this minuscule shower cubicle was soaking. Once out, I proceeded to dry my hair, and then dry my towel with my hair dryer, using as much electricity as I possibly could, in retaliation for this ridiculous and stingy showering system.
The day, however, did get better. The sun came out, and we headed off to the ‘Valley of the Temples’, just up the road from our campsite near Agrigenti. Driving along to the car park, we suddenly spotted the row of Ancient Greek temples on the ridge above. Wow – what a sight! We parked up, but just as we arrived at the entrance, a party of approximately a hundred school children had just arrived ahead of us. The security check took over half an hour – every child seemed to have some metal object hidden within their clothing, which necessitated them being sent back behind the metal detector yet again. Eventually we entered – and decided to hit the Valle de Templi at a run! We dashed past all these throngs of children, who had stopped at the first temple, and rushed on so that we could enjoy the site in peace. Once devoid of children, the place was a joy. The most impressive of all the temples on this site is the Temple of Concordia, just because it is the most intact. It is very similar to the Acropolis in Athens. Others along this amazing road of temples included the Temple to Hercules and the Temple of Hera. They were just stunning! In total, there are eight temples on this site, and they were built between 510 – 430 BC – just incredible! The name ‘valley of the temples’ is actually a misnomer, since they sit high on a ridge, and can be seen for miles around. As we drove away from the site, the three main intact temples sat in a row on the hill, and looked splendid with the blue sky behind, and fields of yellow spring flowers in the foreground.
We headed to the beach for a quick late picnic lunch, before heading westwards towards our next campsite, which as I have already explained, turned out to be closed.
However, their loss was our gain. We arrived at the next open campsite along the coast, to be met with a rather demonstrative Sicilian owner. ‘Passports in five minutes, tea in twenty!’ he ordered. We didn’t like to object – so duly turned up for tea in his campsite restaurant, along with other campers. It turned out to be a wonderful supper, with aubergine and tomato pasta, followed by steak and salad – quite a feast.
My only problem with this campsite is that it, too, has tokens with timed showers. The only blessing is that I have an extra minute tomorrow morning – a whole four minutes. Hopefully, I can get the lather off in time!

It’s amazing what small things give us pleasure these days. Tonight, we went out to cerebrate, not because it was a birthday or anniversary, but because, at last, we had sourced a new Campingaz cylinder! We had been searching for a refill since arriving in Sicily, and despite various suggestions, everywhere had drawn a blank. Even our helpful campsite owner from Darlington had been unable to come up with the goods. So tonight, as we were driving towards our campsite, I spied out of the corner of my eye a shop with the sign ‘Pesca, Nautica, Campeggio’. Then through the open door, I saw a flash of something blue. I shrieked at Howard to stop. He duly did an emergency stop, and we parked up and went to investigate. In the two minutes it took to walk back to the shop, the door was shut, indeed locked. But peering through the window we spied a gas cylinder. Initially thwarted, a car drew up, and an exceptionally good looking Italian popped out, and went to a buzzer at the side of the door. Some frenetic exchange went on in Italian, and then the elderly shop owner appeared through a door from the adjoining property. In desperation, we showed him our empty cyclinder, and Hey Presto – he had one! Our joy was limitless – I think the old boy couldn’t understand our extreme excitement – but it meant that we were no longer in peril of not being able to make a cup of tea! So tonight, we went out to celebrate with a pizza and a large glass of wine. Little things!
Back to today. Last night was wild again, with lashing rain and winds. It was the first time we had been grateful of being parked up in the lee a ‘Big White’, this one so huge you could have set up a small bed and breakfast inside.
We set off inland to explore some of the Sicilian countryside. First we followed the coastal plain towards Gela. Not dissimilar from Southern Spain, there was a profusion of polytunnels growing mainly tomatoes, but not in such the high intensity of Spain, at least leaving some land in between for wildlife to thrive. Turning inland, we started to see fields of artichokes and verdant green countryside. He headed towards Piazza Armerina, but on a complete whim, based on reading a paragraph in my guidebook, we hung a right, and headed up to the hill town of Caltagirone, famed for it’s ceramics. I had seen in my book that it had a flight of 142 steps up to the church of Santa Maria del Monte that had been decorated entirely in ceramic tiles. We parked up on the top of the hill and went to explore. It was indeed quite a sight, with the flight of steps leading down to the square below, and from the top offering wonderful views of the surrounding countryside. We stopped for a coffee in the piazza below, and then had the exertion of climbing all the way to the top again to reach Oscar. We then headed towards Piazza Armerina, and onto Villa Romana del Casale, an amazing Roman villa, with the best preserved mosaics in the world. The villa is believed to have been the home or hunting lodge of Co-Emperor Maximillian, who ruled between AD 286 – 305. The mosaics depict aspects of everyday life, from hunting, sport and dancing. The most famous mosaics housed here are in the ‘Room of the Ten Girls’, and depict young women, dressed in bikinis undertaking sporting activities such as discus throwing, weight lifting and running. Interestingly, a group of adolescent school children arrived just before us at the entrance. They raced round the site at a speed of knots, but when we caught up with them, they were all gathered around the bikini girls. I guess even ancient mosaics must have their appeal!
Heading on, we continued through the beautiful Sicilian countryside. We were surprised to see whole fields of Prickly Pear cacti, apparently that are harvested for their fruits, rather unfortunately called ‘Bastardonis’. We also started to see large orchards of almond trees, with their beautiful pink blossom. Interestingly, we had seen similar blossom well over a month earlier as we drove through Portugal. We had expected Sicily to be warm, but certainly since we have been here, although bright at times, it has definitely been jumper weather most of the time. The locals are still wearing their puffer jackets.
Tonight, for the first time since the Picos de Europa, we have a VW California for company on our campsite. Needless to say, our initial delight was slightly dampened when we saw a bawling toddler appear from inside. However, all is quiet now – so hopefully he won’t wake us up too early.

But if he does, at least we now have the gas to make a cup of tea!

It was a windy night last night, but thankfully Oscar was well sheltered in the spot we had chosen. In the morning, after his run, Howard suggested I come down to the beach, where a crowd of onlookers had gathered. Due to the high winds in the past few days, the tide was at it’s highest for over five years on this stretch of the coast, and the waves at times were encroaching on the entrance to the campsite.

I urged Howard to stand on the raised wooden ramp that led to the beach, and of course, the inevitable happened – one pair of very wet running trainers. The sacrifices he makes for my art!
Later, we headed off to a town called Ragusa, which sits about fifteen miles inland. The town itself sits on a rocky promontory, and back in 1693 the old town was largely destroyed by the earthquake that hit the region. The new town of Ragusa was built high on the ridge, largely in a Baroque style similar, but not quite as OTT as Noto, where we visited yesterday. However, the people of Ragusa decided to not to let their old original town decay, and painstakingly restored it’s beautiful stone buildings over a period of time. This old part of the city sits adjacent but below it’s newer neighbour, and is connected by a series of winding steps – 333 to be precise. It is the older part, known as Ragusa Ibla, that is the real start of the show.
As you wind your way down the steps, you are rewarded with the most splendid vista of Ragusa Ibla in front of you, with it’s jumble of rooftops and church spires. Entering the old town, you are met with a rabbit warren of narrow and steeply inclining streets, which some way or another, make their way up to the elegant cathedral of Saint George, which sits in a large square, Piazza Duomo. It is just splendid – the perfect place to meander your way through, taking in all the varying surprise vistas that greet you at every turn. It was like stepping back in time, rather shabby at the edges, but wonderfully picturesque. Once more, the place seemed almost deserted – I guess maybe the effort to climb down the steps, up the hill to the cathedral, back down and up the steps again to Ragusa must put a lot of people off.
We sat down at a cafe in the square overlooking the Duomo, and just as we were thinking we had the place to ourselves, a coach load of schoolchildren arrived, having been dropped off by their coach at the bottom of the square. There must have been at least sixty of them, all chattering excitedly, and admiring the cathedral. They all posed on the cathedral steps for a photo, and then one of their teachers came over, and asked Howard if he could oblige by taking the picture. Well – you would have thought he was a professional photographer! He took on his task with gusto, shouting at them all to look, and then shouting again (some gobbledygook, but definitely not Italian) each time he took the photo. Wrapped up in the moment, I fear that Howard was paying more attention to entertaining his audience, than taking the photo. I decided not to interfere, but I could see quite clearly from the angle that he was taking the photograph, that he had chopped at least half of the cathedral off. Never mind, he seemed to enjoy himself, and the children were also pretty amused by the strange jolly man in the cork hat!
Visit over, we had a futile search for a new gas canister on the way back to the campsite, having successfully acquired AdBlue on the way in. Thankfully, our campsite owner from Darlington seems to be on the case.
So another good day. Howard is pleased to have got all his steps in, and I am left wondering what the teacher will think when she gets home tonight and checks the photos on her phone – half the class with half a cathedral, I am suspecting!