Donnafugata Winery

 Donnafugata Winery.

Okay so I've been reading "The Leopard" by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampadusa. The country which Lampadusa describes in his novel he calls Donnafugata. The owner of the winery has a literary bent and decided to name his winery after the book because the area where many of the grapes which this family winery uses come from vineyards growing in that same area. Making sense?

He/she/they then named some of the vintages they produce after characters from the book. "Tancredi", one of the main characters, a young hot-blooded Sicilian siding with Garabaldi and the new order, is an elegant complex red (fits his character); the "Anglehi" (Angelina, the fabulously beautiful peasant girl on the rise who Tancredi falls for) is its companion wine.  You get the picture.

Simona, pictured with me, was our guide and tasting expert. She was great. Good English though very apologetic (She should apologise? What about our awful Italian?) She is also a writer - writing is her passion and food the object of her passion.

In addition she is from Palermo so was able to give me some tips on markets and street food.
Try her website and then get the translate version

Thank you Simona for a very informative hour and a half ending with tasting five superb wines.

Strangely went to dinner tonight at a chic little place (Caccio) run by Francisco and Anna and Anna works at Donnafugata in their marketing area.

Add to that the many parallels between Lampadusa's novel and this trip (more to come) and it was all very bloody good. I didn't even mention the first half of the day on Favignano island swimming in crystal clear waters and visiting the museum set in the old tuna fish cannery. Good day.

Fish stories - Good and Bad

This trip to Sicily has had a few themes. Fish is one of them. It's hard to avoid when you're on an island in the Mediterranean.

Julian P has asked me to look out for a local marlin, a spearfish (Agugghia imperiale), which is caught in the Straits of Messina . No sightings so far maybe because I'm at the wrong end of the island. Palermo could be a possibility as that's starting to move towards that part of the world.

Good fish story. This fishmonger (pescetorio) at the Antico Mercato explained to me how the swordfish (pesce spada) are caught. I took it that they are line caught on single lines. a sustainable practice.

He gave me this hook as a memento of my visit. The market still operates just inside the 17th century gateway. Mainly fish but also fruit and vegetable and some deli outlets though it looks like it might be heading the way of the Valletta market which has been killed by supermarkets.

They still set their fish up on hundred year old marble tables slightly scooped to contain any ice and juices.

Bad fish story.

There is a fishing tradition in a number of fishing communities of Sicily and Sardinia, an annual ritual called the "tonno'. It's got religious and pagan origins and signals both the opening of the tuna fishing season and the blessing of the fleet. The fishermen are very superstitious (the world over) and this seems to be an offering to the gods that, if not carried out could mean a bad season for the community which is dependent of the sea for its survival.

Problem: Its bluefin tuna which I glean is endangered in these waters (correct me if I'm wrong Julian) and it's seen as a rather grotesque and cruel ritual (the practice is banned across the rest of the Mediterranean).

The fish are herded through a series of nets set over kilometres of water beginning with the widest possible setting and over the long distance becomes ever narrower until the fish are corralled into the final net - the only one with a bottom. At this point it becomes a bit of a killing frenzy where the net is slowly raised and the local and regional fishermen join forces to jag the tuna with long poles and drag them onto the docks/boats where they are killed and bled.

They take about 100 tonne this way and the tuna cannery comes alive to begin the canning process. Many are exported fresh, mainly to Japan, at up to $500 a kilo for sushimi etc. I reckon my fantastic tuna meal last night may have made me complicit in this harvest but, Gesu Cristo, it was beautiful fish..

Marsala Rocks

Yep. I'm in heaven. Albeit an unlikely heaven. It's Sunday. The devout attend mass across the road from my balcony, sneaking out for a quiet cigarette when things get slow.

In the afternoon Marsala was closed. Not a shop open. Not that I can fully vouch for that because I was at the local saltworks, just outside the city having a break and a beer having worked up a thirst after my day at beautiful Erice (I've decided to skip Trapani - SHOCK! HORROR!).

Tonight I sauntered forth expecting to have to search for a place to eat. I assumed all the good Catholics would be at home kneeling in penitence begging forgiveness for what they might have got up to on Saturday night BUT to my surprise the place was pumping. Kids, adults, babies in strollers, grandparents ..... There was a pop concert going on in the main square (which is quite small - something I like about Marsala); It's butt ugly to drive into but intimate and charming once you find the centre - marble paved laneways, human scale piazzas, most of it pedestrianized.

Found the Osteria I was looking for and had what might be my most delicious seafood meal ever - so simple. Tuna, lightly seared both sides (olive oil and salt) and topped with lightly grilled and chopped zucchini, mushrooms and slathered with pureed Sicilian mint. MMmmmmmm. A complimentary glass of Marsala which reminded me of my father - I'm sure the only heavy wine we had in the house was a Marsala. Sweet and rich. Plus a plate of sweet orange slices to finish off. Come over (or invite me to cook) when I get back and I'll see how close I can get to tuna Marsala style.

And then.

Yes there's more. In the back streets, in the shadow of the giant (and ancient) stone city gate, now named Porta Garabaldi and dated 11 maggio1860. Garabaldi made Sicily his first stop (I hope I'm correct in this) in leading his red shirts on their campaign to unify Italy. We Venetians didn't appreciate our loss of independence and held out until 1866; the papal state opposed unification for even longer. Where was I? Oh the gates. Yes in the shadows of the gate, a bar - La Marinara (its a seafood city); and at the bar a band, five piece playing funky rhythms and Italian vocals. It was infectious. So there I was dancing in the street surrounded by all those previously mentioned but particularly young women (25 - 35) dressed for a big night out (at the bar?) and also grooving along to the music.The Sicilian ladies go to a lot of trouble for a simple night out - even Nicky used to do the make-up thing before accompanying me to a cheap Trattoria. She couldn't bear the thought of being seen as a scruff - pity about her choice of company!

And so a night out in Marsala comes to a close and I haven't got a photo to show for it. That may be a good sign. Too busy enjoying myself to be bothered with a camera.

Here's a couple of Erice and the salt pans of the Marsala lagoon.

Sciacca - my adopted family

One night in the beautiful fishing village of Sciacca was enough for me to feel adopted by my B&B hosts. I awoke for breakfast and quietly ate my croissant and drank my coffee and then went to check out. What followed was an hilarious conversation about sharks, Sydney, fighting kangaroos and other near death experiences all shared in mangled Italian and English. The tree are mother (Angela) and son (Mario) and employee (Maria). Maria had visited her zio (uncle) in Sydney, loved the harbour but only ever swam in a pool for fear of sharks. The mother's niece (I think), is an illustrator of books and so we spoke of writing and books and artists. They got me to sign my postcard (Paradiso) and made me feel like a rock star insisting that I should return next year to speak at their writers' festival (and offering their niece as an illustrator for the book if required).

Bon Jovi,  they told me is a local, returning to visit regularly but incognito; Bono, they also claimed as one of their own - a connection through his father I think. I  asked if Paul McCartney was also from Sciacca but they pointed out that he is English. Silly me.

Nicola has returned to Siracusa. Her budget was not going to last so she's gone back to earn some euro in preparation for the visit of her sister in two weeks when they want to travel the north east corner.. She may join me in Palermo to finish the odyssey.

Traveling alone has its benefits. I miss the company but would probably not had the mad Sciacca conversation if Nicky had been there to translate everything. Poor kid. I think she was getting sick of it.

I'm in Marsala and have decided to stay for a few days and explore the area from here. I have found some divine and cost effective accommodation. Things are looking good.

Three Amici in Sicily Part I

I've become interested in the essay form of late. It seems to me it's a cross between memoir, opinion and reflection. I've written a couple of pieces - each still in their formation stage. In one I wrote about my Malta experience (2014) of utter loneliness and compared that with the desolation my peasant ancestors must have felt finding themselves in the wilds of New Guinea in 1880 with the slimmest hope of survival. Get over yourself Steve I thought, but then realised that my feeling of devastation might not be as intense as the hopelessness they experienced but was nevertheless real. I survived. So did they. Why do some people survive and others perish in the face of overwhelming adversity? Do the optimists have an edge - never giving up hope? I am one of those, though optimism was not what pulled me through. It was hard work and the support of distant  friends. Was Lorenzo an optimist? I am prepared to give him that quality because my father was one and maybe his father (though he was more bloody-minded than optimistic as I remember). Maybe the genes flowed through.

And so I have set myself another challenge for 2015. Why, I might ask myself? And my answer would not be clear. It has been a little addiction of mine since I was in my twenties - a desire to take on unexpected challenges. I am not pretending to be special here or in any way compare myself with the real risk-takers of the world but nevertheless I have made some "odd" choices over the years. Malta was the most recent. One of the early ones was to give up a perfectly good job which I enjoyed immensely (primary school teacher) to accept a three month contract as a clown in a distant city dragging my pregnant partner with me. This one is: "travel for two weeks in Sicily with an almost complete stranger one third my age". You work it out.?

.In a sense I have two travelling companions on this trip. Nicola (aka Nicky), Kent born, Siracusa domeciled (for the moment) of Campanian descent with Italy and Sicily in her blood (one quarter in cold mathematical terms) and Guiseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa, author of "The Leopard". Lampedusa is not here in the flesh but in spirit. He died in 1958 and his novel (his only novel) was published posthumously. Nicky is my Italian speaking companion and Lampedusa is my guide to the Sicily of old which in many senses is still present.

Lampedusa evokes Italy in transition when Garabaldi and his red shirts were entering Sicily to begin the transformation to a united Italy. It is a time of change from the power of the Princes to that of the proletariat (later another structure emerged where other families became the source of power and wielded ruthless control over aspects of Sicilian life). Lampedusa writes like a poet. Every line is infused with rick imagery and with sharp insight into the human condition and its complexities. His world is one of politics and family and relationships. One of the most satisfying novels I have read. Regarded as a masterpiece of 20th century writing.

Nicky is the new generation. She is unaware of many of my core reference points which is why I had dubbed us "the odd couple". I write. She sings. I read fiction and write historical fiction. She reads biography - Keith Richard for instance, one of her heroes. Nicky is an artist, a musician with a voice which has hints of Nora Jones. Her modern  musical knowledge is extensive (particularly from the 60s forward). She loves a broad cross-section of modern pop while Tolstoy, Nabokov, Hemingway - the great pantheon of writers translated into English she has not yet discovered. May never. Though she has a delightful open mindedness to new experiences and new knowledge.

We three have decided that we are not "the odd (couple) trio" but maybe three companions seeking to inform each other of our worlds. We are learning as we travel - about history, music, culture, relationships and life in Sicily. It's a rich mix. There's a lot more to come.

Medea at the Greek Theatre in Siracusa

 Medea, beginning to end in Italiano. Magnifico. Bravo, Bravissimio.

Ortigia Sicily

ORTIGIA SICILY
Ortigia may be my favourite city in the world. Tagged on to the tip of Siracusa, it is the original Greek city full of laneways, sunshine, surrounded by the Mediterranean; an island connected by a short bridge to the mainland. It's a magical place full of art, history and vital daily life (and lots of tourists (but they all end up in the one or two piazzas). As I wandered the lanes this Sunday morning I passed a choir in rehearsal behind heavy closed doors (exquisite sounds) and ended up having a beer while listening to a string duo in a local cafe/restaurant (MOON). It's the sort of place I could visit time and time again (if only I was wealthy).

This is the view from the balcony of my little bedsit where the water in the taps flows intermittently, where I walk up 60 steps each time I return for a break, which is in a building the other half of which is abandoned. How romantic!

I have made a bold choice for my travels in Sicily. Maybe a little mad. Last year we were here and met a young woman, Nicola, born in Kent, UK, but with heritage in Campania in southern italy. She is one quarter Italian (as am I) and has been living in Siracusa for the past 15 months reconnecting with her roots. We hit it off and when I informed her of my trip to the north and my interest in exploring Italy further she said 'why not come to Sicily and do a road trip?' It was a simple and as innocent as that. Serendipity.

She is young, I am old. We are the odd couple. She speaks Italian I will be doing my best to learn as I go. She is beautiful, I am marked with the signs of weather and years. It will be quite a contrast to travel with her after two weeks with my brother. Andrea is a little nervous but she trusts me.. My children may struggle to "get it" but their father has occasionally trod the path less travelled so it may not cause more than a ripple. It will be a budget trip with hostels as the main accommodation of choice and self catering where possible. My indulgence of the north is about to come to a screaming halt.