Giardini Naxos Finale

Once again presentable, our stomachs were ready for dinner. This time, we were headed for La Cambusa, touted as one of the better restaurants in the area. Following the now familiar seaside road, we found it easily around the curve of the cove. Hastening to separate ourselves from a large tour group which had entered just in front of us, we slipped into a table right at the edge of the sea. Lights of the cove reflected on the water while colorful little fishing boats bobbed just off shore.

A fisherman hurries to beat the shadows while, in the background
to the right, Taormina twinkles in the dying light.

Taormina glittered in the distance. Glowing candles sat on the low stone wall that separated the sea from the tables. The air was fresh, the night was warm. We agreed it was a perfect ending to a perfect day.

September 11 – Return to Palermo

Another blue and cloudless day. Again, we were early to the breakfast room, but Nando didn’t seem to mind. Friendly, gracious, and accommodating, he plied us with strong cappuccini while he finished preparing the food. Today’s plan was to take the train Catania, around the coastline to Messina, and back to Palermo since tomorrow we would be leaving Sicilia to head for Greece. After hearing our plan, Anna suggested we would be better off simply taking the bus. Faster and more direct, we would change once in Catania and then streak through the heart of Sicily. This route would save us a couple of hours.

Usually I prefer the train to the bus, but there were still a few things we wanted to finish off in Palermo, so a little more time would be welcomed. We decided to deviate from the original plan and take a chance on Anna’s advice — and, even though we would miss more of the beautiful coastline, this would give us a chance to see more of the interior.

It was as easy as Anna had described. As we rumbled along, we gazed out the window at the golden rolling hills covered with vineyards, olive groves, and other crops, often set in terraces supported by old stone retaining walls.

Remnants of a market lay directly below our window in Albergo Orientale. 

Landing back in Palermo around 1:30, we had the rest of the day to putter. Albergo Orientale on Via Maqueda, one of the city’s main streets, was our home for the night.

The upper reaches of the inner courtyard of the old palazzo
that is now Albergo Orientale.

Heavy wooden doors opened off the street, leading onto a grand open courtyard sprinkled with a few cars, sleeping cats sprawled over their roofs. A wide marble staircase illuminated by giant windows led up to the reception room decorated with antiques and frescoed ceilings.

It wasn’t room number seven where Mussolini once stayed,
but it was still clean and comfortable.

Mussolini himself had at one time spent the night in this former palazzo — room number seven, which was not ours. The clerk was extremely nice and enunciated her Italian carefully so that I could easily follow. As she answered our questions and pointed out places on the map, she asked me to just let her know if she should speak more slowly, or if I wanted her to switch to English. I found that so respectful. Commenting on our Italian surnames, she told us that several Americans had visited this year at various times, all looking for the land of their ancestors.

Back down on Via Maqueda, we noted that several streets signs were also written in Arabic. Making a beeline for Piazza Marina, we ducked into Palazzo Mirto, a late 18th century palazzo opulently furnished and decorated as it had been when the noble Filangeri family lived there. Informative curators led us about, along with a handful of Italian tourists. I was able to understand most of what they described. Just don’t ask me to translate it.

Gino stands before the infamous tree in Piazza Marina, scene of a famous Mafia shooting 100 years ago (read about it under “Albergheria Quarter.”)

The gate to the little garden at Piazza Marina was open and we hastened to take pictures of the gigantic and surreal ficus trees which we had previously viewed only at night.

Looking more like gigantic hairy eels, the trees
of Piazza Marina intrigue all visitors.

Continuing our stroll, we stopped long enough to indulge in a fabulous granita, overpriced, but so delicious and made the real way — with ice shaved by hand and flavored with real fruit. We paused to watch a small group of kids play ball against the side of a building. Gino took video of them and then beckoned them over to see the results. As they crowded around the camera viewer, they laughed and screeched at themselves and begged for more. Leaving them to their game, we meandered back to Albergo Orientale.  As we packed up for our very early trek to the airport the next morning, an acappella symphony of young girls’ voices wafted in from the adjacent building, a perfect goodbye gift from Palermo.

September 11 – Sights on Our Final Afternoon in Palermo

Once milky white, but now grimy grey, this saintly patroness looks out from one of the corners of the Quattro Canti onto the crossroads of downtown Palermo: Via Maqueda and Corso Vittorio Emanuele.

The bell tower of the church of San Giuseppe dei Teatini, next to the Quattro Canti. Gino, the videographer of our trips, knows he must stop and record whenever the musical peals of Italian church bells fill the air. This sound transports me to another time…

Clad in yellow and blue majolica tiles, this dome tops the very baroque church of San Giuseppe dei Teatini, built at the beginning of the 17th century.

A marble sphinx serenely guards the broad stairway leading down from Piazza Pretoria to Via Maqueda.

Creating a perpetual atmosphere of festivity, arches of metal latticework entwined with tiny white lights illuminate busy Via Maqueda at night.

September 12 – Ciao, Sicily!

As usual, we were the first ones waiting for the airport bus. After we boarded, we kept peering out the window to keep an eye on our packs stowed in the still-open luggage compartment below, relaxing only when the bus lurched off. In the still dark morning, we cruised through almost empty streets, picking up workers and travelers here and there.

At the airport, we were told to check our packs, which we never do unless forced. This time, the plane that would soon be zipping us across the sea to Athens had tiny inside storage; we had had no choice but to wave goodbye to our packs and hope we would see them again when we landed (we did!).

The flight called for a change of planes in Naples. As we coasted through the sky a few minutes before landing, we were treated to an astounding view of the island of Capri and the unmistakable hulk of Vesuvius. A short time later, we bid Sicily farewell as Athens glided into view. It was time for a new adventure.