Finale before the end

Sunday, 28th February 2018

We are in a bit of a quandary, whether to stay here until early next week before crossing back to the mainland, or to revisit Guardini Naxos and Taormina before we head north.

It's a nicely situated campsite, and it was good to meet and chat to John and Deb. They invited us for a BBQ the other day, and it's only when you are sociable that you realise just how insular you can become if you constantly move from place to place. They have been living in a motorhome full-time for the last fourteen months. I think if it is your only home then you will put down roots now and then. They celebrated Christmas here, and now Easter is less than a month hence.

In contrast, we have home time in the UK, and travelling time in Europe, trundling about for about five months each year, in 8 - 10 week bursts and flying home in between. In terms of our mantra, 'to boldly go to places the Turpies have never been before', then I guess we have been spectacularly successful. John mentioned that since starting out fourteen months ago they have stayed in 55 different places. In the 12 weeks we have travelled since October, we have stayed in 53 different places, and in our various adventures with Maisy involving three visits to Europe over the last 18 months counting up the 'pins' on our myMaps, it turns out we have travelled for 252 days in total, and stopped in 125 different locations. In a sense this underlines the difference between long-term travellers, full-timers and over-winterers. It seems to me that John and Deb have found a balance,between the folks who trundle their bungalow on wheels Benidorm-wards every winter, and determined travellers like ourselves. We have averaged a stay of two nights per place and the longest time ever spent in one place was six nights, and that was only because Gill was immobilised by a knee sprain. Perhaps we need to slow down!

The local village of Finale itself is very pleasant. Unlike some other places we've been in many of the shop-keepers go out of their way to be helpful and friendly. The village itself is a kind of scrubbed clean version of Sicily, litter free, well maintained, with mostly modern buildings, a bit bland, but but with a good range of local shops.This part of the coastline is amongst the least developed we have come across in Sicily I can see how John and Deb, who are full-timing settled-in here for a few months.

Outside the butchers shop - awesome sausages!

Streetside petrol station - you don't see those at home

The shadow town coucil.

Sunlight on the retirement home for aged Pandas

Jolly planters

biking to the bakers

The street by the butchers is named after the 2nd  President of the post-war Republic of Italy -  Ludivico Enaudi's grandpa.

Finale is so neat and tidy, even the grafitti seems coyly designed.

On the edge on the village are the ruins of an old cement factory. The wagonways down to the railway have been converted to to pedestrianised areas with seating - I can spot European Objective 3 funded project a mile off;! The same funds that beautified the coal pits of Derbyshire in the 1990s, ah...the joys of bid writing and inventing 'matched-funding that never existed in the first place. Is there a retired public sector manager in the EU who was not a nifty creative accountant so far as European funding is concerned? It's not just the Italians and Spanish who bent the rules.

European funded improvements to the brown field site?

The grant ran out here!

On the other hand, it is blowing a gale right now, the van is being buffeted, I have tied the bikes to a nearby fence with elastics to prevent them being blown over again. The forecast is not great for the next few days on the north coast, but better in the east towards Catania. Why sit here and be shaken about when you have wheels, why not follow the sun?

"Where next?" Enquires the motorgnome...

Last year we made the error of heading North before we needed to. Even as far south as Naples the temperature is significantly lower than in Sicily, and in Rome it's tipping down. I figure we could stay in Sicily until the 6th March and still be in Pisa by the 15th without busting a gut. What to do? Sleep on it and see what tomorrow brings. Where has Pete the inveterate planner gone? Is the south finally working some laid back magic on this self confessed man who must have  a plan?

"What's the hurry? Just relax." He advises.

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Let's hear it for Roger!

Cefalu, like many places in Sicily, has been inhabited for a very long time. There are traces of prehistoric settlement, and a city has existed here since the Greeks colonised the area 2500 years ago. In the intervening time the place has been ruled by Romans, Byzantines, Arabs and Normans; it became an independent Principality in the later Middle Ages, before being assimilated, first into the Kingdom of Naples and Sicily, then finally as part of a unified Italy in the 1860s. It's a small place with a lot of history, which is why, for reasons I can't fully explain, I find it vaguely amusing that the man to leave the biggest mark on the town was King Roger.

Not that I am particularly prejudiced against the Rogers of the world, I just don't find the name particularly regal; I keep reversing it to Roger King, and imagining him as a bent accountant or the Mr. Big of Dudley's PVC replacement window trade, and not a powerful 12th Century Norman monarch. Potentates should be called Vlad the Impaler, Ivan the Terrible or Macbeth, not Roger.

Despite his nominal disadvantage Roger II created one of the most enlightened courts in Christendom, remodelling Palermo's palace and cathedral by employing Muslim, Jewish and Byzantine craftsman and Norman masons. In 1141 he turned his attention to Cefalu, building the monumental Duomo that still towers today over an otherwise modest town. Of course Cefalu is not the only small place with a bloody great big church plonked in the middle. In Britain, Beverley, St Davids and Hexham are small towns with cathedral sized churches. In France, Bayeux, Conques and Tournus are the same. However, these monuments all dwarf their respective towns for the same reason, they are big because they were abbey churches, once centrepieces of major monastic institutions. Cefalu is different. It was built as a See, and as such it remains a bit of a mystery as to why Cefalu never developed as a major city. Perhaps after Roger's death its proximity to Palermo discouraged further development. So it remained, a small town with a striking edifice at its centre... like a medieval Cumbernauld.

King Roger's big church

Fabulous Byzantine mosaics

Slender columns and narrow arches reveal Islamic influence.

There is good reason to visit Cefalu aside from Roger's ambitious ecclesiastical folly. The old town tumbles down towards the sea, a warren of narrow alleys with interesting old houses. Looking back towards the place from the harbour , the plain dun-coloured buildings backing onto the shore reminded me of small ports in Corsica, like St. Florent or Erbalunga.

Cefalu's small harbour

These days Cefalu earns its crust from being a slightly up-market tourist destination, with all the artisan retail that implies. We tracked down the Galleria restaurant, recommended by our daughter. Sadly at this time of the year it only opens at weekends. Instead we decided to find a place to buy a couple of aranchini. Trickier than we anticipated in the old town, designer handbags, kitch cherubs, hand-crafted ceramics, a plethora of fridge magnets, dainty cakes...but not a humble aranchini to be had. We headed for the more workaday outskirts, and found a place behind the promenade selling them. Another street food lunch ensued sitting on a bench staring at the Mediterranean, we're happy with that, we're well past aspiring to be stylish. In fact I don't think we ever have been image conscious, and it's way too late to start now.

Stylish streets

sunlit squares

steep narrow alleys

An ancient lavaggio

and finally back to the Piazza Duomo

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Cefalu, the scenic route.

After the traumatic experience of arriving at the campsite at Sferracavalo, we needed to come up with a less stressful exit strategy. Having observed the differing traffic densities over the day we concluded that 11:00 am. was the optimum moment of departure to minimise frayed nerves. For once one of our half-baked theories seemed to have worked. The streets of Sferracavalo were quiet, and even the tricky 90 degree turn by the post office proved a doddle. Soon we were trundling through Palermo on the dual carriageway in light traffic without even one Italian hatchback driver or motorcyclist attempting to end it all under Maisy's front wheels. Our plan was to exit the motorway a little beyond Finale and double back to our destination at Rais Gerbi. It would have worked had the low fuel warning not lit up. I pulled into a service area, but balked at the 1.46 euro price. 

Our Tom Tom has a 'find fuel nearby' feature. Somewhere hidden in the algorithm must be a function that cunningly factors-in steep hills, narrow lanes, hairpin bends and areas of multiple deprivation, because it always seems to route us to the most remote, godforsaken petrol station in the vicinity with a sinister, half-witted attendant who is probably under surveillance as the prime suspect for most of the locality's unsolved felonies. In truth, it only hits all of these criteria in certain outlandish areas of South Wales. But today in Northern Sicily it hit most, except the chap at the pumps was stylish and handsome, and actually, Cefalu is quite swanky. 

The road - the S113 - proved both circuitous and vertiginous; there should really be portmanteau term for this, other than hair-raising, cirtiginous, perhaps. Anyway, after Cefalu, the S113 became bored with whizzing up and down the headlands and contented itself by snaking along the shore playing dodge with the railway, which every so often would appear from a tunnel, switch to the other side of the road via a level crossing, switch back again, then vanish again into some lump of rock by the sea. All the while, though the bends were tricky and the overtaking suicidal, as the driver I could still appreciate that we were running alongside a gorgeous pristine shoreline. Occasionally we rounded a headland and could see the mountainous coast stretching into the misty distance, to the east towards Milazzo; it was magnificent, reminding me of the Cilento. Verdant valleys running inland were bridged by a series of tall white viaducts carrying the Messina to Palermo motorway, the one we should have been on had we not made a detour to refuel.

Sea on one side, railway on the other..

We arrived at Camping Rais Gerbi a little before 1:00pm, which was fortunate as the owner was just about to go for lunch. He saw us to our pitch, explained the rather complicated relationship between the ASCI discount rate and the EHU metering system, then headed off to eat, his wife having phoned to tell him it was 1:20, and now he was running late, well past Sicily's sacrosanct moment mangiere.

This is now our third day here, and it's a lovely spot, and here's why...

A couple of weeks ago Gill posed the question, what makes the perfect campsite, and where have we been that comes closest to perfection? This question kept us entertained for a while and provided a welcome distraction from the daft shenanigans surrounding the now pending 'in-out referendum'. The latter question is easy,- IN dumbo! the former, trickier. We decided, that every site we have ever camped in has had some bloody annoying feature that disqualified it from even coming close to the ideal.

However, Rais Gerbi hits a good few positive buttons. Its setting is spectacular on the edge of a rocky promontory and many pitches havi a sea view across to the distant Aeolian Islands. The site is situated in pines, enough to offer shade, but not forming a dense canopy that makes it gloomy, nor so closely planted as to make parking a hazard. Indeed the layout of the upper part of the site with generous level pitches on concrete aprons means that the pines are planted well apart. I do wonder if the concrete predates the pines.Our neighbour John,. a fellow British winter escapee, has a theory that this part of the site may have been converted from an old industrial or military facility. This makes it sound as if the place is a bit utilitarian, and I suppose it is, there is a lot of raw concrete on show and the single large sanitary block looks more basic than it actually is. There are other negative features too, but most prove less annoying in reality than you might at first anticipate. For example, the main Messina to Palermo railway line splits the site. Luckily it is secreted in a deep, wooded cutting, so you can't see the line, and barely hear the trains which quietly rumble past infrequently anyway.

Against all of the negatives you get a stunning view of the Med, you are able to wend your way through the steeply terraced area set aside for tents, down a shady path to a little pebbly cove that looks great for snorkeling. At night, if you walk a few yards out of the lights, then it becomes very starry indeed, and it's quiet, at least out of season; no busy Italian site is ever going to be less than voluble once you fill it with natives in a holiday mood. Finally, the village of Finale is a ten minute walk. It's a pleasant, modern seaside town, unpretentious, and architecturally unexciting, but the shops are good. I can see why John and Deb, the British couple two vans down, opted to over-winter here. There is very little not to like about it.

Finale's shops are only 500m from the site

Lovely pine covered pitches

great views

The Aeolian Is on the horizon.

View towards Finale, and beyond

Small cove by the campsite

dark skies - great for star (or moon) gazing

So is Rais Gerbi a contender in the near perfect motorhome camping spot? Perhaps, but does the little problem that arose yesterday afternoon preclude it? I was filling the washing-up bowl with hot water at the washing-up sinks next to the shower block when a man behind me shouted urgently, "Hi, Hi!" Turning around I was somewhat taken aback to find a semi-naked figure leaning out of the shower block door. "How long you bowl fill?" He enquired. Adding, "None pressure hot!" then throwing in a short, but theatrical re-enactment of shivering to death.

"Sorry, I'll be quick." I assured him. If one person washing-up is enough to freeze another having a shower, can you imagine what it must be like in high season? Internecine shower wars I presume. 

The search for the perfect camping spot continues...

Prima di pranzo,

 durante il pranzo, 

 dopo pranzo

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A day in Palermo

Monday 22nd February, 2016

In forty years of inveterate travel it would be surprising not to have experienced the occasional failure or misfortune. Some have been spectacular, like the day we set-off from Las Vegas on a family road trip to the Grand Canyon, but misplaced the biggest natural feature on the planet. After almost a decade our kids still bring it up occasionally as a classic example of parental failure. Thankfully most of our travel glitches are not so epic in scale, and result in cock-ups rather than disasters. 

Today's cock-up involved a visit to the Palace chapel in the Palazzo Normani in Palermo. It's paintings and mosaics are famous as an amalgam of Arab and Christian traditions and the craftsmanship achieved in the 12th Century under the patronage of the Norman king Roger I. We first came across them when they were featured in the T.V. series, 'Sicily Unpacked'.. Then last year Sarah, our elder daughter, visited Palermo and insisted that a visit to the chapel was a 'must see' site. It was a bit of a walk from where the bus dropped us in Via Roma, but eventually in the oldest part of the city, beyond the cathedral, we found the entrance and ticket office. There were notices in Italian listing the parts of the Palace complex that were closed out of season. When we asked if Palazzo Normani was open, the somewhat surly chap in the ticket office shook his head. It was disappointing, but Italy can be like that. It was only after we returned to the van, and I re-read our guidebook, that I realised what the guy meant was that the Palace itself was closed, but the famous chapel was open. Now I felt just a little bit stupid. I suppose it gives us a reason to come back one day.

Palermo is worth a return visit, as the rest of the day was to prove. The place is not some insular, provincial backwater, but a vibrant and vivacious metropolis that oozes character. Like Naples, Marseilles, Athens or Valencia it is one of Europe's great Mediterranean cities, a place to be experienced and absorbed by rather than be simply gawped at as a detached sightseer.

Palermo Cathedral

Baroque splendour at every corner

Old shops

The city central library and archives

A big difference between British cities and continental ones is the extent the latter have retained a mixed population living in the centre. They have neither been entirely suburbanised, nor partially gentrified. In this regard Palermo has retained its characterful inner urban heart to an extent unusual even by European standards. Like many cities in the last couple of hundred years a rectilinear grid of broad avenues defines the city's layout. Behind these however, even more so than Naples, lies a closely packed, labyrinthine web of alleys reflecting the Arabic roots of the city.

We visited the cathedral which is an eclectic mix of styles reminiscent of Seville's. We sensed in the detail, especially the narrow arched porch with slender columns, hintsoft Islamic influence. We decided to cut through the warren of alleyways to find the restaurant in Via Venezia that Sarah had recommended as a good place for lunch. These souk-like districts are notoriously confusing and have been baffling tourists for centuries, most famously Goethe who in the late 18th century had to hire a local guide to extricate himself. We had GPS, but still struggled. However, it did mean we happened upon the Ballaró street market in full swing, utterly by accident.

Narrow streets run off the grander avenues.

Some of the alleys look somewhat down-at heel

Each district contains magnificent churches - that's the Counter Reformation - impoverished people, opulent churches.

The Baroque - never knowingly understated!

Ballaró market boasts scores of stalls sell mainly fresh produce, but much else besides, spread out across the narrow streets of the Albergaria district. Most of the food products are from Sicily itself, and mainly the northern and central provinces. The fish looked so fresh they must have been plucked out of the bay early this morning. We have grown used to consumer choice, if oranges are out of season in the Northern Hemisphere, fly them in from South Africa; if a Mediterranean diet is good for the well-being of stressed-out northerners, then secure a ready supply of cherry tomatoes by swathing the shores of mare nostrum in plasticulture. It can be different, it was different today in Ballaró market. Admittedly it does help that Sicily is so fertile and blessed with a sunny climate that Demeter herself was thought by Ovid to have chosen the valleys around Enna as her sanctuary. 

Not just superb local produce on sale, but garish pink handbags too.

The cheese stall

Ballaró has a real buzz - and is used by the locals as their main shopping place.

Eventually we found our way back to Via Maqueda and worked out a route to take us to 'Ferro di Cavallo'. It was now well past 2.00pm and the restaurant was packed. They squeezed us in at a small table for two by the door, rejected by the Italian clientele due to their morbid fear of draughts. There is no menu, it comes printed on the brown paper tablecloth. It's simple, 2 euros for starters, primi pasta 4 euros, with 50cl of local red the bill for both of us - just 21 euros. For that we had delicious simple local food beautifully cooked. Gill started with caponata, then had pasta with swordfish, fennel and aubergines; I chose sarda polpette, followed by Pasta Norma. The wine was a local light red of mysterious provenance, but quite palatable, even if it was a bit shy about its origins.

Ferro di Cavallo means 'horseshoe - great food, vibrant atmosphere - and very affordable

The place was packed - but we got the last table.

The swordfish and fennel pasta - yum!

After lunch we headed to the famous Vucciria market area, then down to the seafront. It's more grungy around here, the graffiti a little more edgy, the rubbish skips overflowing. Before heading for a the bus we stopped for a coffee in the Piazza San Domenica. As Gill sipped her machiatto, she glanced around at the unfolding minor theatrics. "It's sure lived in" she mused.

The area between the Vuccira market and the port is grafitti heaven.

A mixture of  Baroque splendour and crumbling tenements

Scruffy but quite hip I suspect - exhaust pipes and scrap re-invented as wrought iron fencing - Kurt Schwitters meets street furniture, this is not unsophisticated proletarian culture here - it's  boho zone really..

Piazza San Dominico

A quick coffee stop - then back to the bus before rush hour.

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