Sicily 1 & 2: Archimedes & Montana

Our first day in Sicilia actually began at midnight (mezzanotte--one of my favorite words in Italian), as our train was delayed by the bad weather--and I can't imagine the logistics of inserting a train into a boat is easy with sloshing waves--and so we pedaled in the dark over empty cobbles to open the keybox of our BnB. We were in Syracuse. The original! The ancient Greek colony one, not the upstate NY rust-belt snowy one. Archimedes is from Syracuse. The amount of years passing and the number of humans in this beautiful spot and all that stacked on itself just makes our minds reel. 

The next morning we opted for a self-guided pedal tour (ha!) of the old city and there were so many tourists that pedal tours were indeed part of the scene. For the first time this whole trip, I could have bought a souvenir key chain. We heard English and German. It felt so different to see crowds of foreigners; where had they all been on the Amalfi Coast and in Calabria? 

And everyone was here for very good reason. It was history Disneyland, all the narrow streets and beautiful buildings. 

Our first ride in Sicily (heading south and west to Modica) had us buffeted by criss-crossing headwinds, cars ripping past at our elbows, straight roads where you see the serving of climb coming ahead. I much prefer the tight winding roads of switchbacks. The roads were punctuated by large piles of sun-blistered trash, and also lined with wild-flowers so bright we couldn't stop yelling to each other, "the poppies!", "oh this yellow!", "what's this blue one!" 

The scenery was all agricultural production once we escaped the grit and gas stations on the outskirts of the city. Lemons seemed to be the theme of the day: a truck full of crates of them passed us, the yellow glinting out like boxed sunshine. A station wagon had every surface but for the driver's seat supporting lemons. 

All of the fences were stone, and they were the veins of the landscape. Stone walls stretching everywhere, marking boundaries, containing cattle, lining the road. These stone walls must have been crafted by masters, all the stones aligned to make smooth lines, like when you carefully spatula the frosting on the outside of a cake to remove bumps. 

Rest stop #1: Coffee Bar, "bistrot" is in the name and Italian hip-hop is on the speakers. "The kids here are too cool for school" I said to Matthew; they were wearing leather and sunglasses and chain smoking at a round table. 

"We're too cool too... just in a completely orthogonal way," he said, as we took off our sweaty helmets and adjusted our padded bike shorts. (Has it occured to folks that bike shorts are basically underwear?) 

Rest stop #2: Cheese with a View. The hilltop city of Ragusa was visible after switchback climbs and with all that architecture you just have to stop and gape for a while. And stopping on a bike = someone gets out a snack. Which means the other is reminded they might like one too. I opted for some hunks off the cylinder of salty, almost plaster-consistency formaggi with it's mysterious forest-like flavors. "We need to buy more cheese!" I announced to Matthew, "we're only carrying one variety right now!"  

The lengthy, diverse cheese counters here are my happy place. 

Day 1 ended in Modica, famous for baroque architecture, another popular tourist destination. From our little room in this hilly old city, we could open our window and see across the town above the reddish-brown terracotta roofs. This view had us enraptured, and I'm trying to figure out what's so enticing about it. It feels like when you're taking off in an airplane and the buildings are pint-sized below you, and you can SEE and maybe begin to understand place and relativity. I felt like a child playing Town, the buildings all small from a distance but the details still perceptible. Someone's balcony laundry. A tree in a large pot. A garbage bin. 

Cut to the morning of Day 2: 

I'm having a cappuccino at a little outdoor table (it's too cold for anyone else to sit outside) directly in front of the Duomo Di San Pietro in Modica, attempting to put my thoughts into words on this tiny rectangle screen. I keep looking up at this edifice of old church complexity: the pillars, vaulting, buttresses, naves...and thinking about what Matthew said last night, that humans ALWAYS, since all time, have been moved to create things of beauty to express the awe of the unknowable. 

This trip we have been surrounded by beauty, by awe, by kind people, delicious food, big hills, bright flowers. I sometimes feel overwhelmed to bring it all in, to experience it as fully as I can. The yearning to do so is so strong that already I'm grieving the end of our travel. 

Of course, all while navigating flat tires, locking myself in bathrooms, the rain, dinner customs we don't understand, and bike clothes that won't dry. 

Our second day biking in Sicily (from Modica to Caltagirone) was a cyclist's dream (I wonder if it's because Matthew made the route, and he has so much more patience than me): car-free roads, beautiful vistas of green pastures and those stone fences, WHOLE PASTURES full of bright red poppies, great climbs and swooping descents. 

We're trying to describe what Sicilia feels like here, and currently we're going with: Wales plus Montana, with a little Greece and a serving of palm trees. Because of the bucolic quaint-ness, rugged rock outcroppings and expansive sky and big wind, and the old stone and brick buildings just scattered about, but the palm trees remind us we're southern and warm. 

Each cow has a big bell around her neck, but they sound different than what I've heard for cowbells before. They sound like rustic wind chimes, and when the cows walk it's as soothing as the low tones of gentle rain. We encountered a herd of sheep yesterday and I laughed out loud because they also had bells, but smaller and sheep-sized bells so they rang about an octave higher and sounded all high and flutey.   

Coming around a bend, Matthew: "The trees! Look at the trees! They are shorn!" Shorn? They all still have leaves though? I'm slow on the uptake when it comes to trees, but then see where the fat rich bark stopped suddenly to reveal a dark pink, smooth, essentially freshly-trimmed sheep underneath. Cork bark! For wine corks! How cool to see. 

Wheat and barley and oats are growing in those small fields bounded by stone fences, and the wind sweeps them like sloshing green waves. The grain maturity is about what it would be in NY state around mid-June (heads are out but are still soft and green). How the growing season works here still mystifies me. What I love are the weedy oat and wheat plants, which line the roads outside of the stone walls. I imagined years ago a bit of grain spilling out of wagons, growing roadside, falling to the earth and seeding itself over and over. 

Thank you Sicily, for such a beautiful second day.