Scala dei Turchi & Sciacca
The origin of the name comes from the many invasions of Arab/Turkish pirates and the “stairs” are formed by eroded Marl, clay and silt similar to calcite and limestone.
Rumor has it that the people you see covered in wet Marl are hoping to glow from the benefits it supposedly contains for the skin. Beach-goers used to jump off of the cliffs and rocks, and into the deep, buoyant water of the warm Mediterranean, but the area has been secured after recent vandals poured red paint all over the white steps. When we last went, the local tourism authorities recommended climbing the steps barefoot. It’s smooth and tough to get traction.
Domineering one end of the long beach, you will see the white steps, where Turkish and Barbary Coast pirates slipped in on several raids for plundering.
Nikos was bummed he couldn’t climb them, but what could we do? A couple of asshole vandals ruined that part of it for everyone. The views, however, are still breathtaking.
We walked along the shore, and I appreciated the women in all shapes and sizes, across a wide range of ages, sporting bikinis. Vendors had their wares atop colorful blankets spread upon the sand, but there was no hustling. If you want a bracelet or a floatie, you go up to them to buy it. One vendor walked the beach, wearing a tower of straw fedoras stacked upon his head. He had buyers!
The day forecasted rain, but so far just a transition or two between overcast and sunny. It was a perfect way to read the temperament of the sea who, like me, shines best in the sun. The horizon line was a band of bright turquoise, turning a stormy teal when a gray cloud loomed. We were watching a live watercolor painting.
After admiring the Scala and the sea from all possible angles, we slowly walked back to the car. Nikos and I stopped at a beachfront chiosco for a caffe, plus an arancino for Nikos, and the use of their beach stall bathroom, which was surprisingly clean and bright (there’s a lot of sand and mud around).
I had this great idea to continue west toward Sciacca, since Joe and I remember loving it last time we were there. The road threaded between Sicily’s interior and the sea. Today is not sweltering hot.
We parked in a one hour spot, hoping it was the Sicilian one hour, meaning we could be there a while. I couldn’t get my bearings coming in from this angle. We went toward the sea to check out where I remembered might be some colorful tiled steps.
Sciacca is on the map with Americans these days, as it’s the birthplace of Fauci’s grandparents and ancestors. It also had a slew of those €1 houses you may have read about.
Feeding schedules: Where Nikos will gladly grab an unplanned arancino or panino to stave off potential oncoming hunger, Joe will, out of the clear blue, announce “I need to eat something soon”. Ok. I had pre-scouted places to eat, and knew there were three possibilities along the street parallel to the sea, but it required a 15-20 minute walk to get to them. Nikos, noticing groups of tables one street tier above us, indicated there may be restaurants up there. I said these were fine; they’re all snack bar style, but if that’s ok with everyone, let’s do it. (I clarified, since our meal when last here was at a trattoria, and was fantastic). So we had sandwiches; the guys also had beer, I had a glass of wine, and we all had lots of water. Although, even before the wine, I was dragging my feet. I’m super tired today.
We did find the colorful tiled steps, the overlook and castle wall, and the harbor, but everyone seemed tired and not up for exploring, so back to Agrigento we went.
I confessed to needing a power nap; 30 minutes. Nikos wanted to pack the wine he bought, and organize for tomorrow’s flight. We’ll meet later to have wine on the “sunset terrace” upstairs.
The nap was restorative. I walked up to ask Francesco if we could use some wine glasses. He said of course, pointed out the corkscrew, then put potato chips in a bowl for us. He later brought out pistachios and almonds to the terrace, while wiping up the spills we made on the table. Francesco’s talent at the beautiful piano wafted through the airwaves to us.
We booked a table at “Opera,” a cute pizzeria/trattoria. The food and wine were very good, but a bit pale in comparison to last night’s blow-me-out-of-the-water fare.
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