The Best Laid Plans and All
We bid a fond farewell, after breakfast and long conversations with our hosts, Pasquale and Graziella, at La Collina in Capo d’Orlando. Pasquale is a caring, sensitive man. We shared Cuba stories. He was moved to tears recounting a conversation with a young boy, who, when Pasquale gave him 6 euro to buy lunch, and saw he was not eating, the boy explained he needs to feed his sisters and will share it with them. We talked about plants, building pergolas, the processions for Easter, the sweets of Messina and Napoli, and many other things, including our next stop, San Fratello. Pasquale confirmed what I had read; the town had its own Italo-Gallio (Gaul) language, with most of the town having Norman ancestry. They also have a particular type of horse there (only there), descended from those used by Norman knights.
We left with a warm goodbye; they said next time call their personal number, and we can book with a discount. I would return!
The ride to San Fratello included more of the same beautiful vistas of late.
Off to San Fratello! The route included tolls. At the point we were to collect our ticket, we went through the only open lane, which required an auto pass, which we didn’t have. We need the ticket, or we can’t get through the next toll booth. We proceeded without one. I quickly snapped a screenshot of Google Maps to remember where this occurred. The person at the other end of the Help button at the next toll asked where we couldn’t get a ticket. I explained the location from what I read off my screenshot. Luckily, it was only €0.60 later, and we got through.
San Fratello is a sleepy little town; in fact, it’s so sleepy, it is eerily quiet. And, there’s really not much to do. We parked the car and went into a caffe bar to have espresso.
There was one baristo and two older men inside an unassuming and kind of dark place, with a fusball table barely visible in an unlit tiny back room. We ordered two caffe, drinking in silence. Joe and I then asked how they’d recommend seeing San Fratello. I explained I read about their famous horses and their language (which the two older guys were speaking when we walked in). They became animated and all smiles, recommending a walk up the hill, and when we mentioned wanting to try a lunch of their touted Nebrodi pork, they were adamant we try Relais Villa Miraglia. It’s a half hour away, but en route back to Biancavilla.
Joe and I walked around the town. It wasn’t lunch/siesta time, but it was dead still and not much to do. After looking at the architecture, the hillside, and the sea, we went back to the car.
We had forgotten the recommended restaurant’s name; only remembering it was in a hotel. I popped back into Roxy Bar to ask. New customers were inside, and they were all happily telling me the name and what to order. “Miraglia! Come la pasticceria famosa!” I said. They broke into smiles, confirming that the name was the same as that of a bakery I had read about. I blew kisses of thanks, and met Joe at the car, looking up the menu on the way. I am SO READY for this lunch!!
We drove about 5 miles. Joe said, “There are the black pigs you’ve been wanting to see.” He turned around so I could snap a photo. “Is that the car giving off that harsh smell?” he asked.
After a mile or two, Joe couldn’t get the car to work except in first gear. We pulled over and let it rest a minute. By now we are in the middle of nowhere. Rarely a vehicle came by, but nobody stopped (also, we didn’t try to flag anyone down). We couldn’t connect to the internet with the hotspot or with data. I remembered seeing on Google Maps that a restaurant was a few miles back. We could reach it on foot in an hour; perhaps they’d help us call a mechanic.
The sad news of not eating that lunch I had my heart set on was sinking in, but I am so VERY thankful that this didn’t happen on the Barbie Doll-sized road where we almost met our demise.
Joe called Vincenzo to let him know what was going on; Vincenzo agreed we should go to the restaurant and ask for help getting a mechanic. We collected the important things from the car, and started off on foot. Vincenzo called back again. He had somehow pulled a towing service out of the hat; Ruberto was coming to haul us back toward the sea to a town called Acquedolce. He said he’d be there in 40 minutes. He’s super sweet and has a genius tow truck!
En route, Ruberto called a good mechanic, and made arrangements for us to stay overnight at a B&B. Then he brought us to Il Ghiottone, a tavola calda run by the cute and effervescent Flora, where we could get a bite to eat and kill some time before our room was ready. We walked around a bit, but had all our bags with us, and couldn’t go far. There was some confusion about the B&B—we realized they never got our names—but luckily I wrote down Ruberto’s number. He was called, and we’re in! Now just looking for someplace to eat—somewhere to get to on foot!
Fingers crossed for an operable car by noon tomorrow. The tow and the repair will total about $450.
To end the night, Joe didn’t want a close-by pizzeria, so we took a death march down a mostly pitch-black street on a busy road with no sidewalks once we passed the main square.
The food was great; he had the suino nero chop, and I had swordfish involtini encrusted with granules of pistachio. We both shared a salad and the local white wine. Dessert was a delicious pistachio semifreddo. Joe had grappa; I had caffe.
The meal was very good, but the “sale ricevementi” (reception centers), such as this one, always seem to be lit with landing-strip LEDs and have lots of shiny white surfaces. I feel as if I’m in an operating room; I don’t care for them. And I took a nasty spill on the blacker-than-sin road, carving up my leg a bit. We may have had a win on the food, but the victory felt somewhat pyrrhic. But again; it was good food.
Back to the B&B, whose entrance greets us with Venus, a Botticelli woman I’ve aligned with my beautiful daughter since she was little. She now has my Venus art print in her own home. I’ve been missing her, so it feels like a good sign. Although an answering text would feel even better. Sigh. She’s busy.
Now time for bed. The B&B is next to a panetteria/biscotteria, from which good aromas have spewed all evening. That’s breakfast in the morning!
Comments
Post a Comment