Bronte by surprise
Going upstairs, I first went to the balcony to gather my air-dried clothing from yesterday. As I was folding it, I heard Elena.
"Kahren, you are here?" she asked, coming into the kitchen, cell phone at her ear, and looking cute, as always.
"Sara is on the phone. You want to go to Bronte in a half hour?"
As I've said: Always be ready!
"Sure!"
We met Sara and her boyfriend Cesare at the front door, Sara dressed in a cute knit ensemble and boots. We're meeting Cesare for the first time; he lives in Salento (Puglia), and the two are making this long-distance relationship work. As we were driving to Bronte, I watched him gently and lovingly tap her nose or caress her cheek whenever he laughed at something she said. They're cute.
I had forgotten how beautiful it is to drive through the Nebrodi. Etna is snow-capped, and though my photos don't do justice, from Bronte, she appeared to loom close enough to topple into the car. I never tire of her majestic presence. And that's coming from a "Give me the sea versus the mountains any day" gal.
First stop: a classic bar -- remembering 'bar' here means caffè and sweets/snacks -- Caffetteria Luca, a lovely, lovely place where we ordered cappuccini and sfogliatelle con pistacchio di Bronte. If you've ever met me, you know I fawn over a good sfogliatelle, and I'm very picky about them. The one I sampled today almost made me flush red with my first bite. Ecstasy. I was in the throes of passion, and did not get a photo of it. But the pretty cappuccini were captured... they tasted as good as they look.
I saw this print at the caffè bar. I think it's one that my son John likes. Edited to add: similar style, different print.
Sara was intent on getting us a particular ciambella, loosely described as similar to a doughnut (but never the 'twain shall meet) from Bronte, but the places where we'd find them were closed today (Monday). Sara was frustrated we couldn't try one.
After our fruitless... or ciambella-less... search, we piled back into the car and took a stunning drive to Sara's house in the mountains. As the crow flies, it's not far from the Rapisarda's vigne house. It's a charming, much smaller place than the Rapisarda's, and I fell instantly in love with it. Sara pointed out a huge pine tree, which she called "Giuseppe's tree". She planted it when she was pregnant with her son, Giuseppe, who happened to call and FaceTimed with us during our visit. He has a house in the Canary Islands with his husband. Giuseppe speaks English and has magnificent hair.
The house is closed up for the winter, but Sara found some wine and brought out snacks. Cesare asked if we minded if he smoked a cigar, and I explained that Joe loves cigars; it's not a problem. Cesare asked if he wanted one, advising that it had a hint of Sambuca in it! Joe (who they're calling Peppino) is a convert.
We cleared the table, put away the chairs, and got back into the car. I don't think we've had more than a 15-second pause in conversation the past four hours.
I assumed we were being dropped off at home in Biancavilla, and we sort of were-- but at Sara's home, where she made us a lunch much like the one we had yesterday, with calaceddi e salsiccia. I always love Mariella's food, and Sara's version created a new love. She used a different sausage, and added a bit of peperoncini. So very good. She also had her homemade bread, made with antique grain, walnuts, and figs, and served with a jaw-dropping honey. I noted to Joe that she used a glass spoon (metal destroys honey's preservation as well as removes all beneficial properties). Simple cheese and taralli accompanied the meal, along with wine made by Piero, whose birthday party was the occasion where we first met Sara. Lots of great conversation, discovering that Cesare is quite the humorist, and he and Sara have a relaxed, comfortable, fun and loving banter that is easy to be around.
Sara wanted to drive us home, but I explained we needed to move around after doing nothing but eating for three days. Besides; I wanted to stop at Scandura and get a little treat for Mariella. She's going through a lot. At the top of the hill, Joe turned left instead of going right to Scandura, saying, if I don't mind, he'll head home. Ok; see you later. I continued on to Scandura, but dammit! When am I ever going to learn? They're closed Mondays.
I swung onto via Cristoforo Colombo, and walked to Decò (even though there's a smaller Decò near Scandura. I wanted the exercise).
Top of the hill. From this angle, home is to the right; Scandura to the left.
It's olive harvest and pressing season. Here's one place that'll process them for you.
A purple geranium bush?
Artigiana on the left
The city is pretty at sundown, with long shadows, lamp lights and headlights, turning it into a Sicilian version of an Henri Cartier-Bresson photograph. I turned around near the abandoned chiosco in front of the monestary, to see if the sunset reflected it's rosiness onto Etna behind me. Just then, a monk on his cell phone paced around and stepped into my photograph.
At Decò, I spent too much, but loaded up on wine, some grocery gifts to bring home, the (wrong) juice for Joe, and a small gift for Mariella, amongst other things. The heavy stuff went into my backpack, I hauled the rest, and got in a call to my mom on the walk home.
Relaxing in the apartment, Joe and I talked about qualitative versus quantitative friendships, close bonds and their tie to longevity, losses and closed chapters we've experienced with friends, and throughout all this had a light supper of bread, cheese, salami, and salad. And more wine.
As always, I'm grateful for this life, and for all who are dear to me throughout the world. And yes; I still miss my sister.
Tomorrow, if the car situation aligns, we're off to Catania.
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