Mountain Roads

 

 

 

10th November, 2016:

THE COAST GLIMPSED FROM MOUNTAIN ROADS

 

We had another lovely day, exploring round the coast,first glimpsed from the roadway high above.  It frequently wound round  the lower slopes of a mountain.  Soon we were walking down (and up from) one of the famous little fishermens’ towns – Castellammare del Golfo.  We even think we drove on that circular elevated highway you see in earlier Montalbano downloads.   I somehow cannot call it a viaduct because it is on stilts, instead of arches.

 

 

 

THE MOUNTAIN  ROADS TO SUTERA

 

Sicily gave us more than a few unlooked-for adventures.  Graham tackled atrocious roads, hairpin bends, and doglegs to ascend mountains.  Not forgetting the usual reckless and selfish Italian driving – so surprising in this most gracious of peoples.  All in our eleven-year-old VW Golf, which had so far needed only two new tyres.  And maybe that was because of that farm track back in Grottole?  Or possibly our car’s old age?

 

 

FIRST ATTEMPT BY MOUNTAIN ROADS TO REACH SUTERA.

 

11^th November:

WE START A 3.5 HOUR DRIVE –

 

Leaving Alesso and his Mum with fond hugs and kisses, Graham decided to take the smaller roads right across the mountains to reach Sutera, where I had booked a room because it promised ‘mountain views’.  I knew it would be Graham’s last chance of photographing any on the island – and he’s just crazy about mountains.  Sutera is situated almost in the centre of the island and about halfway between where we had been staying and the ferry back to the mainland.
Google showed this route as taking three and a half hours as against just under two on the High Toll Road.  We both like to explore off the beaten track, and Graham just loves driving through mountains.  That day he had the experience – in spades!

 

A SLIGHT DEVIATION

 

We had been bowling along nicely, despite being on a very narrow road winding in and out of lower mountain slopes.  Suddenly we came to a barrier across the road, announcing ‘Lavori Stradale’ (‘road works’).  There were no road workers to be seen, but we saw a school bus just ahead turn in through a hole in a netted fence onto a levelled piece of rough earth.  From there it drove out, executed a smart turn and took another road in the rough direction we had been travelling.

 

 

WHERE’S THE MOUNTAIN ROAD GONE?

 

Our SatNav quickly adapted  – but about 2 miles further on Graham nearly drove straight off into – space!  When we got out and peered over the edge we saw lots of rocks and a few toy cypress trees far, far below us.  So we retraced our tracks and took another, slightly wider road.

 

MOUNTAIN ROADS – NO ROADS!

 

All was well until Graham, after manoeuvring around very nasty potholes, suddenly screeched to a halt.  I was thrown forward slightly.

“What’s the matter?  Why did you stop like that?  I could have –“

“Thank God I did.  Get out, and I’ll show you.”

Being tall, Graham had just managed to see that the road had dropped a good three feet, creating a step just about ten yards in front of our bonnet.  He had to drive in reverse all the way until we reached the turnoff at a minute crossroads.

He sat for a while, considering, until he had to edge the car forward and nearly into the rocky wall in order to let another VW Golf pass.

“That guy’s a local, you can see.  He’s obviously going somewhere and knows his road.  I’m going to follow him,” he said.

“But it’s not in our direction.”

“I don’t care.  I have to get back on to a proper road.  Any road.  We’ve been four hours already.  Besides, I’m hungry.  Aren’t you?”

 

A DEVOTED FAMILY.

 

Indeed, I was.   So when we ended up in a medium-sized village we stopped and asked a lady meeting her child from school where we could find food.  She directed us to a side road ‘Just a few yards up.’
And so it was.  A very plain room, but clean, with many tables – all of them empty at that time of day.  But the lady of the house came forward and in halting English explained that if we did not mind a pasta dish her husband would cook for us.

 

A CHILD TRIES HIS ENGLISH –

 

We had just started attacking the good food when in came a very fat schoolboy.  He rushed to the kitchen and came out with his hands full of little cakes, which he proceeded to demolish.

Standing right in front of us he asked “Inglese?”

We agreed that we were.

“My name is Alberto Grimaldi (or some such) and I am thirteen years old,” he announced in a loud voice, whereupon his mother rushed in from the other room where she had been chatting to local friends.  She smiled proudly and smoothed his hair.

 

– AND YEARNS AFTER OUR FOOD

 

“I learn English at school.”  He stared fixedly at us as if he would like to be fed scraps from our plates.

“Yes.  Your English is very good,” I said politely, hoping he’d go away.

Not a bit of it.  So I asked him a question he couldn’t answer – and wouldn’t you know it, in drifted his English teacher, a friend of the family.

Father came out from the kitchen and there ensued a sort of ‘Love-In’ around this child, who promptly went back to the kitchen to scoop up another snack.

 

WE REMEMBER OUR MANNERS

 

They were a lovely family – a devoted family.  His father had willingly cooked us lunch at 3pm.  What could we do but give Mama and Papa the pleasure of seeing their offspring show off?

 

ALL THE WAY BACK TO PALERMO

 

We finally set off again and in Sclafani Bagni we looked across to  a town  called  Caltavuturo.  It was perched just below the highest slope of the  Rocca di Sciara.  Graham stopped:  We both left the car to look out over the land.  Below us, the road wiggled away  like a thin piece of string.  Another signpost pointed down a wider, faster road back to Palermo and the coast.  The question on both our minds was ‘do we risk the little road or go back and start again?’
There was no argument as Graham turned back  to Palermo.  It took well over an hour, but I enjoyed some elevated views of the lovely bays of that coast  before we finally found the highway, actually a bit past where we had started from that morning…

 

WHAT WE MISSED:

 

Because we were in such a hurry to turn back we had no time to look for the famous ‘Bagni’: a perfectly round, pale green thermal pool, fed by a waterfall in the rocks that surround it.  Also, to my dismay, we had to ignore the posters advertising the annual Fungo Ferla Fest.  The mushrooms  depicted were not the usual wonderful Porcini of Italy. These were pinky-brown, and in clusters.
If you are in the area in November, I hope you catch the festival and find all that Caltavuturo has to show you.

 

Text by – Jackie Usher, SWWJ. (aka author Debbie Darkin, & ‘Graham Liverpool’ on Trip Advisor.)
Photographs by – Graham Usher.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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