The Storm

Images: The Rain!; SL at Dinner with Sunset.

Thursday's plans were scotched by the fates.
We got on the bike, fully intending to head to Antiparos, the small sister island with deep caves to explore. The caves are full of stalagmites and stalagtites, one of which is estimated to be 45 million years old. As we headed out of Parikia, the skies darkened and we thought we would head back to the hotel to see what developed. I sneered at the tiny raindrops, and poked fun at the paucity of water coming from the skies.
We decided to walk to the town to do our shopping while we waited for the spitting to end.
… and then it came. Brilliant flashes of lightning accompanied by crashes of ear-splitting thunder. The rain poured from the skies. We took shelter under a small canopy and waited for it to pass. It got worse.
Now you have to remember that Paros is an island, a small island where everything slopes down to the sea. The rivulets from the mountain paths became small streams on the hillside roads, which rushed down to become raging rivers in the streets before pouring into the sea.
Realizing that this was not getting better, and if, in fact, it got worse, we were going to have a real problem walking back to the hotel, we set off to return. The muddy water swirled around our ankles and crept up our legs, but eventually we returned, exhausted, like drowned rats to our room to dry out.
We did not venture far that night to dinner, as I was essentially barefoot in my beach shoes. Craving comfort food, SL had spaghetti carbonara, and I had the house special of pork in white wine sauce. The bonus to the whole day was that we were treated to a beautiful sunset before retiring early to bed.

Paros!

Images: Marco Polo - the First of Many Jersey Tiger Moths to Come in Butterfly Valley; SL at Beach with Naxos in the Background; SL in Lefkes: Lefkes.

We woke to the crisp, clean scent, of a Greek island scrubbed clean by yesterday's storm. The whole island had been splashed with green, giving the hills an emerald haze that shone in the morning sun.
To make up for yesterday's aborted travels, we decided to circumnavigate the island, starting out with the Valley of the Butterflies.
The Valley of the Butterflies, or “Petaloudes”, is so named because every year, millions of Jersey Tiger Moths descend on the valley and literally coat the leaves of the trees with their camouflaged wings. It was too early to see the migration, but we did manage to see the beautiful foliage, and Marco Polo the Moth. - (I called him this because he was the leader or vanguard of the millions to come!)
We then hopped back on the bike to drive the coastline, eventually stopping for lunch in a beautiful taverna overlooking the bay between Paros and Naxos.
Our drive took us to Lefkes, the highest village on Paros, and it seemed to be frozen in a time long past, with narrow cobblestone paths painted white between the blue and white houses, overrun with bougainvillea.
That night, we had our final dinner in Paros, each trying the whole sea-bass. We also braved our first glass of ouzo! It really wasn't as bad as I remembered it – the licorice taste was not as strong as I thought it would be. Truth be told, I don't remember a whole hell of a lot about the last time I had ouzo, except that it was more than just one..........
Tomorrow we say goodbye to Paros and get on the ferry to Santorini.

Greek Beginnings - Paros

Images: View for our Hotel Irene Balcony - Paros; Paros Port; SL with 8-legged Friends in Naoussa; SL and JLK in Naoussa; Seaview from Naoussa Portal

I write this sitting on the beach looking at the bay outside our window in Paros, a cold beer in an ice-cold glass in front of me, trying to quantify, or at least qualify, the difference between being in Sicily and now being on a Greek island.
Last year, I wrote in the blog that Greece seemed simpler, slower, more timeless. This is still true, but it's more than that. SL is enraptured by the island. We both have difficulty believing that we are really here. Everyone drives more slowly, car horns toot hello, rather than just Hell!
It is true that this is the shoulder season, with tavernas and ouzerias just gearing up for the influx of tourists to come shortly, but it FEELs slower.
Our hotel window opens to a balcony that overlooks the bay, and in the distance, the port. We far enough away from town to avoid the noise, but close enough for a stroll to a beach bar or any number of restaurants. Each establishment wants to give you a little something for nothing, a bonus gift to encourage your continued patronage. Sometimes it is a free dessert, unasked for, selected by your waiter. Sometimes, like last night, it is another half-carafe of red wine, which we did NOT need, and we guiltily poured our glasses back into the metal jug, hoping our ingratitude went unnoticed.
As the shops are eager for customers, I was able to rent a 250CC scooter for $12.50 per day (Regularly $45.00). A 250 is a big bike here – most people drive 50 or 125 CC. Today we took it across the island to Naoussa, a postcard-pretty harbour town with tiny, narrow little streets paved with white cobblestones. We wandered through the maze of courtyards and alleys, and would sometimes just stop to stare as if we had both heard a silent signal telling us we couldn't leave this particular view until we had paid it the attention it deserved.
We ate lunch at a taverna with our table 8 feet from the shore. We shared a Greek salad and fried calamares. Our waiter brought us bread fresh from the stone oven, with two dips. One was olive oil, balsamic vinegar and oregano, and the other was a paste of sundried tomatoes, garlic and parsley. As we sipped our ice-cold drinks, we wondered whether we really needed anything else, but when the calamares arrived, we were glad we had ordered with our hearts, not our heads.
We both agreed that they were the best we have had yet. With a fresh lemon squeezed over them, and a pinch of salt, there was not a scrap of food left when we had finished.
When I asked for the bill, a mystery dessert arrived, a frozen yogurt dish with candied fruit, drizzled with honey.
Tomorrow, we take the bike on a short ferry ride to the sister-island Antiparos, and its ancient caves

Bum Bum?? - This Post is for Mia and Kingston

Image: Soap for Dishes or for Your "Bum Bum"?????

Mia and Kingston, you're going to say "What the Heck??"

I was in the store in Italy and wanted to buy some soap for washing dishes.
The store lady gave me this soap, and I asked her if it was for the bath because it said, “Bum bum”!!
Look at the picture! She just laughed at your Papa!

Farewell Sicilia! May 14

Images: World Championship Motocross!; Our "Street" in Pantalemi; SL on our Balcony; Views on our Last Drive in in Sicily.

Farewell Sicilia! Sabato May 14
Incredibly, Our two weeks in Sicily have come to an end.
We have walked on the surface of the moon courtesy of Etna, with the charcoal popcorn crunching beneath our feet like the crackle of Rice Krispies. We gazed into her craters. We learned to make macaroni pasta with Mama Rosario. We ate the best pizza in the valley. We hiked mountains. We actually finished an Italian Sunday lunch. We conquered the phone system, and hooked up with the Internet. We learned how to shop. We washed our laundry and hung it in the Sicilian sun to dry, hoping it didn't sail embarrassingly into a farmers field on the sinewy Sirocco wind. We awoke to the sound of orange pickers, and feel asleep to the smell of lemons, jasmine, orange blossoms, and roses.
Last night we went to people-watch at a “bar” in Francovilla. Unbeknownst to us, Francovilla was hosting the 2011 World Championship Moto Cross the next day, so the town was full of competitors from all over the world, as well as thousands of motorcycle enthusiasts come to spectate. SL had a Campari and soda, and I had a Birra Moretti. Our bill? $2.70.
We sat for an hour and watched the hundreds of motorcyclists mingle (sometimes less than amicably) with the locals. It was fascinating. Pete Judge and Brian Layfield would have loved it - bikes of every description imaginable. Today, we took the long drive to Novara di Sicilia. Long drives in the Sicilian countryside are what SL loves to do best. I love to make SL happy, so we set off today for another drive.
It is not that I do not enjoy driving, and I love the scenery, but the challenges inherent in navigating the narrow mountain roads sometimes take priority over soaking in the beautiful countryside. Today, we did it right. We slowed down and stopped often, sometimes just to sit at the edge of the roadway, overlooking mountainsides embroidered with the stitches of the terracing that embraced olive groves or vineyards. Cotton balls of sheep dotted the hills, and of course, Etna presided over all. We wandered through ancient villages that looked like they had not changed in hundreds of years. We found a bar and had a gellato.
I have probably said this about other lands, but SL and I were standing with our arms around each other, and I said, “I think this may be the most beautiful country in the world.”
I have finished “Oh Etna”, my tribute to our volcano. Tonight I sang it for the last time in Sicily and recorded it to send to JB, Sandy, and Klaude, who has challenged me to write a song for every two weeks I am away. Tonight I take my guitar apart and fold it into my suitcase.
We are truly sad to be leaving Sicily.
Oh, Etna, I know you've seen a lot.
Some things make you blue and some things made you hot.
It's sunny in Sicilia, but soon I'm going back,
So tomorrow when I look at you, please don't you be wearing black.

May 8 Domenica Pranza

Images: Sunset in Pantalemi; Olive Tree after our Huge Pranza!; View from our House - Pantalemi; Looking Down from our House to the Gorge Below

Sunday, May 8 – our first day in our new appartamento, Pantalemi.
Domenica, is the day of the big Sicilian lunch, and we had already decided that we needed to do this at least once. It's also Mother's Day (Festa di Mama), so we decided to call the kids in Canada.
We called SM (Sweet Melissa) first, but unfortunately just got her voicemail, so we told her how much we loved her, and that everything was OK.
We then tried Geoff and Joce, and got Jocelyn on the first try.
We had a good chat with all, including Kingston and Mia, who informed me that her new soccer uniform was pink... “Fuschia actually!” It was bittersweet.
Then we were off for our Domenica pranza.
We were informed at the door to the Paradise Restaurant that they were full, and indeed, the place was packed. We asked if we could sit outside and the doorman agreed, much to the dismay of the overworked waitress, who let loose with a string of invective aimed at him or anyone in the line of fire which I think, can be summarized as, “As if I don't have enough to do without you agreeing to add yet another table outside, where I have to walk even farther, and it's Festa di Mama, but nooooo, I have to work, and your father sits inside, drinking vino and laughing with his friends and flirting with all the other bella donnas...” I mean, that may not be word for word, but I think that was the general gist of it.
As she set our table (I think I already mentioned it was outside), I tried to bond with her, sympathizing how hard she was working with so many customers, “Molto clienti! Lavora dura, signorna” - to which she replied with the Italian equivalent of - “Ya think??!”
She brought us red wine and a two litre bottle of spring water – the only two things she ever asked us if we wanted. Then it began:
Plates just began appearing:
Stuffed artichokes, fried cheese, fried zucchini, roasted eggplant and peppers, fresh ricotta, provolone with sweet relish, prosciutto, cauliflower with anchovies, stuffed eggplant roll, and homemade bread. That, faithful bloggees, was just the antipasti!
Then the meal began with plates of lasagna, macaroni with tuna in tomato sauce, and spinach/ricotta ravioli.
So far, we had been there about two hours, with plate after plate magically appearing. The weather was beautiful, the scenery was breathtaking, the house wine soft and fruity, and every new course just as delicious as the one before it. It occurred to us that we had never taken so long over any meal in any restaurant before, let alone lunch!
As we sat back to let the meal settle, our waitress appeared with roasted lamb shank in a tomato, garlic, olive oil and spinach sauce with roast potatoes on the side.
Dessert announced the end of the marathon with skewers of fresh fruit and pastries filled with cream and sprinkled with confectioner's sugar. We had been eating for over three hours.
We went home and slept.

Monday May 9 Cooking Lesson

Images: SL with Rosario, our Chef and Teacher; JL with Rosario; JL at the Pasta Pot; Finally - Dinner!

Monday May 9 – Cooking Lesson
When we first moved to Pantalemi, we made the drive to Agriturismo San Marco to make un prenatazione for a cooking lesson in Sicilian cuisine the next Monday with Mama Rosario. Tonight we returned to find we were the only ones in the class!
We met Mama Rosario in her cuchina and she proceeded to regale us with stories of her restaurant and family. That fact that we did not understand a word she said made no difference, and in fact, when it counted, we understood enough to not get expelled from cooking class.
The first thing we did – (Kingston and Mia, what is the first thing we always have to do when baking with Papa?) - is wash our hands, and then proceeded to make macaroni pasta. I have never done this, nor seen it done before.
After adding a bit of water to our very hard flour - “durham zero zero” - was all that Rosario would say, we were supposed to work the dough with our hands, and then knead it till it was workable. Rosario then broke off pieces about the size of gnocchi, prompting me to ask whether we were making gnocchi, which spawned a lecture about how she had already told me we were making macaroni, and that gnocchi was made with potato flour. Trying to redeem myself, I asked if the dough we had made could be used for all kinds of pasta, even spaghetti, and Mama Rosario let me in on her secret. She buys her spaghetti at the supermarket.
We were then supposed to roll the gnocchi-sized pieces of dough into little round thin strips. These strips were then rolled around a thin wooden stick – no thicker than the wire of a clothes hanger to form a small tube, which was then slid off the stick and voila! (That's actually French). Macaroni!
One of us got the hang of this much easier than the other, but I consoled SL by telling her not to feel bad, that it wasn't a race, and no one was counting. (I made 32 while she made 17).
We went on to make carponata; eggplant, red pepper, tomato, celery, spring onion; stuffed green peppers; stuffed zucchini; a potato dish with fennel and basil; eggplant topped with bread crumbs, olive oil, and pecorino cheese; and frittatas made with bread soaked in water, crumbled into a dish with two eggs, parsley, scallions, pecorino, and fried in olive oil.
When Rosario told us to sit down and “mangia, mangia!”, she continued and made lamb, risotto and salad.
The night ended with canoli and a liqueur called canelli – which is a very sweet cinnamon-based liqueur – ice-cold and delicious.
We had the pleasure of meeting Rosario's son and granddaughter, both of whom were delightful. They spoke to us in rapid Italian which to our surprise we mostly understood, unless they were NOT repeatedly telling me how kind, intelligent, fascinating and charming I was.