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Travel to Scopelo
May. 1st, 2014 10:03 amToday was to be a short travel day, with a drive of a couple hours north to Scopello, our last stop in Sicily and a staging area for our other excursions. We started the day with laundry, since we were running low on clean underewear and the dirty laundry compartment in my backpack was bulging. Shoshanna found a pleasant little laundromat a short drive away, and we retired their to wash stuff and get caught up on blogging while we waited.
An hour later, we were on the road again. Nothing special to report, other than that around the time it was Shoshanna's turn behind the wheel, and we were both in need of a bathroom break, we happened across a McDonald's (the first one we'd seen in Sicily, so far as I remember). I insisted on stopping so I could get a real American-sized cup of coffee. The restaurant is about what you'd expect (i.e., similar to any other McDonald's anywhere in the world), with a few small tweaks to the offerings. But the biggest difference was also the most important: the coffee menu was sized to Italian tastes, with teeny espresso cups rather than large North American cups. They did, however, have a "large" cup about the size of a small American cup, and I bought one. The coffee was only so-so (cosi, cosi), since we've been spoiled by really good Italian coffee, but at least it was abundant. As noted earlier, I like a large mug of coffee. At home, with our French presses, we can have coffee that is both good and abundant.
The GPS led us successfully to Scopello, with only minor surprises right until the end. Our final B&B, Casa Corcella, is located a little over a kilometre out of town, perched up on a hillside overlooking Scopello (a "hamlet" of a couple dozen buildings, most B&Bs or restaurants or other tourist conveniences), with homes located elsewhere. The road the GPS wanted us to take was closed with a chain. So we parked and walked into town, and quickly found a parallel road with the B&B's sign. Back into the car, and up the hill we went. The lower stretches of the road were simple, but as we got higher, the grade steepened. The reviews of the B&B that we found said "don't worry, you car can make it"; indeed it did, but most of the last part of the trip was spent in first gear.
After settling in, we decided to hike down the hill, into and past Scopello so that we could get to the Zingaro park office and collect a hiking map to plan the next day's hike. Turned out to be a great, but mildy rigorous walk: 3.2 km downhill and then 3.2 m back uphill again. We returned with a map, checked out a few restaurants to get an idea of where we might eat while we're here, and as our last step, stopped in at a local B&B (Pensione Tranchiate) that Lonely Planet reported as having an excellent prix fixe dinner that was only available to non-residents on nights when the residents left a table open. We spoke to a friendly Chinese woman who appeared to be the owner, or at least the hostess or chargé d'affaires, and she offered us a table. On the way out, I noticed that they'd been mentioned in the Michelin Guide, which turns up its nose at merely good restaurants. Off up the hill for a shower, change of clothes, and relaxation.
The B&B is a lovely place, perched on one of the few flat areas below the towering cliffs that is large enough for an extensive complex. It's built from local sandstone, and seems to have six rooms (four above the building that holds the common area and two in a separate building a few metres farther uphill; we're in one of the latter). There's a sundeck for sunbathing and an adjacent patio for al fresco dining, and both offer lovely views of the cliffs behind us and the ocean below. The hosts are friendly and helpful; they offered us coffee as soon as we arrived, and there's wine and beer and bottled water in the room's fridge, all of good quality and available at reasonable prices (e.g., 4 euros a litre for a decent local Sicilian wine).
At 7:30, we rolled back down the hill (not wanting to add another 2.4 km to our daily tally late at night after dinner). We were each served an aperatif (a pleasant Sicilian red wine), and sat around with the other diners awaiting dinner. I'd originally parked alongside a batch of cars, but hadn't been comfortable that this place was a good choice; the signage suggested it was a no-parking zone, and my host confirmed this. Although she said there wasn't a particularly high risk that anyone would come by to ticket or tow the cars, the downside potential seemed high enough that I decided to move the car uphill to a safer spot.
By the time I returned, Shoshanna had hooked up with two delightful Scottish women. One was a teacher had spent a couple years in northern Ontario (Sudbury, not far from where I'd worked for the Canadian Forest Service), but then married an Italian and moved to Italy in 1972 to each English as a second language and do translations. Her friend remained in Edinburgh, where she also works in an editing-related role (details unclear). Both were 65 years old, and they've been friends for 56 years!
Dinner was enormous. It started with a large bowl of fresh local pasta, drenched in a lovely sauce of tomatoes, a ton of garlic (even by my standards), and really good oil. This was a meal all by itself, and was delish. It was followed by something I've never had before: salt-crusted fish. The basic notion is that after gutting the fish, you leave the skin on and pack the whole fish in rock salt. As it cooks, the juices that emerge cement the salt to the fish, sealing in the majority of the juices. When the fish is ready, you scrape off the salt, gently peel away the skin, remove the tail, pick off the upper layer of flesh, then chop off the head and gently remove the skeleton to reveal the lower layer of flesh. A lot of work, but worthwhile; the fish, drizzled in olive oil, was lovely. The host didn't know the English name, and I couldn't parse the Italian name, but one of the Scottish women said that it translated as "four teeth". Not my favorite fish, but very tasty. It was accompanied by a orange/greens salad, and finished off with a slice of cake for dessert. Far too much, but lovely, and we chatted throughout dinner. Best of all, the price was only 20 euros for the whole feast, with wine extra. Not cheap, but inexpensive by Sicilian standards.
Although we had enough cash to pay for dinner, we preferred to use the credit card because that leaves us a cash buffer so that we won't have to pay exorbitant ATM fees if we need more cash. Unfortunately, their ATM machine is a bit wonky. First, our hostess told me that some locals had stolen the copper wiring that would have let them and other restaurants connect directly to the bank network, so they were paying exorbitant fees while waiting months for the telephone company to fix the situation. (They've banded together in a class-action suit to sue the company and force it to fix the problem.) Second, this meant that we had to go to the door and hold the card-processing machine up to the sky, since it's an old building and the signals don't penetrate its thick stone walls. Finally, the battery died just as we were beginning to get a connection. Recharging the battery enough to get a signal through took a few minutes, but in the end we succeeded.
From Irene, the Scottish woman who lives in Italy, we learned a phrase that explains much about why things work the way they do in Sicily. Need to Google this to get the right wording, but basically along the lines of the answer you get from a Sicilian when you ask a question about why they don't do something in a way that (to a North American) would make more sense: "Non c'è la mentalitè", which translates as "that's not the way we think".
I was designated driver, so I got to drive us up the hill back to the B&B at 11 PM. No particular problems, but the road is rutted and potholed, so you have to weave in and out and keep your eyes closely on the road so you can miss the really bad potholes, of which there are many, and the local dogs, which roam unfettered. Shoshanna kept her eyes open for oncoming vehicles to provide advanced warning. Fortunately, it was late enough that there were none, since there are only a handful of homes along the route. There are few places where the road is wide enough for either car to pull aside and let the other pass, and if you're headed uphill and get to the the car that stops, it can be difficult to get rolling uphill again, forcing you to roll backwards downhill until you hit a level patch that will let your tires get enough traction to start uphill again.
An hour later, we were on the road again. Nothing special to report, other than that around the time it was Shoshanna's turn behind the wheel, and we were both in need of a bathroom break, we happened across a McDonald's (the first one we'd seen in Sicily, so far as I remember). I insisted on stopping so I could get a real American-sized cup of coffee. The restaurant is about what you'd expect (i.e., similar to any other McDonald's anywhere in the world), with a few small tweaks to the offerings. But the biggest difference was also the most important: the coffee menu was sized to Italian tastes, with teeny espresso cups rather than large North American cups. They did, however, have a "large" cup about the size of a small American cup, and I bought one. The coffee was only so-so (cosi, cosi), since we've been spoiled by really good Italian coffee, but at least it was abundant. As noted earlier, I like a large mug of coffee. At home, with our French presses, we can have coffee that is both good and abundant.
The GPS led us successfully to Scopello, with only minor surprises right until the end. Our final B&B, Casa Corcella, is located a little over a kilometre out of town, perched up on a hillside overlooking Scopello (a "hamlet" of a couple dozen buildings, most B&Bs or restaurants or other tourist conveniences), with homes located elsewhere. The road the GPS wanted us to take was closed with a chain. So we parked and walked into town, and quickly found a parallel road with the B&B's sign. Back into the car, and up the hill we went. The lower stretches of the road were simple, but as we got higher, the grade steepened. The reviews of the B&B that we found said "don't worry, you car can make it"; indeed it did, but most of the last part of the trip was spent in first gear.
After settling in, we decided to hike down the hill, into and past Scopello so that we could get to the Zingaro park office and collect a hiking map to plan the next day's hike. Turned out to be a great, but mildy rigorous walk: 3.2 km downhill and then 3.2 m back uphill again. We returned with a map, checked out a few restaurants to get an idea of where we might eat while we're here, and as our last step, stopped in at a local B&B (Pensione Tranchiate) that Lonely Planet reported as having an excellent prix fixe dinner that was only available to non-residents on nights when the residents left a table open. We spoke to a friendly Chinese woman who appeared to be the owner, or at least the hostess or chargé d'affaires, and she offered us a table. On the way out, I noticed that they'd been mentioned in the Michelin Guide, which turns up its nose at merely good restaurants. Off up the hill for a shower, change of clothes, and relaxation.
The B&B is a lovely place, perched on one of the few flat areas below the towering cliffs that is large enough for an extensive complex. It's built from local sandstone, and seems to have six rooms (four above the building that holds the common area and two in a separate building a few metres farther uphill; we're in one of the latter). There's a sundeck for sunbathing and an adjacent patio for al fresco dining, and both offer lovely views of the cliffs behind us and the ocean below. The hosts are friendly and helpful; they offered us coffee as soon as we arrived, and there's wine and beer and bottled water in the room's fridge, all of good quality and available at reasonable prices (e.g., 4 euros a litre for a decent local Sicilian wine).
At 7:30, we rolled back down the hill (not wanting to add another 2.4 km to our daily tally late at night after dinner). We were each served an aperatif (a pleasant Sicilian red wine), and sat around with the other diners awaiting dinner. I'd originally parked alongside a batch of cars, but hadn't been comfortable that this place was a good choice; the signage suggested it was a no-parking zone, and my host confirmed this. Although she said there wasn't a particularly high risk that anyone would come by to ticket or tow the cars, the downside potential seemed high enough that I decided to move the car uphill to a safer spot.
By the time I returned, Shoshanna had hooked up with two delightful Scottish women. One was a teacher had spent a couple years in northern Ontario (Sudbury, not far from where I'd worked for the Canadian Forest Service), but then married an Italian and moved to Italy in 1972 to each English as a second language and do translations. Her friend remained in Edinburgh, where she also works in an editing-related role (details unclear). Both were 65 years old, and they've been friends for 56 years!
Dinner was enormous. It started with a large bowl of fresh local pasta, drenched in a lovely sauce of tomatoes, a ton of garlic (even by my standards), and really good oil. This was a meal all by itself, and was delish. It was followed by something I've never had before: salt-crusted fish. The basic notion is that after gutting the fish, you leave the skin on and pack the whole fish in rock salt. As it cooks, the juices that emerge cement the salt to the fish, sealing in the majority of the juices. When the fish is ready, you scrape off the salt, gently peel away the skin, remove the tail, pick off the upper layer of flesh, then chop off the head and gently remove the skeleton to reveal the lower layer of flesh. A lot of work, but worthwhile; the fish, drizzled in olive oil, was lovely. The host didn't know the English name, and I couldn't parse the Italian name, but one of the Scottish women said that it translated as "four teeth". Not my favorite fish, but very tasty. It was accompanied by a orange/greens salad, and finished off with a slice of cake for dessert. Far too much, but lovely, and we chatted throughout dinner. Best of all, the price was only 20 euros for the whole feast, with wine extra. Not cheap, but inexpensive by Sicilian standards.
Although we had enough cash to pay for dinner, we preferred to use the credit card because that leaves us a cash buffer so that we won't have to pay exorbitant ATM fees if we need more cash. Unfortunately, their ATM machine is a bit wonky. First, our hostess told me that some locals had stolen the copper wiring that would have let them and other restaurants connect directly to the bank network, so they were paying exorbitant fees while waiting months for the telephone company to fix the situation. (They've banded together in a class-action suit to sue the company and force it to fix the problem.) Second, this meant that we had to go to the door and hold the card-processing machine up to the sky, since it's an old building and the signals don't penetrate its thick stone walls. Finally, the battery died just as we were beginning to get a connection. Recharging the battery enough to get a signal through took a few minutes, but in the end we succeeded.
From Irene, the Scottish woman who lives in Italy, we learned a phrase that explains much about why things work the way they do in Sicily. Need to Google this to get the right wording, but basically along the lines of the answer you get from a Sicilian when you ask a question about why they don't do something in a way that (to a North American) would make more sense: "Non c'è la mentalitè", which translates as "that's not the way we think".
I was designated driver, so I got to drive us up the hill back to the B&B at 11 PM. No particular problems, but the road is rutted and potholed, so you have to weave in and out and keep your eyes closely on the road so you can miss the really bad potholes, of which there are many, and the local dogs, which roam unfettered. Shoshanna kept her eyes open for oncoming vehicles to provide advanced warning. Fortunately, it was late enough that there were none, since there are only a handful of homes along the route. There are few places where the road is wide enough for either car to pull aside and let the other pass, and if you're headed uphill and get to the the car that stops, it can be difficult to get rolling uphill again, forcing you to roll backwards downhill until you hit a level patch that will let your tires get enough traction to start uphill again.