The Crawshaws’ Overseas Trip - Capo D’Orlando Day 3

Thursday 16 May - the rain continued during the night and most of Thursday. The thunderous noise of the waves crashing on the shore echoed throughout our apartment, strangely comforting in its proximity. We ventured out to have coffee at Bar Delle Poste, a café near the supermarket. After buying some more bread and eggs, we headed back to the apartment in the drizzle. Another cooked breakfast followed by very quick showers, about 2 minutes each. Otherwise he or she who went second ended up with a bracing cold one. Then tennis on the telly (Italian Open), action movies (easier to follow the story line) or reading for Michael, blogging for me. 

By evening the rain had petered out. It took very little discussion to make a decision about dinner. Back to Uletta restaurant we went. As before, the service, the food and the wine were excellent. Michael had a steak and I had my first pasta dish, spaghetti with seafood. And my usual side dish of vegetables. This time we had a dessert each, and of course it had to be the flan of the previous evening, even more divine in it’s texture and flavour. The theme of this trip is definitely the food, with wine a close second.

The Crawshaws’ Overseas Trip - Capo D’Orlando Day 2

Wednesday 15 May - Although rain was forecast, the morning dawned in a sunny fashion so we went for a long walk along the sea front. There was a teasing turbulence about the Mediterranean, waves rearing up close to shore, then sedately washing on to the pebbled beaches. We enjoyed the stunning vista along the way, but for a time had to concentrate on walking the narrow pathway along the road. There was only a low wall between us and volcanic rocks which plummeted to this section of thrashing sea below. Michael likened it to a washing machine and claimed the whole terrifying aspect made his sphincter quiver uncontrollably (his exact words). As we drew closer to the marina around the eastern point of Capo D’Orlando, the sea was gentler, looking infinitely more swimmable. Not that we saw anyone in the briny blue. The whole stretch of coastline had that pre-season air, ready to shake off it’s winter coat but not quite ready for the summer hordes that apparently invade this holiday destination. Restaurants and cafés dotting the coastline were, at best, opening during the middle of the day for lunch. Others were still locked up, while some were being renovated and/or repaired.

Back at the apartment, we cooked breakfast, consisting of eggs, tomato and spec. There was no toaster so I singed bread over the open gas flame. A cup of tea with boiled water from the billy and our meal was complete.

Michael made the brave decision to drive us to Sinagra, a little town about 20 kms inland. We had no problem navigating with our mute gps although driving the tight, winding roads was hair-raising, with cars passing us at speed, over bold white lines, and around blind corners. “At least you have the rear vision mirror this time” I joked. A second later it fell off. Another slightly worrying event was the appearance of a fault light on the dash during our short journey. I consulted the manual but of course, a bit tricky when in Italian. We had parked by this stage and decided to worry about it later.

A friend from Albany, Al Fasolo, was born in Sinagra. It is a picturesque little town nestled into the surrounding hills, complete with cascading waterfall, babbling brook, and ruins of a castle dating back to the Byzantine era. Late in the 16th century, due to an earthquake, the reigning feudal lord of the period feared for his life and abandoned the castle for safer ground. Since that time, it has been left derelict. Another interesting feature of Sinagra was the inordinate amount of elderly gentlemen gathered together in varying numbers, engaged in animated conservation, while taking their morning espresso. One such gentleman (see photo attached) thought he knew Michael and launched himself upon us, vigorously shaking Michael’s hand. Obviously it was a case of mistaken identity and no-one could understand the other but it was a lovely exchange with lots of laughing all round.

After having a coffee in the main Street, and strolling about,  looking at the above mentioned  sights, we returned to the car and decided to check the oil, just in case. Michael opened the bonnet and then we proceeded to look for the dipstick. It was nowhere to be seen. At this point, our old, new amico wandered over and ascertained what we were looking for. While I tried checking the manual again (?), they eventually worked out where it was. Oil level was ok, tyres appeared to be pumped up, so after saying arriva derci to our Sinagrian friend again, we set off for Capo D’Orlando once more and hoped for the best.

We made it safely back to the apartment, read our books, watched a John Wayne film dubbed in Italian and then headed into town around 7pm to find a restaurant. It appeared we were a bit early for dinner so we wandered around for a while before finding an establishment which was actually open for business. The Uletta restaurant had a covered outdoor area, where we chose to sit. Our young waiter Andrea was friendly, attentive and he also spoke good English which was a bonus for us. Michael ordered a pizza and I had gnocchi with swordfish and a side dish of vegetables, plus we polished off a bottle of fine Sicilian red wine. By this time, it had commenced to rain in earnest. I ended up positioning my chair between two tiny leaks in the roof. At this point, Michael engaged in conversation with the two lads seated next to us, obviously Australian. It turned out they were from Perth, on a two month Italian holiday. 

The rain steadily fell as we sat there, sipping our wine. I half jokingly suggested to Andrea that he might sell us an umbrella. He laughed and said they would be happy to lend us an umbrella to get back. Then the maître d’ came over and said that someone would drive us back. This was above and beyond the normal service offered in the hospitality industry and we were very grateful for the offer. However, we decided to have dessert and attempt to wait out the rain. We shared a little flan with warm caramel in the centre, marooned in a sea of white and milk chocolate sauce, and accompanied by hazelnut ice cream. It was so delicious, right down to the last drop of chocolate. By this time it had actually stopped raining, so we bade these wonderful people buona notte and walked back to the apartment replete and content.

The Crawshaws” Overseas Trip - Capo D’Orlando Day 1

Tuesday 14 May - A more peaceful sleep this time. We showered, packed, had breakfast, then checked out. As the Avis office was not more than a kilometre away, we decided to walk there. I gave silent thanks more than once for our downsized bags as we tackled the high curbs, tightly parked cars, and yet more piles of rubbish along the way. Possibly we could have caught a taxi but I had read a review describing Sicilian taxi drivers as money sucking vampires, to be avoided at all costs. 

We arrived at the Avis office at 9.45am. There was a queue out the door and it  was going to be a test in patience to be sure. As Michael stood in line, I watched over our bags outside the office, indulging in a few discreet yoga standing postures to while away the time. An hour later, we were installed in an auto Renault hatchback, complete with gps in English. 

To say navigating our way out of the city was fraught with difficulty and danger is an understatement. Driving on the right hand side of the road for a start is scary, even for a passenger, which of course I was. There were no verbal instructions from the gps, only the directional arrows and remaining kilometres and metres so I became the voice of said gps. As we were being directed this way and that, the rear vision mirror decided to fall off. Not a great start but we laughed, even if a bit hysterically. After about 20 kms, I managed to slide it back on to the windscreen and eventually Michael managed to manoeuvre his way onto the Autostrada.

The Autostrada is a four lane highway which runs from Palermo all the way to Capo D’Orlando and beyond. It travels though the mountains by way of tunnels, varying in length from a couple of hundred metres to 2 kilometres or more. Some are well lit, others not so much. The speed limit varies from 50kph to 130kph. Italian drivers are obviously used to these conditions and hurtle along, lane hopping, seemingly travelling at twice the speed limit. Further along the coast towards Capo D’Orlando, the highway becomes two lanes, even more scary, as cars pass on blind corners at top speed. I kept squealing, convinced that if i put my hand out the window, I could touch the mountainous slopes while Michael was trying to avoid the cars coming the other way. We were about 10 kms from Capo D’Orlando when we misinterpreted the gps and ended up in chaos. The gps tried to get us back on track by means of a tight turn to the right in a very narrow one way street. Up ahead was a truck loaded with scaffolding, which was in the process of being erected against a building on our right. The driver took his time but eventually moved the truck forward so we could turn left. It took a lot of backwards and forwards to inch into the space without taking out the scaffolding. Finally we were out and, ignoring the gps, headed for the main road which thankfully was visible. Very stressful but hats off to Michael for keeping his cool with the car and me.

Once in Capo D’Orlando, the drama wasn’t over yet. There appeared to be no parking spaces left along the whole of the beach front, where our apartment was situated.So many one way streets! Finally we drove around the back of the beach front and found one parking bay. We decided that the car could stay where it was and we would just walk to the apartment, where-ever it was. Our luck changed for the better, as the apartment was just 50 metres ahead of us.

The apartment was still in the process of being cleaned so we unloaded our bags and headed straight to the nearest bar, about 30 metres along the promenade.

After a couple of beers and sharing a panini, we found a supermarket and bought a few supplies, like cheese, ham, butter, bread, milk and tomatoes. The cleaner was still hard at it, cleaning the front verandah area. On the journey from Palermo, I had spoken to Frederico, the owner of the apartment. He told me that people were checking out that day and it would take time to clean. However, judging by the amount of dust on the cleaner’s cloth as she wiped down the outside table, it hadn’t been used in quite a while. The apartment was comfortable though, if a little quirky. The pine ceiling was extremely high. The only internal walls surrounded the bathroom and toilet but did not meet the ceiling. The cutlery drawer was hidden within another drawer. The cleaner had to show us that one.

 We unloaded our bags and groceries while she was still there. I asked her if there was an iron. She looked, as I already had, but couldn’t find one. I asked her if we had wifi. No wifi. Frederico had also given us his uncle Giancarlo’s phone number as he managed the property. When we couldn’t find a kettle, we tried phoning Giancarlo but the phone kept cutting out. The cleaner said he lived only a couple of houses back and she went to see him. She came back and told us he would come later in the evening.

We waited for a while but in the end decided to head out for dinner. We went a whole 50 metres this time, to the Mulino Hotel. Apart from a very old man, we were the only people in the dining room. Michael ordered spaghetti, which was al denté but very salty. I thought I ordered scallops but it turned out to be veal scallopini. Obviously something was lost in the translation. It was tasty though. 

Eventually we meandered back to the apartment. There was no evidence that Uncle Giancarlo had been to visit. We watched a bit of Italian tv, then hit the sack, fairly tired after a mentally taxing day.

The Crawshaws’ Oveseas Trip - Palermo

Monday 13 May - We slept for about 8 hours, surprisingly long as initially there was considerable noise both inside and outside the hotel. No dinner the night before left us feeling quite peckish. Breakfast at our hotel was a continental affair. The dining area consisted of two rooms, both with buffets sporting boiled eggs, cheeses, deli type meats, breads and pastries, muesli, yoghurt, tea and coffee. We ate our fill then ventured out once more into the labyrinth of alleys and laneways of Palermo. 

Firstly we went back to the Avis office and met Vita Maria who was very helpful. She assured us that all was in order for tomorrow at 10am, an auto car, complete with gps with English translation. Michael’s mind at ease, we set off to explore. 

The day was sunny in spite of the forecast for rain. We wandered through the shopping precinct, in and out of clothing shops, I suspect Michael dreading each foray, wondering at what cost. He took it in good spirit though, suggesting  I might like this or that item. I love and appreciate his efforts but we are polar opposites on the subject of my wardrobe. What he considers bright and colourful I consider too busy and/or garish. I did end up buying a tailored navy jacket, smart and hopefully very versatile. It got the nod of approval anyway from my stylist in tow.

We found the bar and restaurant precinct and stopped for an early afternoon aperitif, beer for himself, margarita for me. At this point we tried to phone Alinta and the children but no luck. Eventually, while we shared another beer, she phoned us back via What’s App. It was the usual chaos, kids clamouring for a turn, Harley laughing when he saw Granny, crying because he wanted to hold the phone, going into raptures when he saw Poppa, and Alinta trying to maintain some semblance of order. It was lovely to see them all though and I hope to keep this contact up regularly during our Italian tour.

As we continued our meanderings, we stumbled across some markets which seemed to stretch forever. Clothing, trinkets, the usual market fare enjoyed the world over. I did hesitate over some happy pants, decided against it, even though my stylist was keen (gaudy and garish). After we moved on, I regretted not getting some, even though they were extremely colourful.

The siesta break seems to creep up surreptitiously. One minute shops and cafés are open, the next minute they are closed, not due to re-open until 4 or 5pm.  We ended up back in the town square, checking out more historical buildings and statues. Eventually our interest waned and we set off to find a restaurant recommended by the concierge at our hotel, the Carpaccio. It was literally around the corner from the hotel and so easy enough to find.

About 7.30 pm, we ventured back to the Carpaccio, already buzzing with activity. We were seated at the back of the restaurant, up a short flight of steps. The conversations of each of the tables around us seemed to echo in our corner. The collective American voice was predominant, with overtones of the ever colourful Italian. We heard snippets of suburban stories not unlike Days of Our Lives, and about as riveting. The Italians of course were safe from our involuntary eavesdropping, we not understanding one word.

We ordered an entrée each, Michael a prawn cocktail and myself grilled octopus. These were delicious, the prawns of gigantic proportions, and the octopus very flavoursome. The problem being that we were already quite full after eating this course, especially me as the octopus came on a bed of roast potatoes. I tried to resist but they were amazing and I kept on nibbling away until our plates were cleared.

This restaurant was run

 by a flamboyant fellow who commenced to cook pasta near our table. First the boiling water, then in with the spaghetti. After draining, he proceeded to add olive oil, bacon, tomatoes and white wine into the pan. Every now and then, he used his giant wooden spoon to stir with great flourish. He also wafted the ensuing steam about with his other hand, inviting everyone, in animated Italian, to inhale the fragrant aromas he was creating. Then he called out to Michael, “Matriciana?” 

“Si!” was Michael’s enthusiastic reply. 

Michael was not the only recipient of matriciana. A table of Americans also partook of this delectable dish. I had swordfish steak with green vegetables which was very nice but the pasta was the hit of the meal. So, after stuffing ourselves to the brim, absolutely no room for dessert, right? Wrong! We ended up sharing a cake concoction that sounded better than it tasted. All in all though, it was a great culinary experience for our last night in Palermo.

The Crawshaws’ Overseas Trip - Flight to Rome

Sunday 12 May - Although we had access to the lounge area, it was still a long wait until boarding at approximately 12.45am. Finally we all trooped on, bracing ourselves for the 12 hours ahead. As it turned out, the seats converted into quite comfortable beds. Michael went to sleep as soon as the seat belt sign flicked off. I stayed awake until the end of Bohemian Rhapsody, then slept for about 4 hours. Sleep eluded me after that and while Michael slumbered on, I indulged in some Iyengar yoga postures seated on the bed. First yoga for at least two weeks! An hour or so later, we were fed breakfast with about 90 minutes of flight time to go. 

At last, Rome airport. We managed to navigate our way from Arrivals to Departures by train, get our boarding passes for Palermo, capital of Sicily and find the correct gate. Then another 2 hour wait for our flight. During this time, a lady pointed out to Michael that his mobile phone was on the floor behind his seat. He got his own back when we were lining up for boarding. Another lady came up to me and asked if I had left my mobile back at the charging dock where I was sitting. Er, why yes, so I had, very embarrassing. Michael just smirked. 

After an hour’s flight, we landed at Palermo airport and headed for the baggage carousel. An excruciatingly slow process, one bag being flung down the chute at seemingly 5 minute intervals. Eventually the carousel stopped altogether. At that point an airport official announced to the considerable crowd that international passengers could collect their luggage from carousel 1, not 4 where we were waiting. Off we trooped where we waited another 30 minutes for bags to start appearing. Then, once retrieved, we had to go through the customs checkpoint. Finally we made our way past the barriers to the free world. Our driver was waiting patiently for us, or so we thought. Once in his vehicle, he tore at the speed of light along the Autostrade and inner city streets to regurgitate his petrified passengers on to the pavement outside their hotel. 

We checked in to the Hotel Plaza Opera, our room quite small but a comfortable bed and a hot shower so very acceptable. The safe wouldn’t lock and the aircon didn’t seem to be working but these were minor details in the scheme of things. After dumping our bags in the room, we set off to explore, initially seeking out the Avis office so we would know where to go in two days time. We found it, closed due to the siesta break, so decided to return the next morning to confirm the booking. 

Wandering through the narrow cobbled streets, we navigated our way around cars, roadworks, rubbish bags piled high. At times the stench was overpowering. Washing lines were strung high between little balconies, people were watching the world go by out of shuttered windows. We eventually found an outdoor bar and stopped for a beer. The area felt a bit unsavoury so we moved on.

A horse and cart passed us by, the young man hailed us, and before we knew it, Francesco the reinsman and Zenit the horse were taking us on a tour of the city. We saw churches, monuments, majestic buildings, statues, all of which were explained with passion by Francesco. There was the slight problem of the language barrier and so we gleaned little or nothing of what he was attempting to reveal. We nodded a lot and said “oh si” a lot. He became especially animated when showing us where a famous Italian movie had been filmed, and naming the lead actors. We nodded even more knowingly because he was desperate to impress upon us the importance of this major event. I think he suspected we were completely ignorant of the finer facts of Sicilian life and eventually got his own back by charging us double what he originally quoted. 

He also did not understand that we wanted to be dropped off at the same point as our pick up. 

It took us quite some time to find our way back to the hotel. By this stage, I was exhausted so while Michael went for a beer in the hotel bar, I had a shower and rested, as in fell asleep. I remember letting Michael into the room, then nothing more until morning.

The crawshaws’ Overseas Trip - Singapore

Saturday 11 May - We had a late check out at 6pm as our flight to Rome was scheduled for 1.30 am the next morning. So after a hot breakfast at one of the hotel’s restaurants, Modesto, we took a cab to the ArtsScience Museum. Our driver this time was an older gentleman who was listening to classical music. We were given a short lecture on the genius of Beethoven, who, even when he went deaf, could imagine how the music he composed would sound. According to our cabbie, Beethoven was the guru.

There were two light installation exhibitions at the Arts Science Museum. We paid for both. There’s no getting away from it, we obviously look like seniors so we got seniors’ rates which is not to be sneezed at I guess.

The first exhibition was Alice in Wonderland. Michael wasn’t keen but I was so in we went with all the parents and their offspring to sit around the table at the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. It was very clever, with lights casting all kinds of moving images on and around the table. We all oohed and aahed (not Michael) and were suitably impressed with it all.

The second exhibition was called Future World, encompassing four facets: Nature, Town, Sanctuary and Park. It was also very impressive but also geared to engage the inquisitive nature of children. One young attendant invited me to enter an enclosure filled with giant fluorescent balls and toss them about together with little humans. One of the rules was to not put any physical weight on them. As the balls looked exactly like my fitball at home, apart from not being fluoro, I couldn’t guarantee I wouldn’t be compelled to throw myself on to one, doing a back bend into the bargain, I politely declined.

As we moved through the various rooms, the light installations were spectacular but we didn’t linger too long. After a while, one light installation melds into another. 

Another cab ride and we were deposited at the National Museum of Singapore. Entry was free, a blessing if only to be spared being labelled seniors. 

To Michael’s dismay, there was another light installation to be endured in the natural history section. Also impressive but we moved fairly through it. Then we spent about an hour following the story of the rise and fall of Singapore and subsequent road to independence which was of far more interest.

Back at the hotel, we decided a bit of lunch was in order as it might be our last morsel for a while. We approached the desk of one of the restaurants to be confronted by a woman seemingly in the throes of some dire personal crisis. She neither looked at us nor uttered a greeting, just indicated to follow her to a table. Ok, it was 2.30 pm, and granted, a bit late for lunch. However the door was open and she could have refused us. Anyway, we pressed on, ordered our selection of steamed dumplings and thoroughly enjoyed them.

Back in the room, we showered, repacked and finally checked out just before 6pm. Off to the airport, this time with a Jack Brabham at the wheel. He also hardly spoke a word, and drove as if possessed. We made it to the airport in record time, and with our hearts up in our throats.  

The Crawshaws’ Overseas Trip - Flight to Singapore

Friday 10 May - Day of departure. We woke around 7.30 am, Alan having already left for work. We showered and packed our new downsized suitcases and then headed into town to check our postbox, hoping to find our postal voting slips for the upcoming election. No such luck, so we headed for the city polling booth to do the interstate deed in person. Then off to the Cool Spot Cafe for our last Darwin coffee, before heading back to Alan’s house so I could repack for the third time. 

Two hours in the departure lounge, then a 4 hour comfortable flight to Singapore. I wasted about 30 minutes watching Crazy Rich Asians again to find out the name of the street where the main stars went to eat after first arriving in Singapore. Although I enjoyed the recap, there was no mention of the name of the street. Then I watched Enough Said with Julia Louis Dreyfus, only to remember half way through that I had seen it before and wasn’t that wrapped. Peering over at Michael’s screen, I saw Bohemian Rhapsody, so quickly found it and started watching. Of course it is a 2 hour + film, so managed about half before we landed. 

All smooth sailing through customs at Singapore airport and straight into a cab. Our driver was a young out of work electrical engineer who could drive well enough but wasn’t too sure of his home city. Or our hotel, Orchard Rendezvous in Tanglin Road wasn’t too well known. And he hadn’t seen Crazy Rich Asians, so couldn’t tell me where the amazing street of eateries was. Although he did tell us about Newton Food Court which is apparently very popular with the locals. We drove around and around, even with the aid of the gps. He finally saw the hotel as we sailed past so we had to do another lap around the block to pull in to the driveway. 

After checking in and checking out our room, we decided to go out to eat. We took a cab to Newton Food Court. And I’m pretty darn sure this is the place in Crazy Rich Asians. Same food stalls, tables, people, noise level. We found an end of a table and ate steamed dumplings and drank Tiger beer. The couple on our table actually offered to share their fish with us. We declined but nice of them to offer. We obviously stood out as bewildered tourists.

Another cab back to the hotel where we finally hit the sack, tired but pleasantly so.