Oh citizens of Cefalu, we love you! We arrived via a change at Messina and were about to get into the taxi when the partner discovered he'd left his small backpack on the train. And the train had left the station. The young, handsome taxi driver was most concerned. He went to speak to the station master, who rang up the train driver, who sent one of the inspectors to look for it, who found it, who made sure it was put on the next train back when it reached Palermo. Really? Can you imagine that happening in Australia? I have to say skepticism was my major emotion at the time but the taxi driver said: "Don't worry." and drove us to our hotel. He said he'd return to the station for the Palermo train, collect the belongings, then return with it and visit his girlfriend at the same time. All good. Skepticism again.
We settled into Il Pino e la Rosa, a beautiful old home of the manager's cousin's mother. Yes, family is still the go in Sicily. A huge marble bath dwarfed the bathroom and when we went out on our balcony, you could see the swallows diving and flitting over the clay tiled rooftops out to the sea. How the taxi got down our street I didn't know, it was made for horses and people only.
We had a walk around the cobbled streets full of craft shops, ceramics and restaurants to return at 7 for the return of the bag. We waited. And waited and I was just about to say something like 'I told you it wouldn't be delivered' but they were never to be said. Handsome taxi driver and likewise stunning girlfriend knocked at the door with said bag. My husband had lived in Palermo for six years of his life. The partner said maybe there was a link with the bag getting to go to Palermo for a brief visit. It was a lovely thought. We went out to celebrate.
We found a place by the sea and were seated with a view of what would be a magnificent sunset. We ordered a typical Sicilian seafood pasta of sardines, wild fennel, raisins, pine nuts, sprinkled with sauteed breadcrumbs instead of parmesan because, as every good Italian knows, you never, ever have parmesan with seafood! Also they are obsessed with pistachios here so we choose the seafood ravioli with burnt butter and topped with delectable bits of pistachio and a cold fish caponata. We drank and ate as the sun set slowly as it does in the Mediterranean, turning the sea copper, bronze and then to platinum and then made our way back to the piazza near our place. An old church sat slumped in the back of the square, as we ended the celebration of the bag's return with a shared gelato that was pistachio and chocolate in different intensities, in seven layers. Unbelievable!
The next day we breakfast on pistachio cake and macchiatos and then headed down to the little harbour for a swim. It's waters, although inclusive of a small fishing fleet, were crystal clear. We had morning tea of pistachio and mulberry granita in the square, changed and headed back down to the famous Pizzica that makes Arancini and nothing but Arancini. We walk to the Portico dei Pescatori, an archway leading to a little beach, and devour them on the steps there. I have a pistachio and speck one, it's heavenly. Stuffed with a gooey cheesy filling, the outer layer of rice is light and not heavy and it's lightly fried to perfection.
Fortified , we wander along the tiny streets, past the fish net shop of Instagram fame, finding an art shop where the owner is painting tiny miniatures of Cefalu, to shops of beautiful red and orange Sicilian ceramics, silver jewellery and little handmade holy water fonts in ceramics. We go a bit crazy and buy interesting art works here. We run into the vegetable truck, overflowing with crates of luscious fruits and vegetables and watch as he holds up an ancient weighing machine to do his calculations as the Cefalu inhabitants crowd around.
We sit on our verandah, listening to the church bells, watching the swallows until it's time to dine yet again. Honestly Sicily shines with it's cuisine. We sit in a bar overlooking the harbour and I have an Amaretto cocktail at Il Molo. A woman next to us starts chatting. She's Florentine and owned a restaurant there, her husband died, creditors took the restaurant and she has had to move to an apartment and open an Air BnB. This is her first holiday since his death five years ago.
We dine on anchovy pasta this time, laced with chilli and toasted breadcrumbs; and a sea bream pasta with tomatoes, mint, garlic, tiny coral shrimps and pistachios in place of parmesan. We are again in time for a long, slow burning sunset and a bit of drama from a couple opposite us. He leans over to show her a photo, she takes his phone and starts scrolling, he tries to get it back unsuccessfully and too late, she obviously sees naked photos of another girl, she 's English and she questions him, he's Italian and he tries to explain it away in his broken English. It doesn't go well. She screams at him, he denies everything, she throws the phone across the table and walks off. He sits back and scrolls through, seemingly having moved on from the drama he had enacted and casually finishes his drink. No doubt a tourist romance. She's probably thinking she'd like his head in a pot, growing some basil.
On our walk back we stop by the square, buzzing at ten pm at night. Babies, children playing and laughing. No worries about getting the kids to bed early here. I love it. We stop at our favourite gelateria and have a tiny cassata cake, we can't leave Sicily not having had my late husband's favourite cake. Sponge cake stuffed with ricotta and choc chips, covered with pistachio marzipan, topped with a cherry. Sicily, we love you!
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