Blog

So I'm sitting in a cafe in the middle of Ortygia — having just finished my little tour of the island — polishing off my hot choc and croissant, and having a pleasant chat with the locals. I get up from my table, dust off a few breadcrumbs, wave goodbye to my fellow patrons, and jump on my bike. The plan is to head straight out of Syracuse — having seen the city centre and its sights — and to make my way west into the Monti Iblei, for an afternoon of uphill riding, and an evening of rough mountain camping. Possibly to see the Syracuse archaeological park, and famous Greek theatre, along the way. But all those plans suddenly disappear out the window — and the day's cycling comes to an abrupt and premature end — when I start pedalling, and I realise that something is really, seriously wrong with my bike. Something far worse than the usual problems of squeaky brakes, unresponsive gears, or even flat tyres. I have a snapped axle.

From my little milk stop in Cassibile, this morning I continued straight up the SS115 highway (the main highway of Sicily's east coast), and by 11am I was in beautiful, famous Syracuse. It was a quick and easy ride: as with yesterday, I continued to be blessed with beautiful weather (something that I don't take for granted these days), and with flat and smooth roads. Although it's one of Sicily's major cities, I actually thought that Syracuse would be much bigger: I was surprised at how quickly I managed to whiz through the moderate sprawl of outer suburbs, and to reach the island of Ortyiga, the historic centre of the city. This gave me plenty of time to cruise around on my bike, and to give myself a leisurely tour of Ortygia.

From last night's camp at the site of Sabbiadoro, this morning I embarked on the short but pleasant ride north to the city of Syracuse. For part of the way, I took the minor road that stays right on the seashore, and that goes through the scenic area near the resort village of Fontane Bianche; then I cut back to the main SS115 highway, and stopped off at the town of Cassibile. Now, yesterday morning — while passing through the town of Pachino near the southern tip of Sicily — I stocked up on my milk supplies. Sadly, I wasn't able to find any bottles of milk in this small town, so I had to buy a 1L cardboard carton instead. Usually, I only ever buy milk in plastic bottles, with good watertight screw-on lids, so that I can safely shove it in my saddlebag, and use it for several days. However, today I had no bottle — only my cardboard carton, which I'd opened for this morning's breakfast, and of which I'd only used about half of the milk inside. And thus was born the incident with the leaky milk.

Jochen, his wife and his 12-month-old baby girl are on vacation here in Sicily, and they're travelling round for a few weeks in their campervan home. I met them this evening at Sabbiadoro, where they were camped near my tent. The couple are mad about cycling: they've brought their racing bikes down in the campervan, and are getting in a few hours each day; in the past (i.e. pre-baby), they've done such ambitious cross-country cycle trips as the famous Carretera Austral (in southern Chile); and they currently own and operate a bike shop, in northern Italy where they live (they're both originally from Germany).

Noto is a charming place — but the afternoon was still young, and the road goes ever on. So after my gelato break amidst the Baroque façades this arvo, I hit the pedals once more, and rode the short highway that leads from hilltop Noto to the sleepy beach resort town of Avola. My map indicated that proper campsites are in abundance, in Avola and its surrounding area — and when I reached the place, my expectations were lived up to. After a little bit of searching, I found a place that was both open for business (not something to be taken for granted in November), and reasonably appealing as a place to spend the night. And so it was that I wound up pitching my tent about 10 minutes north of Avola (as the bike rides), within the grounds of "Camping Sabbiadoro".

Over the past two weeks here in Sicily, I've met more than my fair share of locals. The main contact has been during my morning visits to the local coffee bars in town — but I've also struck up conversation with them at tourist sights, in supermarkets, and in hotels and B&Bs. Usually, the first thing they ask is: "da dove venite?" (lit: "where do you come from?"); and then when they see my bike, they invariably proceed to give me a wide-eyed stare, and to ask incredulously: "dall'Australia, in bicicletta?" (lit: "from Australia, by bike?"). After about 5 seconds, they realise just how hilarious the notion of cycling from Australia to Italy is — at which point they proceed to burst into laughter, as though it was the funniest joke in the world, and as though they were the first ones ever to think of it. Which of course they weren't, since I hear this exact same joke 10 times every day, and since (therefore) I find it neither original nor amusing at all. After that many repetitions... I'm sorry, but it's just daym lame.

Continuing north along the coast — from the southern tip of Sicily — this afternoon I visited the town of Noto. Noto is the last and the most impressive of the three towns here in south-eastern Sicily which — according to my guidebook — are the jewels of Baroque architecture and town planning in Sicily. As well as a gorgeous historic centre — all of which is a UNESCO World Heritage Site — Noto also boasts some delicious gelato. When I arrived here, I found quite a lot of tourists on the street — and all of them were eating the stuff. I felt it prudent to follow the "when in Noto" principle, and to do the same. I had no regrets.

Talk about contrasting experiences: following yesterday's stormy ride to Modica, today's riding was nothing short of divine. This morning — after an amazing B&B breakfast — I rode out of Modica, and ended the mountain detouring of the past few days, by returning to Sicily's ever-gorgeous coast. The morning weather couldn't have been better, or more different to yesterday's: all those evil storms and winds were gone; and were instead replaced with clear blue skies, and with warm and soothing sunshine. First destination of the day: the southernmost tip of Sicily, and indeed of all Italy — Isola Delle Correnti.

My adventures in the rain this morning left me cold, wet, and buggered by midday. Once I said goodbye to my Sicilian angels, Cristina and Alessandra, I decided to call it an early day, and to find somewhere in Modica where I could dry out, warm up, and get myself clean once more. From the shopping centre where the girls left me, I rode into historic centre of Modica (still with light rain) — which, as with Ragusa, is a gorgeous Baroque affair — and put my feet up. I checked in to a lovely little B&B called Camera con Vista (lit: "Bed with a View"), where I had a long hot shower, and where I emptied all of my soaked belongings and laid them out to dry. Rather than endure any more arcic-condition cycling for the day, I waited out the afternoon under the covers of a warm bed, with a good book to keep me company.

These two sisters live in the town of Pachino — on the south-eastern tip of Sicily — but they study at the university in Ragusa. When I hit the storm from hell on this morning's ride from Ragusa to Modica, they happened to be driving by; and thus it was that they became my (most unlikely of) saviours. They managed to stuff both me and my bike into their super-tiny, super-crappy little hatchback car; and with barely enough room to change from 1^st into 2^nd gear, they gave me a lift the rest of the way to Modica. I'll never forget these two Sicilian angels, who saved me when I was in strife.