Sicily was on our list of places to go for a long time.  The thought of being a navigator in a rental car as well as working out all the places to visit (in a week), led me to thinking that going in a group and being ‘looked after’ was a tempting alternative.  A friend had recommended Jules Verne. I rang them, there were two spaces, I paid the deposit and all was set in aspic.

Arriving at Catania airport at twilight, Rosaria,  our guide, was waiting for us.  Salvatore, our driver, was soon busy packing our bags into the bus.  One hiccough, as somebody left something on the plane but we were soon ensconced in the Hotel Principe for two nights.

By now, it was quite dark but the steep flight of steps outside the hotel leading upwards, beckoned. A white ghost of a church facade peered down on us from the top.

We climbed many steps, then it was right or left? Right.  A white oleander tree in full bloom led to a small restaurant with vases of flowers on rustic tables outside, and a lively ambience of 60s music.

If you travel in a group, you get up early because you’re going to see as much as possible in a short time.  As a group we were impeccably punctual  –  although the Frenchman often sloped off for a coffee rather than listening to the local guide  –  he had bad feet …

There is endless graffiti everywhere.  That and the amount of plastic rubbish lying around is the downside of an otherwise beautiful and fascinating island, drenched in the history of numerous invasions.  Some of the graffiti is just ugly but some of it, with a colour palette of Renoir, is quite beautiful in its way.

Graffiti by night

Washing and graffiti by day …

Rosaria loves her city,  set under the shadow of Mount Etna.  It has a strong character and I would like to explore it further.  But now it was time for supper and next day we were bound for Syracuse and Ortigia.

The sun came through as we left the hotel next morning.  This city is very different from what I had expected  –  curiously engaging.

Salvatore greets us as we arrive at the bus.  He’s a good man and will turn out to be an excellent driver.

On the way to Syracuse we stop off to explore ‘the Ear of Dionysus’. This cave was so named by the artist Caravaggio, when he was taken to see these old stone quarries.  It is pointed and rather satyr like. The stone was used for building and the enormous caves left over were used as prisons over many centuries.  The echo effect in ‘the Ear’ is extraordinarily powerful.  The site is vast, with many other caverns.

Syracuse, one of the most powerful cities in the Mediterranean round about 500BC,  is where Archimedes was born and where Plato and Pythagoras lived. Both Syracuse and Ortigia very much appealed to me  – Ortigia is an island, part of Syracuse, reached by a bridge.

There was an ongoing miracle outside a building which housed a small museum, dedicated to Archimedes.  John enjoyed the exhibition inside – much balancing of things in order to achieve more miracles.  It was actually very interesting but physics is not my strong point.  I’m impressed by people who do understand it and will in the end, discover the meaning of the universe and what makes it tick. I will be listening …

By now, hunger was setting in and Rosaria gave us one and a half hours to have lunch.  We moseyed down some narrow streets …

Ending up at the harbour, we then retraced our steps down a narrow alleyway …

… coming upon a modest restaurant. With no more ado, we found ourselves sitting down and being served by the most delightful waiters,  one of whom looked of a literary bent – tall, lanky, round glasses, floppy brown hair.  All of them wearing long, white, tied aprons.  I was famished … all was delicious. ‘Locanda del Collegio’, Siracusa.

I didn’t buy any jewels but as we made our way back, I saw this plate and had to have it. I bought it in the ‘Ortigia’ shop which also sells soaps and perfumes.  There is now a branch in London, just off Sloane Square. I was recently given a very pretty box of bath salts, ‘Fico d’India’, which have a delicious perfume.

Near the bus there were several makeshift stalls, hooking in tourists. Young Arab or Egyptian men selling belts, hats and scarves. I bought a soft, muslin scarf – blue butterflies on a grey background –  for five euros.  These young men have a precarious existence. They persevere. But what does the future hold for them?

Next day and we are speeding inland, to visit the fabulous Roman Villa del Casale at Piazza Armerina.

The exquisite mosaics here were preserved because of flooding which covered them in mud in the 12th century.  They were rediscovered in the 19th century.  The number of them is overwhelming – I can only show a few but this visit is a must, should you go to Sicily. There were bikini girls long before modern times!

The major discoveries, which made the villa famous for these Roman mosaics were excavated between 1950-1960.  it’s an exciting and beautiful place to visit. And apparently even more to discover …

But it was time to move on, to explore the Valley of the Temples at Agrigento.  I don’t know what Salvatore does while we are sightseeing but he’s always waiting for us by the bus, with a welcoming smile.

Lots more to see –  a fresh sea breeze gently fans my face. The temples are not in a valley but on a ridge outside the town. We walk all the way along it.

A fabulous day and we now arrive at the hotel Dioscuri on the waterfront, surrounded by palm trees.  Our spacious room looks out to sea.  It has a balcony, a king size comfortable bed, lots of hot water and a bath to luxuriate in. A great choice for us by Jules Verne!

Our guide, Rosaria, has recommended a restaurant nearby.  The sun is going down as we make our way over there. The holiday season has almost come to an end and most tourists have gone home.  I’m quite glad about this.

I wanted to watch the sun go down over the horizon  –  thoughts of seeing ‘le rayon vert’ –  the colour wasn’t green  – but it was spectacular.

For a few minutes the sky was lit up like a fireball.  I didn’t think a photo would come out looking directly at the sun – but it did!

Next morning we were up bright and early but couldn’t find breakfast  –  finally tracked it down to a separate building in the gardens, where everyone was busy scoffing delicious pastries.  We had a short time to explore the harbour before setting off for the archaeological museum.

The wall has collapsed in a number of places  –  due to storms?

One of the downsides of Sicily is the amount of plastic rubbish overflowing almost everywhere in towns and cities.  This happens all over the world but it wouldn’t take long for Sicily to clear theirs up and to have more of these recycling bins everywhere. This was the only one I saw.

No bathing as the harbour is chock full of boats.

The Agrigento Archaeological Museum, set within picturesque gardens, is quite special – well worth a visit.  As ever, Salvatore is here on time to take us there.

Next stop Selinunte.  We follow the coast road  – lots of EU money has been spent on the modern roads in Sicily and we speed along smoothly.  Many of the motorways are elevated. Selinunte is near the sea and the landscape round and about is enchantingly beautiful.  We meet up with a local guide, who explains the history of the temples.   She knows her stuff.  Will I remember it all? Sadly, the battery ran out on my camera so I have no photos  –  I can only say that I really recommend spending time here.  I’m now a bit grumpy as we once again return to the bus to plough on to Palermo.

Sicilian oranges and lemons are famous and grow here in abundance. If you want to know more of their history in Sicily and Italy in general, there is a very informative book called ‘The Land Where Lemons Grow’ by Helena Attlee.  Here’s a picture of my own, somewhat dog eared, copy. It’s delightful and even includes recipes …

After the peace of the day, Palermo is exactly how it sounds – buzzing (noisy), agitated, full of traffic, busy shops and restaurants.  The hotel Excelsior is very central and our room is light and spacious. Recovery.

Rosaria suggests we might have supper at a restaurant she knows well.  In the end, nearly everybody turns up there and more tables and chairs have to be found. Salvatore shepherds us back to the hotel as darkness falls.

Seafood includes squid, octopus, swordfish, sardines, lobsters, anchovies, whitebait. Anything cooked using aubergines is simply delicious.  Pasta alla Norma is a typical Sicilian dish with tomatoes and aubergines …  Try caponata, frittedda,  arancini  …  Oranges and lemons, grown on the island, are used in many desserts, which include sorbets, ice creams, granitas and pastries stuffed full of ricotta.  Rosaria has said on many occasions that Sicilians love their food  –  and they know how to cook! I would be so easily distracted and find myself eating a lot more – if we weren’t trapped on the bus.

We did stop off at an artisanal shop today where we bought olive oil, olives with herbs, almonds and we ate delicious panini with a pomegranate granita.  One of the favourite granitas here is made with mulberries, so mulberry trees must grow here too.

Next morning is warm and sunny and our local guide in Palermo arrives with audio guides for everyone  –  she’s very organised.

Sicily has been ruled by Greeks, Romans, barbarians and Byzantines, Arabs and Normans, the Spanish and the French over the years.  These two churches are quite different – one mostly richly Baroque, the other Arab, plain but airy with an arched roof.

This reminds me of Duccio’s ‘Rucellai Madonna’  –  same expression on the face, similar cloak trimmed with gold … I don’t know who did this …

Ever onwards, through the city streets on the way to the Palatine Chapel in the Norman palace.  The street views show how modern commerce is imprinted, sometimes unhappily, on the magnificence of the past.  But somehow, it weirdly works …

A WALK THROUGH PALERMO

Statues, doorways, narrow alleys,  stray dogs, modern consumers – except for ‘Romano’- who looked from a different era, yet surviving amongst the multi coloured trainers … spreading a little gravitas.

Now to the rather different Palatine Chapel and Palace, which is truly breathtaking.

We finally emerge into the sunshine and Rosaria tries to herd us all into the bus, which finds its way through the back streets of the city before dropping us in the centre.  Lunch time.

John and I start exploring one of many small alleyways, where restaurants abound.  We finally decide on one where we can sit outside that is by buildings with green ferns adorning wrought iron balconies.  It’s also a bit off the beaten track – and seems less touristy.

I don’t know the name of the restaurant but this is the view from where we are sitting towards the pretty church at the end. Seek it out – you will be rewarded with an excellent meal at a reasonable price!

Can’t help but think the one in the middle resembles Sylvester Stallone.

We’re for the most part feeling somewhat weary too – but as tourists, we must trudge on to a special Jules Verne visit to meet a Contessa, who will show us around her domain, which is built into the ramparts. Her husband, the Comte, is a racing driver but not in evidence.

Some older parts of the house have been excavated.

I could only include half of the glamorous Contessa but her other half is just as ‘glam’.

We finish on a high note  –  the Contessa sings for us and we are offered aperitifs.  An extraordinary and fascinating visit has been had.

The day is over. We sleep well.

The sun is with us once more and Salvatore appears.  Today we’re up and away to Monreale and Cefalù.  These are both unknown to me and I have no idea that such treats are in store.  I wasn’t sure about joining a group but it’s such a joy that your only responsibility is to be ready for the bus leaving.  We would never have seen so many wonderful places in one week on our own. And our guide, Rosaria, is a joy.

The skies are azure blue as we climb the steps up to the cathedral at Monreale.  On either side are stalls with scarves, dresses, jewellery and souvenirs of the cathedral.

After the Palatine Chapel and Palace in  Palermo I couldn’t believe we would see anything as magnificent but am overwhelmed by the beauty and exquisite workmanship here. The attention to detail is perfection. I am just standing here, completely transfixed.

I never imagined kapok should have come from such beauty  –  well, some things are both beautiful AND useful!

I wish we could stop here but the bus is gathering speed as we leave Monreale and very soon we are out on the open road to Cefalù, an erstwhile ancient city/fishing village by the sea.

We’ve had to take in a lot of history and art and architecture over the last few days  –  and I’m hoping that Cefalù will provide some relaxation – just a little fishing village by the sea  …  ?

Time is relaxed here and Rosaria leaves us to our own devices.  Sort of like playtime!

The little town is very picturesque and but rather grand also with its magnificent Cathedral and stone sculptured doorways.

This has an Arab-Norman façade, was built in 1131 and looks somewhat fortress like. It is splendid – not to be missed. Make sure you go inside too. In the museum opposite the cathedral is a portrait of an unknown man by Antonello da Messina.  This one and the one of the Virgin Annunciate have very contemporary faces, as does his self portrait.  I’m afraid the one of the unknown man has shades of Putin to him but is saved by the twinkle in his eyes! The Virgin Mary is understated and exquisite. You will find it in the Palazzo Abatellis in Palermo.  It was probably painted in 1476.

If you want to know more about these paintings and the artist, there is a great ‘blog’ called ‘my daily art display’ which I have just come upon.  Much recommended for all art lovers – absolutely bursting with fascinating information.

But now lunch is uppermost in my mind.  A lot of the restaurants look out to sea and I think we make a good choice.

The cat doesn’t know how lucky she is  –  fresh air, freedom to roam and all those scraps to be had from all those restaurants … she has some kittens, if you look carefully!

Just time for a mulberry and a pomegranate granita  –  which we enjoy sitting by the cathedral while waiting for Rosaria to turn up.  Cefalù shouldn’t be missed but best not to be here in the height of summer.

Next stop, Messina, which is the closest Sicily is to the mainland. We don’t stay long as we need to be in Taormina and it’s already late afternoon. But we do get a glimpse of the Straits and of a beautiful ship.

The city was almost all destroyed in 1908 by an earthquake and a tsunami striking at the same time.  Within the rebuilding some of what was saved has been incorporated. But 91% of the buildings were destroyed and 60,000 people died.

Pressing on to Taormina, where the local guide was waiting to show us round. Our trip was coming to an end, except for an amazing finale  –  the ascent of Mount Etna.

Taormina is high up and its famous amphitheatre has a magnificent view overlooking the sea.  The streets are picturesque, a coral reef of small, tempting shops.   Many celebrated people stayed here and were enchanted with this place. Ovid,  Goethe, Guy de Maupassant, D.H. Lawrence, and  more recently, Daphne Phelps, the aunt of a friend of mine, who bought a house here with her husband after the war and delighted in welcoming countless artists and writers to ‘Casa Cuseni’ -which still exists as a ’boutique’ hotel.

We had a special date for aperitifs on the terrace at the Hotel Villa Schuler, a place of sanctuary hidden behind the busy street outside.  They also welcome writers  –  I was given a Campari Soda, decorated beautifully with Sicilian oranges, followed by an excellent red wine from grapes growing on the slopes of Mount Etna. We sat on a flowery terrace with a dreamy view of the sea.  So many romantic villas still to explore and now, so little time … this one exceeded expectations.

No photos unfortunately  –  my camera ran out of battery again  –  so you have to go and experience Taormina for yourself.  You won’t be disappointed!

Meanwhile, our own hotel was a short bus drive away with a private terrace, the most comfortable beds yet and great breakfasts on the terrace looking out to sea. I feel a great sense of (glitzy) pampering!

The grand finale  –  our ascent of Mount Etna!  The sun is out, the mountain is smoking and Salvatore is waiting.

“Its a long and winding road”  –  towards the sky.  We stop off at a small village to look at the view below.

Ever upwards …

This ‘travelling’ photo rather reminds me of a Peter Doig painting.  There are few plants which can cope with the conditions on the higher slopes but one is known as Etna broom, which bursts into yellow blossom in Spring.  On the lower slopes, besides vineyards, there are lemon, pear and apple orchards, pistachio, walnut, almond and chestnut trees. Etna honey from chestnut flowers is highly prized.  But as we get higher, plants and trees disappear.

Hundreds of ladybirds live amongst the lava fields, feasting off the remains of insects  and other creatures who have died during eruptions.

A local goatherd has an entrepreneurial  sideline.  He makes and paints wooden ladybirds and sells them sitting on a piece of lava  –  he’ll never run out of that!

Time to retrace our steps and  fall upon freshly squeezed juices in the café.  Mine is pomegranate, John’s is orange.  We have two each. Then I buy a necklace, fashioned out of lava, in the shop.

The sun has dipped and clouds are rolling in.  We have only lost one person.  He finally turns up having been waiting at the wrong car park.  I am relieved he is not at the bottom of a crater.

There’s a small supermarket near our hotel and instead of going out again to find a restaurant we buy bread, cheese, tomatoes, olives and grapes  –  and a bottle of wine.  Early night and it’s home tomorrow.

We have the morning free and can do what we like as long as we’re packed and ready at the hotel by 2pm.  I will miss Rosaria and Salvatore.  I hope we go down as a ‘good’ group! They were both excellent.

We decide to just walk and explore the shoreline.  The port of Giardini Naxos was the first Greek colony in Sicily.  Now it’s full of hotels and restaurants and boats and must be buzzing throughout the summer but it has more to it than just a beach.  However, if we went back there I would prefer to stay in Taormina itself.  There’s more to see and do and I’m not a sunbather by nature as I wilt quickly in the heat.

There are many flowers still blooming even though it’s the end of September.

We came upon the Archaeological museum by chance. Being the end of the season, we had it to ourselves.

Here are some of the inhabitants …

Just thinking of the hands that squashed it up ! Somehow, it survived when it wasn’t even meant to!

But for us there’s still a long day ahead.  We walk back to the hotel along the coast and I manage to do something I’ve failed to achieve during our time here.

I see a movement out of the corner of my eye – I whirl round the camera and press the button without looking.  Got it!  I think this also would make a great painting  –  except that I have no talent in that direction!

I was thinking that you could take Sicily as a microcosm of the world.   What can be improved e.g. peoples’ living conditions,  agriculture into being more organic  and self sustaining so we also help to conserve natural habitats for wildlife. What we must get rid of: e.g. plastic waste in the ocean and on land, corruption and greed (difficult)  and not least, how we must preserve the history and cultures of the past.  And we need the cooperation of people and nations to do this for ourselves and for future generations. There’s a lot of work to be done but small improvements help towards bigger ones.

This has been a tremendous week.  I’ve learned a lot about the history of Sicily  –  so much so, that I know I’ve got a lot more to learn!  We’ll be back.

END

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s not often that I’m so utterly bowled over by a chance buy that I want to tell everybody about it and insist they read it.   And it’s even more exciting when I’ve never heard of the author.

‘Only To Sleep’, by Lawrence Osborne, has written on the front cover of the book ‘A Philip Marlowe thriller’.  In recent times, well known authors have been asked to write a ‘James Bond’ or a ‘Hercule Poirot’ in the vein of the original author.   I’m not against this but I wasn’t sure whether I’d want to read a ‘new’ Raymond Chandler by somebody else.  I love Chandler’s writing and would put him in my favourite writers’ list.  However, here is a revived Philip Marlowe, Chandler’s detective, who is now retired and living in Mexico, when he is approached by two American insurance agents, asking if he’d look into what they think may be a fraudulent claim.

The Sunday Times describes this novel as ‘sumptuous and sinister, languorous and tense’. Joseph Knox, author of ‘Sirens’, comments … ‘If you like noir, pour yourself something cool and enjoy one final dark night of the soul’.  Well, I thought, ‘You’re on’ and popped the book into my bag.  Lawrence’s talent for description and dialogue pulls you right in  –  you become completely addicted to the atmosphere it creates. A much recommended read.

So much so that I bought another of his books, ‘Hunters In The Dark’, set in Thailand and Cambodia. This would make a great film.  It engenders the edgy fear of a pit viper lurking in the dark, intent on claiming an unsuspecting victim.

But ‘Only To Sleep’ is a book that wins hands down  –  a glittering diamond of the first water. I’m envious of whoever has this treat still in store.

 

A friend asked me if I’d read the Booker Prize winner – ‘Milkman’ by Anna Burns.  I looked at it but thought I’d only get through it if I had to come up with a review.  If I’m not keen and know I’m not going to really connect with a book, I’ll read the end.  Or random pages.  This book is not for me.

However, thinking of the Booker Prize and wondering if I had ever read a winner, I remembered ‘Moon Tiger’ by Penelope Lively, whose writing I do like.  ‘Moon Tiger’ won The Booker in 1987. I have also read ‘Oleander, Jacaranda’, a memoir of her childhood days in Egypt (Cairo) and more recently, ‘The Purple Swamp Hen and Other Stories’  –  fifteen exquisitely written, funny and wickedly observant tales, examining the underside of how human beings really relate to one another. There is much to discover and enjoy beneath the surface. Lots of ‘schadenfreude’, when things don’t go according to plan.  How the underdog sometimes wins. Penelope Lively is delightfully astute in these stories, juicily laced with black humour.

‘Moon Tiger’ tells you that it’s a haunting story of loss and desire.  I have finished it and it haunts me still.  How you live your life, decisions taken that you can’t reverse, memories that you can’t or don’t want to extinguish.  A life lived widely, impulsively, by a beautiful, independent woman.  Brushstrokes of humour throughout, as when young Laszlo brings Claudia a large bunch of daffodils.  “He has picked them, it emerges, in Kensington Gardens.  Amazingly, no one noticed”.

Penelope Lively and Lawrence Osborne are my reads of the month but  I have also added them to my list of favourite writers.

END

 

 

Vera, our neighbour’s cat, peers at me through the fig tree.  She’s lying on the shed roof, enjoying the warmth of the sun.

We usually stay at home in August, taking holiday at a less busy time.  So things are reasonably quiet in our neck of the woods at the moment. I suggested to John we have a ‘reading week’.  Instead of fitting reading for pleasure into the short time before falling asleep at night, we would instead put it first and everything else could take second place.  Harder to do than envisaged but at least it has partially worked.

I started off with ‘Imperium’ by Robert Harris  –  one of his ‘Cicero’ series.  I had already read his bestseller ‘Pompeii’ , which was riveting. A wonderful story.  I did enjoy ‘Imperium’ but at a time when many of us are depressed by the state of our country and of the world in general  –  a world also riven by a glut of natural disasters like earthquakes, floods and the ever growing threat of climate change – I have been made very aware of the lack of political leaders with vision in our governments.

Our politicians do not seem to have learned from the past – how many of them have even read and understood a lot of history and then related it to present day problems?  The corruption and venality of Rome in the time of Cicero, Caesar and Pompey unfortunately continues very much alive and well today. Just as if all those politicians have been mashed up like potato and reformed again and again throughout the ages.  Of course there are good ones among the squalid many  –  but we don’t seem to have made much progress from Roman times  –  short term gain still rules the roost.

Why are we cursed with such incompetence, venality and general ignorance?  At the moment many of us feel weighed down with apathy and paralysed by fear.  Fear bringing anger.  Anger bringing fractures in society.  We are warring against one another when the ever growing threat of natural disasters and climate change will finally make war irrelevant.  Will we be leaving the planet to animals and insects, who will do better without us?   It’s sad that what a few great brains have achieved to date, which greatly benefits humanity, will be lost.  Maybe this is the planet’s answer to too many people.

I needed next to read something different to try and lift my gloomy, negative mood.   What better than Levison Wood’s   ‘Eastern Horizons – Hitchhiking the Silk Road’. I’m very much a one-to-one person and he travels mainly on his own or with one other person from time to time  –  I can relate to that. He knows what he will be doing is at times risky and downright dangerous –  but he wants the freedom, the sense of adventure and the challenge of living off his wits  –  the kindnesses he meets do go a long way to restoring my faith in individual human beings.  This is a journey I would never have been capable of doing myself but I feel I am with him every step of the way.  He’s a true explorer and a great guy, with a depth to him.

Levison Wood also mentions Rory Stewart  (now an MP)  in the book, who walked alone (latterly with a stray dog) across Afghanistan and wrote about it in ‘The Places Inbetween’.  Both these books are tremendously rewarding. I saw Rory Stewart in Sloane Square recently and thought I might stop him to say how much I enjoyed that book  –  he’s one of the few MPs I have trust in  –  but he was in a hurry and so I just smiled as I passed him.

Some time ago I came upon a republishing of Eric Ambler’s detective stories, which are brilliant.  They are set in 1930s Europe, now reintroduced with new, enticing jackets in colour. ‘Epitaph For A Spy’ and ‘Journey Into Fear’ are both unputdownable.  This is detective story writing at its very best.

We (I) tried to keep the world of work at bay  –  John read other books  –  I would say our ‘reading week’ was 75% successful.  We had one lunch out, (which wasn’t the best), we enjoyed sunshine and tea in the garden, and went to the theatre to see David Haig’s ‘Pressure’ – about the vagaries of the weather around D-Day, which proved to be excellent.

The high point was definitely the invitation from the Netflix team to the preview of the first episode of Hania’s show – ‘The Innocents’ – on Netflix.  This was at the Curzon Mayfair, followed by a glitzy party and by the end of the week we had watched and very much enjoyed all eight episodes.

All in all, a very memorable week!

 

We came back late by the pond.  The restaurant (Côte) was just closing. A heron was standing by the water.

Five precious days away.  Given what we wanted was a beautiful place with comfort, rest and relaxation, I relied on a recommendation of somebody who had stayed at ‘Es Molí’ last year.  Never keen on the laborious task of filling in those internet forms, I remembered that many years ago, before you had to do all of that yourself, we went to Madeira with a company called ‘Classic Collection’.  And there they were, now on the Internet, but still willing to do all the work for you.  And they did just that.  Nothing could have been easier!

Once again here we are at Terminal 5, clutching a blue folder which will  hopefully be our key to paradise.

Transport was included and when we arrived at Palma airport a venerable gentleman escorted us to his car. As we followed him, another man came up and said we had chosen the best taxi driver on the island.

A good start as we meandered along twisting roads, higher into the mountains, edged with olive groves running down to the sea and orange groves stretching up the mountains to an azure blue sky.

Forty minutes later we turned into a steep driveway.  A warm welcome awaited.  Lovely, sunny room, spacious bathroom and the joy of a large balcony.  Perfect!

It was mid afternoon and we decided to take a look at the village  –  just a ten minute walk away.  John always looks for the highest point  –  so we made for the church.

Half way there  –  a welcome respite  –  I must confiscate that phone!

The church is exquisite and cool.  Beautiful music fills the space and the candles glow.  Outside, there is a small, rickety stall where marmalade made from the orange trees is on sale.

The graveyard is small and intimate  –  it looks out over two views on opposite sides.  One towards our hotel, the other to the house of Robert Graves, who is buried here.  I’m always fascinated that in many graveyards in Europe, photographs are often part of the tombstones.  But even photographs –  memories  –  fade away in time.  This is a special place and I’m glad to have been here.

Besides being drawn to the pretty lace curtain here, I wondered if the yellow box was a general postbox  –  or just for the house.  Many years ago in Italy I put six postcards  for England in a box in the middle of the countryside. They all arrived – but six months later!  Maybe some kind person realised they might stay there for ever, covered in cobwebs, and rescued them!

We made our way back down endless flights of steps and finally arrived on the main street again, attracted to a restaurant called ‘Nama’.  Our waitress was English, living out here for the past year.  The restaurant had windows which were wide open, looking out towards Es Molí.  If you come to Deià, come here for a special treat.

Time to read a little on our balcony and watch the night flooding in …

Breakfasts offer fabulous choices  –  taken inside or out on the terrace.  Afterwards we explore the gardens, having already been up early to swim in the spring fed, heated pool.

The gardens surrounding ‘Es Molí’ are terraced with many secret nooks.

We spent some of the morning reading in deckchairs.  After lunch we decided to walk to Robert Graves’ house, which took a leisurely half an hour.  It’s on the outskirts of Deià, on the road to Sollér.

The house is kept as though the inhabitants would be returning in the evening. We were encouraged to watch the film, which described Robert Graves’s life and why he came to live out here from Britain.  It’s been well put together, seamlessly co-ordinating old footage.  I always find visuals stimulate my brain to remember history, especially if personal stories are involved.

Robert Graves had many visitors here – writers, actors, politicians … and lovers, some of whom he married.  Laura Riding was one, who lived for some time with him, his wife and family. Today, he’s best known for his work ‘I, Claudius’, along with ‘The Greek Myths’ and his autobiography of the war years, ‘Goodbye To All That’.

The house and garden are intimately and beautifully laid out  – without it feeling like a museum.

This tree became very fashionable with the Victorians.  It is a native of central and southern Chile and western Argentina.   These trees live for 1,000 years.

And then we went inside.

There’s a room which has been made into a small museum, showing some of Graves’s work.

and I caught John in this painting …

A glorious afternoon.   Return to ‘Es Molí’ to read and swim.

There’s a private cove for sea swimming which is about twenty minutes away on the (free) ‘Es Molí’ bus. I love doing things on impulse at the last minute.  So much of daily life strait jackets you into a day already planned far ahead.  As the bus was about to leave, we jumped on.

A lot of time and effort has been put into making this steep cove accessible and inviting.  It’s beautiful but the sea is so cold  –  we’d forgotten that the spring fed pool is heated!  There’s a small jetty which will be perfect to dive from – but in the height of summer!

The café is open and we each have an enormous ‘salade niçoise’ and a refreshing Spanish beer.

A friend had recommended the town of Sollér, which you can get to by the local bus.  What most motivated me to go rather than lounge by the pool were the permanent exhibitions inside the railway station of paintings and ceramics by both Picasso and Miró. Also, the old wooden train taken by Michael Portillo to the orange groves in his television series.

Sollér is much bigger than Deia and quite touristy.  We made for the station but on the way stopped at a small door in the wall of a narrow street which offered a museum.  Many steep and narrow staircases led to all sorts of treasures.

These mysterious Madonna type features reminded me of Shakespeare’s poem – see first line above – from ‘The Two Gentlemen of Verona’.

The door here led out to a small sculpture garden at the back of the building.  I was nonplussed by the somewhat sinister face at the back of this photo …

Arriving back at the entrance, I noticed a small cellar, painted white.This is a favourite photo … I can smell the whitewashed wall …  lovely!

And an amusing scenario with the monks.  One looking seriously at his open book, the other with his book closed, his eye straying …

We finally arrived at the station and, as promised, Picasso and Miró made their appearance.

Compare these with the ones on the old plates in the museum  …

Not everyone’s take on life has a touch of genius  but as we passed through the town on the wooden train that wends its way through back gardens to the Port of Sóller,  I took a rather blurry photo of some locals in the third phase of life.

they reminded me of a similar group of men playing backgammon in a café in Fethiye, Turkey who invited me to join them and bought me tea. Special unscripted moments …

The train bowled along with breezy, open windows towards the port. We took the next train back as the touristy ‘feel’ here wasn’t for us.  Looks good for a swim though.

Back to Deià and a late lunch of paella in the village.

Its name is ‘Callistemon citrinus splendens’.  It loves sun and is drought tolerant – and very splendid!

On the way back we passed a pond full of frogs … John counted 7.

Some way back there’s a photo with John’s panama hat upended on a table  –  you can see that something has landed on the brim.  Here it is.

It looked menacing although it shone gloriously gold and green in the sun.   We should have ‘done it in’ but we didn’t realise what a pest it was.

Our last day.  Sunny and warm.  Deia has a public beach which is 25 minutes walk down a path from the hotel.  A scene from ‘The Night Manager’, a series on television adapted from the book by John Le Carré, was apparently filmed there.   So off we went after breakfast, curious to see if we could recognise it.

The path was quite rough in places, as it made its way crookedly up and down through woodland.  But a good day for exploring.

Freshly squeezed orange juice quenched our thirst as we looked down on the water.  I think in the film everything was made to look more upmarket  –   although it’s a pebble beach, people were out swimming in the small inlet.

Now we had to walk all the way back!  The heat was beginning to rise and the beach becoming more crowded – the Es Molí poolside beckoned.

I’ve so enjoyed this time away.  As the day came to its close, I was on our balcony and happened to look up.  And who was there, staring at me from the crest of the mountain?!

Last early morning swim, breakfast on the terrace.

And a big thank you to all the staff at ‘Es Molí’ who made us feel so welcome and made our stay so relaxing and comfortable. We will certainly return.

FIN

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Once in a while I come upon lost things and wonder about the story behind them.

I lost a blue sparkly ear ring in the cinema. I went back and called in at the bar  –  some kind soul had found it and given it in. Thank you!

Bowling down Sloane Street on the number 19 bus during the Chelsea Flower Show, we had a show of our own!  Various shops had floral fronts …in celebration of Chelsea in bloom.

And just time too for a cup of tea and perhaps a slice of one of their delicious cakes in Peter Jones before hopping on the tube home.

‘The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold … And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold’ … from the poem ‘The Destruction of Sennacherib’ by Lord Byron.  Best spoken aloud while galloping on a fiery steed …  otherwise, worth a galloping read…

The Beast from the East was not quite as destructive and colourful as ‘the cohorts gleaming in purple and gold’ but the big freeze came to Barnes and ice blocked our boiler pipe on the two coldest nights of the year.  We hugged hot water bottles and survived the icy blast, welcoming the plumber, who came bearing a hair drier!

We’ve had snow in the past six years but not such a biting wind, which lowered the temperature to the point that the spring flowers wilted with  shock.

The snow didn’t last long.  But the wind pinched our ears and the brown bear coat I bought in the ‘Anthropologie’ sale came into its own. Exceptionally cosy!

I am always drawn to colours but the ‘grimmity’ of this weather comes over best in monochrome  –  this is how it was as I trudged along.

And after a while, the sun returned …

The Beast was repelled for the moment but continued to lurk in the shadows.

 

These were the best Christmas lights in central London for a long time and I just wanted to keep a reminder of them.  I wish I had more and better pictures.

This is blurry but I did manage also to get in red double deckers and a London taxi.  I had just come out of Waterstones, clutching a bag of books, although I could excuse the blurriness by saying I’d been offered too many cocktails  –  sadly, this was not true.

I hope they use these again in 2018.  So much more inspiring than tawdry, lurid coloured lights, which only emphasise manic, commercial consumption.

Angels remind me of a poem by Christopher Logue (1926 – 2011), which I have always felt a deep connection with.  Can’t explain it –  something like a haiku …

“Come to the edge,
We might fall,
Come to the edge,
It’s too high!
Come to the edge,
And they came,
And he pushed,
And they flew”

Season’s Greetings to all.