Syracuse, Italy

Pozzallo itself is home to some sandy beaches and a ferry port to Malta. If everything went to plan, we could get there by train late morning from Taormina. The challenge would then be finding something to do for five hours until a return train could take us to back to Syracuse, our final stop.

Over several weeks, we went round and round in circles on this. Each time, we decided to wait until nearer the time to decide. Eventually of course, time ran out and we had to actually figure it.

Should we stay overnight in Pozzallo? (A resounding no – it’s pretty much closed in January). Could we find somewhere open for a long and lazy lunch (see above, no). Could we see a museum or get a coffee or take a walk (nope, nope, raining). Could we find a bus to take us on somewhere else? (You guessed it: no buses). Brainwave. Let’s get a taxi to Noto, a beautiful baroque city I’ve always wanted to see. Minimum taxi charge €80. Gulp. Do we just skip Pozzallo? It’s an arbitrary point in the map, it’s barely further south than Syracuse or Noto. Really, do we need to see this arbitrary end point of an arbitrary route we created ourselves? Well, actually –  yes.

In the end we concluded that we had to at least travel through Pozzallo. The incentive to get to the south of the European rail network is what’s kept us moving on, whether we’ve been excited about the next stop or dearly wanted to stay somewhere, whether we’ve been ready to move or really haven’t wanted to head south – that sense of purpose has made the decisions for us. And in the end, we haven’t regretted it once.

So, a compromise. We’ll absolutely take the train to Pozzallo. We just won’t get off. We’ll wave to the station, take a photo, and then carry on along the line to Modica, a UNESCO world heritage city just to the west. We can spend a long ‘lunch hour’ there and then get the train to Syracuse.

Pozzallo approached. We stood by the doors, and watched as the train pulled into the (slightly desolate) station. Doors open. Selfie in doorway, much to the bemusement of the handful of other passengers. High five and a hug. Doors close and on we go.

In some ways, a pretty underwhelming moment for 4,000+ miles of travel. But equally, quite fitting. If in doubt on this trip, keep moving – there’s always something amazing around the corner.

So, reflections on the journey had to wait, and that’s probably not a bad thing, getting a bit of distance first. Instead, we sat back down and enjoyed trackside views of a stunning tree-clad gorge, terraced hillsides with olive trees and orchards.

Modica, even in the rain, was stunning, and my overcast photos don’t do it justice. Full of stunning baroque buildings, incredibly grand and smart – churches and clock towers and castles all towering above on the hill. We wound up a narrow street and then found a grand set of steps leading stunningly up to the cathedral, sitting proud and imposing at the top.

The cathedral (described as ‘among the seven wonders of the baroque world’) was open, free to enter – and stunningly beautiful. Ornate ceiling and altar, a gorgeous organ. Artworks and relics. In front of the altar, a floor sundial from 1895, using the movement of a shaft of light at noon to track the progress of the year, the star signs and more. Very clever, if sadly not visible on a rainy day. 

Leaving the cathedral, we spotted a smart sign on the side of a building which looked like it could belong to the chocolate shop. And here’s where the day got really special! Modica chocolate is a very particular, protected form of chocolate which dates right back to the 16th century and the Spanish domination of southern Italy. It’s made at a low temperature, so the sugar crystals stay intact, creating chocolate which is crunchy, textured and so interesting.

Sabadi’s shop was beautiful. A high arched ceiling, decorated with steel birds. In the centre, a long table full of chocolate. We were welcomed warmly, introduced to Modica chocolate, and invited to take our time tasting as much as we wanted.

Anyone who knows me know that this could have been a very dangerous thing! It’s lucky that we had a return train to think about. However. We’ve been very diligent  on this trip about getting to know something of the places we’ve visited, trying to dig into local culture as much as we can. We weren’t about to let ourselves down now, and so you’ll be pleased to hear that we applied ourselves well to the task at hand and managed to taste a significant range of chocolate in quite a short space of time. Starting with milk chocolate, flavoured with salts and herbs and fruits, we made our way through some incredible dark chocolate and then, at the end, tasted their 100% bar. Which was like an explosion in the mouth – interesting, probably not going to replace Dairy Milk as an everyday treat.

The tasting ended with the change to sample their aromatic chocolates, created by allowing the scent of herbs, spices or flowers to infuse chocolate for a subtle flavour. Fruit blossom chocolates are left for anything up to a month for this to happen. We tasted tobacco-infused chocolate, which has sat in a tin with tobacco leaves for 24-48 hours. I was very dubious – but it was delicious. Gentle, subtle hints of vanilla – really surprisingly good.

Rucksack now full of purchased chocolate, we had time to pop to a bar for a much-needed drink before we walked the lanes back into town. A downpour turned quickly into sunshine and the baroque buildings were gleaming as we arrived back at the station. A beautiful city, worthy of far more than two hours, but equally a lovely way to spend lunchtime in between trains. I hope we’ll visit again some day.

Our proper end point was always going to be Syracuse. We visited a couple of years ago and fell in love with the tiny island of Ortigia, joined to the main city by two bridges in Syracuse harbour.

Ortigia is the kind of place that exists in a dream of Italy, and shouldn’t actually be real. A tangle of tiny streets, all balconies and flowers and beautiful lamps. Insanely impressive baroque churches hidden in plain sight in the midst of all of this. Small bars and good restaurants lining the side of streets and alleys and squares. Tantalising glimpses of the sea whenever the lanes straighten out enough to allow you to see through. The kind of place you can get lost in, wandering happily and never finding the same street twice.

Our apartment – through another fantastic big wooden door, the last of the trip. An inner courtyard, some steps, an iron gate, some more steps … and then behind a door, a gorgeous modern living room and smart kitchen. Up more steps to a bedroom in the eaves. And then up more steps to a terrace, seemingly suspended in the sky among the roofs. Sun-bleached terracotta roof tiles on all sides, chimneys and aerials and church towers. Shuttered windows and balconies with flowers. On three sides, views out to the ocean. Absolute heaven, and what a place to finish this trip.

Syracuse offers some of the most astonishing history and archaeology to be found on an island that’s practically an open-air museum. Last time we were here, we marvelled at the Roman amphitheatre, an astonishing Greek theatre from the 5th century BC, caves, and the largest Greek altar in the world – all steeped in history and mythology.

This visit, it’s time to unwind. We’ve travelled more than 4,000 miles, through the most astonishing places, with more magical moments than I could ever have imagined. I’m looking forward to taking some time to sit and reflect, and try to capture the big picture of a journey like this in its entirety. But first, we rest. A day to do nothing more than wander the cafes and soak up the sun.

Cafe Viola (fitting!): early morning locals, a thrum of conversation and a clatter of crockery. Elegant women in good boots getting tiny takeaway cups of espresso. Two very smart men in military uniform striding out, stopping to shake hands through a car window. Good cappuccino – really, really good. We sat quietly and soaked in the sounds as well as the sights of Ortigia.

Gran Caffe del Duomo. The perfect spot on the astonishing Duomo square, light bouncing off the vast white marble pavement. Just us here, in a cafe that is full to the rafters in the summer. A lovely, patient waitress who indulged my (poor but improving) Italian. Mediocre coffee but we’ll let them off for the view of the amazing cathedral – even if it was completely cloaked in scaffolding this visit. A lone woman working halfway up was painstakingly restoring the facade.

Long walks by deep blue sea, strolls down tiny lanes, and then home to sit on the roof terrace and soak up the sun. (Sun! Warm enough to lounge in!). Another walk, another coffee, an amble round the outside of the island, past the sunset bars on the west side, round the castle at the very tip and back home. Wine on the terrace, floating high above the streets, and surrounded by the most incredible sunset.

Tonight there will, no doubt, be good food and even better wine, a lamplit walk and some final views of the sea under moonlight. And then we’ll pack the rucksacks one final time and head to Catania airport for a flight to Paris.

Tomorrow I’ll reflect and remember and make sense. No doubt I’ll write some more words to help with this, so probably one more blog post. But for now, I’m going to sit in the sun and dream of a journey that began in the snow of the frozen north, under polar night. A journey which has traced a route through winter, with all its magic, to bring us to the warm sunshine here, 4,000 miles from its snowy beginnings: an island, off an island, off the very tip of Italy.