Concrete Shoes in the Bottom of the Harbour

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It was a long day of travelling yesterday so we rest up and then set off exploring.

It seems that our building is part of Cefalu’s history. It’s built over the Lavatoio Medievale, a wash house that was built way back in 1514. We look right down into it from the balcony outside our front door. …and that might also explain why Issy’s sleeping on the sofa bed in the living room while I decide to try to tough it out in the bedroom. No it’s not because she used the wash house and I didn’t; Giovanni told us that he’s not allowed to put an air conditioner in the bedroom because of the building’s historic heritage, so it‘s a tad warm in there at night, and during the day for that matter … you could fry an egg on the bed if you left the shutters open.

We walk up along the promenade towards the lighthouse and have a very pleasant lunch looking down over the rocks. We stop to admire the view down over the marina packed with pleasure craft of every description. We’re sharing the view with the team from the local Red Cross who would hopefully come to our rescue in an emergency. I‘m not sure I’d want that to be a particularly serious emergency; if it wasn’t for their uniforms I’m not all that sure we would have pegged them as Red Cross. The two gents look like they’re probably in their seventies, and their transport is a couple of dilapidated looking vespers. If they were hoping for a quick getaway to tend to the wounded from a multi-car pile up, I hope they’ve worked out what to do with the large sleepy looking dog tethered to one of the tiny motorcycles. We make a mental note to be extra careful while we’re here.

There are large and forbidding looking signs in front of the lighthouse warning us to keep out, as it’s the site of an Italian Military facility. We’ve seen a few of these since we’ve been here. They never look very military like, usually just a few dilapidated looking buildings with weeds growing up through the walls. I hope no foreign despot’s planning an invasion in the next few days.

We head back for a siesta. We’re woken from our malaises by deafening bomb blasts. Our worst fears have been realised. Mad Vlad’s found out about Italy’s unprepared military and decided to get in while he can. I know we should probably keep the shutters closed to protect us from shrapnel, but the temptation to look is too great. It seems we’ve underestimated the locals; the smoke rising from the end of the breakwater suggests they’re firing back. …or it could just be fireworks as part of the feast celebrations. I’m not quite sure why you’d put on a fireworks display in the middle of the day when other than a few puffs of smoke from the launch pad they’re completely invisible. Anyway if the idea was to wake everyone up from their siestas then the whole show’s been a roaring success.

I head off in the late afternoon to take some happy snaps. First stop is the Cathedral. The square at the front is party central packed with feast revellers. The Cathedral looks ancient, and it is. I read that it was built between 1131 and 1240 (and we thought modern day construction projects were a bit slow) in the Norman style after the Norman invasion of Sicily. The project was initiated by King Roger II of Sicily (no I haven’t got the name wrong, and yes I did check a few times) who promised Jesus he’d build a church here after he survived getting washed up on the beach. It’s very impressive, particularly the wooden roof and the large frescoes above the altar. It sits right under the cliff that dominates the town’s skyline.

I wander on. It’s getting more than a tad crowded, and noisy too... musically noisy. There’s a procession heading down the street towards me as part of the feast. I thought we were in Italy, but the band members look more like they just wandered down out of the Swiss Alps. They stop on the steps in a small square in front of a church and continue the concert from there. They’re followed by horses with colourful headdresses towing colourfully carved and painted carts, and then some guys in local dress riding ponies. I make the mistake of walking in front of one of the horses and get whacked on the head for my troubles. Mr Ed seems to have worked out that if he nods quickly the tall headdress will quickly clear a path in front of him, and this time I’m the victim. It seems I was the only person here who didn’t see that coming, and everyone has a good chuckle at my expense. I’m probably lucky the headdress wasn’t made of metal or I might have needed the services of the Red Cross….

I head down to the beach to watch the sunset along seemingly with half the rest of the town. It’s a stunning scene. The best viewpoint is an archway looking straight out at the setting sun, and it seems the bridal party from a local wedding thinks so too. I briefly consider subtlety suggesting that they get out of the way so I can have my turn, but we are after all in Sicily, the birth place of the Cosa Nostra, where one false step and it’s concrete shoes in the bottom of the harbour…

We hit the jackpot for dinner; front row seats on a platform above the rocks next to the sea.

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