Kmann
Iben & Henrik
Top Poster
Lifetime VIP Member
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all … ;-)
bigmac77
Top Poster
VIP Member
Merry Christmas, spread out and have fun 
Amarillo
Tom
Super Poster
VIP Member
El Greco
VIP Member
We, too, look forward to hearing of your adventures. Ever since the Champagne meeting when we met you and the family, the wife is always asking of your whereabouts and particularly of any photos of Jack and Ben.
Merry Xmas and a happy and safe new year!
Merry Xmas and a happy and safe new year!
Amarillo
Tom
Super Poster
VIP Member
Day 170 to 188 - Balestrate
Happy New Year!
We have spent the last two and a half weeks in a deliciously delapidated farmhouse 5 Km south of Balestrate. The area is dotted with small holdings producing citrus fruits and vegetables on small plots. Another feature is the number of stray dogs. They are everywhere, baking through the night, presumably sustained from the vast amounts of rubbish everywhere.
Sicily clearly has a rubbish problem. The tightly packed housing seems to result in people not having bins outside their homes for doorstep collection, instead it is dumped at various points around the towns, sometimes into large rubbish containers, but more commonly just on the ground.
Our hosts told us to leave our waste for them to dispose, but leaving bags full of dirty nappies doesn’t seem reasonable. Small bags we disposed of in supermarket or petrol station litter bins, and eventually I found a proper disposal area with large bins – at 2000 feet up a mountain. Presumably too difficult for crooks to steal the bins from there.
Rubbish aside, we had a very pleasant stay. The weather was kind with daytime maximum temperatures between 12 and 19 degrees and a mixture of sunshine, cloud and rain, only two rainy days. The day after we arrived my parents flew out to join us for birthdays and Christmas, leaving before the new year for a party in London.
On Christmas Day we went to the beach in the morning, then returned for a lunch of roast lamb eaten outside on the terrace.
Twice over the period of my parents’ visit we ate out: once on my birthday where we munched through a seemingly endless stream of antipasti, starter, main course and Sicilian cakes; and once the night before mum, dad, Clare and Ben flew to London – this time a seemingly endless pizza made with delicious dough. At the first restaurant – we were the only diners that night, my father asked for the wine list. “Yes, we have wine” relief the waiter producing a bottle of Sicilian red. There was just one wine on the list – it certainly saved much faffing about trying to decide…
Several lunch times we turned the van into a dining room, swivelling the front chairs and putting up the table, my mother displacing Clare from her usual role as quartermaster (the boys know, understand and use that term). There is little more satisfying than being perched on a cliff top, overlooking the white crested deep blue of the Mediterranean Sea, eating lunch protected from the winter wind and chill in our quadruple aspect heated camper van.
One of our more bizarre excursions was to some hot springs. From a Lichtenstein family we met on the beach I learned of hot springs a short distance away in the hills. We went to investigate. After initially overshooting the area, I spotted a cluster of parked cars, parked with them, and we stumbled through reeds and over a brook to find a group of people bathing in rock pools reeking of sulphur. There was a German man, an American man with his son, two Italians and three generations of an English family. Somehow, and for reasons I find it hard to comprehend, we all started chatting about the war.
Hot springs done, we moved onto an archeological site. At the entrance there was a large empty car park with warden – “you cannot park here” said the warden, directing us to the bottom of the hill “park there, it’s free”. We parked in the “free” car park then paid for tickets for the shuttle bus back to the upper car park. There we bought tickets to the archeological site. And then we had to buy tickets for the bus to take us from the upper car park to the ruins. Three ticket offices and two bus drivers to visit one amphitheater- but what a location. An amphitheater on top of a hill, overlooking the rolling countryside with the Mediterranean in the distance.
Birthday present
Birthday boy
Balestrate beach
Hot springs
Greek amphitheatre
Follow my blog: www.au-revoir.eu
Happy New Year!
We have spent the last two and a half weeks in a deliciously delapidated farmhouse 5 Km south of Balestrate. The area is dotted with small holdings producing citrus fruits and vegetables on small plots. Another feature is the number of stray dogs. They are everywhere, baking through the night, presumably sustained from the vast amounts of rubbish everywhere.
Sicily clearly has a rubbish problem. The tightly packed housing seems to result in people not having bins outside their homes for doorstep collection, instead it is dumped at various points around the towns, sometimes into large rubbish containers, but more commonly just on the ground.
Our hosts told us to leave our waste for them to dispose, but leaving bags full of dirty nappies doesn’t seem reasonable. Small bags we disposed of in supermarket or petrol station litter bins, and eventually I found a proper disposal area with large bins – at 2000 feet up a mountain. Presumably too difficult for crooks to steal the bins from there.
Rubbish aside, we had a very pleasant stay. The weather was kind with daytime maximum temperatures between 12 and 19 degrees and a mixture of sunshine, cloud and rain, only two rainy days. The day after we arrived my parents flew out to join us for birthdays and Christmas, leaving before the new year for a party in London.
On Christmas Day we went to the beach in the morning, then returned for a lunch of roast lamb eaten outside on the terrace.
Twice over the period of my parents’ visit we ate out: once on my birthday where we munched through a seemingly endless stream of antipasti, starter, main course and Sicilian cakes; and once the night before mum, dad, Clare and Ben flew to London – this time a seemingly endless pizza made with delicious dough. At the first restaurant – we were the only diners that night, my father asked for the wine list. “Yes, we have wine” relief the waiter producing a bottle of Sicilian red. There was just one wine on the list – it certainly saved much faffing about trying to decide…
Several lunch times we turned the van into a dining room, swivelling the front chairs and putting up the table, my mother displacing Clare from her usual role as quartermaster (the boys know, understand and use that term). There is little more satisfying than being perched on a cliff top, overlooking the white crested deep blue of the Mediterranean Sea, eating lunch protected from the winter wind and chill in our quadruple aspect heated camper van.
One of our more bizarre excursions was to some hot springs. From a Lichtenstein family we met on the beach I learned of hot springs a short distance away in the hills. We went to investigate. After initially overshooting the area, I spotted a cluster of parked cars, parked with them, and we stumbled through reeds and over a brook to find a group of people bathing in rock pools reeking of sulphur. There was a German man, an American man with his son, two Italians and three generations of an English family. Somehow, and for reasons I find it hard to comprehend, we all started chatting about the war.
Hot springs done, we moved onto an archeological site. At the entrance there was a large empty car park with warden – “you cannot park here” said the warden, directing us to the bottom of the hill “park there, it’s free”. We parked in the “free” car park then paid for tickets for the shuttle bus back to the upper car park. There we bought tickets to the archeological site. And then we had to buy tickets for the bus to take us from the upper car park to the ruins. Three ticket offices and two bus drivers to visit one amphitheater- but what a location. An amphitheater on top of a hill, overlooking the rolling countryside with the Mediterranean in the distance.
Birthday present
Birthday boy
Balestrate beach
Hot springs
Greek amphitheatre
Follow my blog: www.au-revoir.eu
Last edited:
Amarillo
Tom
Super Poster
VIP Member
Day 189 - Balestrate to Noto
Staying in a house made packing easy. We packed the van the previous day, so all we had to do was pack our wash bags, dirty laundry and load the bikes. We said goodbye to our wonderful hosts, who loaded us up with citrus fruits from the garden and waved fare well.
Sicily is shaped a little like an arrowhead, with its four major cities more or less at the four apexes, Palermo at the sharp end, Catania at the inverted apex, Messina at the northern apex and Syracuse at the southern apex. The island's three main motorways are: along the northern coast - Palermo to Messina, straight down the middle - Palermo to Catania, and along the eastern coast - Messina to Syracuse.
I wanted to take the central motorway to Catania, then turn south to Noto. The sat nav had other ideas. It wanted to take me all the way to Messina, then south to Noto. I was in a defiant mood. As we approached the junction Mr Satnav said "Now keep left", "Daddu, now keep left" echoed Ben. I manoeuvred right. Once the sat nav realised what I'd done, it rerouted me off the motorway, round a series of hoops, and back on the road to Messina.
"Now turn right" instructed Mr Satnav: "Daddy, you need to turn right", echoed Ben. I went straight ahead.
Mr Satnav is usually polite, and always upbeat, even when ignored, but he then said the most depressing thing I've ever heard him say, and I think I have him verbatim, "Traffic delays ahead due to closure of the A19, no alternative route found.": "Daddy, there's no alternative route" said Ben rubbing it in. "Follow the road for 63 kilometres": "Daddy, follow the road for 63 kilometres". I had no choice, with Mr Depressing Satnav predicting an arrival time of 3am I followed the road for 63km.
The road was both closed and open. The motorway went down to one lane, we came off a viaduct onto a temporary road, then back onto the motorway viaduct a couple of miles further on. No real delay. And a more upbeat sat nav predicting a 3.30 arrival time.
On our approach to Catania we had our first view of Mount Etna:
We have booked into an Airbnb apartment in Noto for two weeks at €25 per night plus €50 cleaning fee. It's small but perfect for our needs. Three floors, kitchen/living room, then bedroom and bathroom, then a restricted height bedroom for the boys. The temperature in this part of the island is forecast to hover between 18 and 15 degrees daytime max, a degree or two cooler than Catania in the rain shadow of Etna, but warmer than Palermo, and interestingly, warmer than the south of Spain at the moment. We are very lucky.
Follow my blog: www.au-revoir.eu
Staying in a house made packing easy. We packed the van the previous day, so all we had to do was pack our wash bags, dirty laundry and load the bikes. We said goodbye to our wonderful hosts, who loaded us up with citrus fruits from the garden and waved fare well.
Sicily is shaped a little like an arrowhead, with its four major cities more or less at the four apexes, Palermo at the sharp end, Catania at the inverted apex, Messina at the northern apex and Syracuse at the southern apex. The island's three main motorways are: along the northern coast - Palermo to Messina, straight down the middle - Palermo to Catania, and along the eastern coast - Messina to Syracuse.
I wanted to take the central motorway to Catania, then turn south to Noto. The sat nav had other ideas. It wanted to take me all the way to Messina, then south to Noto. I was in a defiant mood. As we approached the junction Mr Satnav said "Now keep left", "Daddu, now keep left" echoed Ben. I manoeuvred right. Once the sat nav realised what I'd done, it rerouted me off the motorway, round a series of hoops, and back on the road to Messina.
"Now turn right" instructed Mr Satnav: "Daddy, you need to turn right", echoed Ben. I went straight ahead.
Mr Satnav is usually polite, and always upbeat, even when ignored, but he then said the most depressing thing I've ever heard him say, and I think I have him verbatim, "Traffic delays ahead due to closure of the A19, no alternative route found.": "Daddy, there's no alternative route" said Ben rubbing it in. "Follow the road for 63 kilometres": "Daddy, follow the road for 63 kilometres". I had no choice, with Mr Depressing Satnav predicting an arrival time of 3am I followed the road for 63km.
The road was both closed and open. The motorway went down to one lane, we came off a viaduct onto a temporary road, then back onto the motorway viaduct a couple of miles further on. No real delay. And a more upbeat sat nav predicting a 3.30 arrival time.
On our approach to Catania we had our first view of Mount Etna:
We have booked into an Airbnb apartment in Noto for two weeks at €25 per night plus €50 cleaning fee. It's small but perfect for our needs. Three floors, kitchen/living room, then bedroom and bathroom, then a restricted height bedroom for the boys. The temperature in this part of the island is forecast to hover between 18 and 15 degrees daytime max, a degree or two cooler than Catania in the rain shadow of Etna, but warmer than Palermo, and interestingly, warmer than the south of Spain at the moment. We are very lucky.
Follow my blog: www.au-revoir.eu
Amarillo
Tom
Super Poster
VIP Member
Day 190 - Noto
Clear blue skies, still air and 18 degrees. It felt more like late spring than mid winter in Europe. The boys and I were in shorts for the beach. Ben and Jack splashed in rock pools, and the local Sicilians were all wrapped up in their winter coats enjoying Epiphany, the last day of Christmas.
This town, Noto Lido, is full of beach holiday apartments. The flat we are renting is owned by a Sicilian family living and working near Lake Garda. The maternal mother looks after the flat for the family. Rubbish does not seem to be a problem here - there are six collections per week, organic, paper/cardboard, plastics, glass, metal and non-recyclables. It must be an expensive service, but it does the job.
Follow my blog: www.au-revoir.eu
Clear blue skies, still air and 18 degrees. It felt more like late spring than mid winter in Europe. The boys and I were in shorts for the beach. Ben and Jack splashed in rock pools, and the local Sicilians were all wrapped up in their winter coats enjoying Epiphany, the last day of Christmas.
This town, Noto Lido, is full of beach holiday apartments. The flat we are renting is owned by a Sicilian family living and working near Lake Garda. The maternal mother looks after the flat for the family. Rubbish does not seem to be a problem here - there are six collections per week, organic, paper/cardboard, plastics, glass, metal and non-recyclables. It must be an expensive service, but it does the job.
Follow my blog: www.au-revoir.eu
kave
I stayed two weeks in marina de ragusa, no garbage issues there. I hope you have time to look at the Taormina area. It was too crouded in July for us even to park there.
Amarillo
Tom
Super Poster
VIP Member
I have been led to understand the rubbish disposal problem is more acute where the Mafia have controlled local government services. They gain the contract for waste disposal - disregard environmental laws and the refuse collectors strike.
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Naples_waste_management_issue
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Amarillo
Tom
Super Poster
VIP Member
Day 191 to 193 - Noto
i have been reading that Southern Italy has been in the grip of something like a winter heatwave, while the north has been shivering in blizzards. We have no comment about the north, but can confirm that we have spent the last three days in shorts, paddling in the sea and building sand castles. Apparently the mercury hit 24.1 degrees on Monday in Palermo. We were not there but at the sourthetn tip of the island basking in the winter sunshine perhaps a degree or two warmer than that. Days are lengthening too, with the period dawn to dusk now early 10 hours. All good things come to an end, thunderstorms are forecast for tomorrow.
We have now booked our crossing to Greece. We depart Brindisi at 7pm on 7 February and disembark at Igoumenitsa at 3.30 am the following morning. It will be our longest sea passage. The pricing structure is delightfully transparent, with all components of our menagerie charged: port tax 2 x €10, child 2 x €20, dog 1 x €30, adult 2 x €40 and car 1 x €50. We have also booked a private four berth cabin for the crossing. How refreshing to be able to understand the pricing structure, quite unlike P&O Dover to Calais, who are happy to charge £22.50 for a car and seven passengers, while charging £25 for a tandem and two cyclists for the same day return crossing.
Sent from my iPad using Tapatalk
i have been reading that Southern Italy has been in the grip of something like a winter heatwave, while the north has been shivering in blizzards. We have no comment about the north, but can confirm that we have spent the last three days in shorts, paddling in the sea and building sand castles. Apparently the mercury hit 24.1 degrees on Monday in Palermo. We were not there but at the sourthetn tip of the island basking in the winter sunshine perhaps a degree or two warmer than that. Days are lengthening too, with the period dawn to dusk now early 10 hours. All good things come to an end, thunderstorms are forecast for tomorrow.
We have now booked our crossing to Greece. We depart Brindisi at 7pm on 7 February and disembark at Igoumenitsa at 3.30 am the following morning. It will be our longest sea passage. The pricing structure is delightfully transparent, with all components of our menagerie charged: port tax 2 x €10, child 2 x €20, dog 1 x €30, adult 2 x €40 and car 1 x €50. We have also booked a private four berth cabin for the crossing. How refreshing to be able to understand the pricing structure, quite unlike P&O Dover to Calais, who are happy to charge £22.50 for a car and seven passengers, while charging £25 for a tandem and two cyclists for the same day return crossing.
Sent from my iPad using Tapatalk
Brindisi
VIP Member
Looking forward to to seeing pictures of Brindisi !
Amarillo
Tom
Super Poster
VIP Member
There is a chance that the Royal Borough of Greenwich will officially categorise our family as travellers. This week we have been struggling to submit an application for a school place for Ben for September 2018. This needs to be from Benjamin's "principal home address". However, we have tenants in our home address paying the council tax and Greenwich Council have rejected our application because we are not living there.
We emailed the admissions team, and after several useless cut and paste replies from them we received a sensible response, the salient parts are reproduced below:
==========
This has been escalated to me as the Primary Planned Admissions Officer. I have also discussed this response with the Admissions Manager, who is my line manager.
I have read the email correspondence to date and completely understand your current unique circumstances and the request that you are making. But, I must advise that I concur with the advice given by colleagues in previous emails.
[...]
In summary, the two options that you have are as follows;
a) you may apply from your Greenwich address, providing evidence that you are the owner, that that the property is currently being rented by tenants. And evidence stating your intention to move back to the UK and back into this property once the tenancy is complete. Your application will be processed from this address once you return.
b) you wait until you are back in the UK and residing at the address and provide the required evidence. Upon receipt of this we can process the application.
==========
The two two options given above will both mean that we miss the usual allocation of places to reception class. If we follow the advice given, on our return we would apply for a school place and be offered a place in a school in the Royal Borough that has a place available. We live in a remote corner of Greenwich and our road is in three London Boroughs: over the road is Lewisham and the bottom of our road, near where we live, is in Bromley. Our preferred schools for Ben are close to where we live, but not in the same London Borough. If we miss the application deadline, Ben would be offered a place at an unpopular school in Greenwich. The only way for us to be able to secure a place for Ben in the school of our choice would be to persuade Greenwich Council that we meet their definition of a 'traveller family', and then we would have absolute priority in securing a place for Ben in a school that a 'panel of educational professionals and council officials' agree is suitable. Once a suitable school is agreed, we would be offered a place for Ben in that school even if it is already full.
Fortunately, we have a third way. We own a flat near to our home that was vacated by a somewhat unreliable tenant at the beginning of last month. The flat is currently unoccupied and we pay the council tax. We have been able to submit an application from that flat as Ben's principal home address even though none of us have ever lived there. If that application is rejected, our best course of action will be to persuade Greenwich Council that we are a 'traveller family'.
One of the reasons for us currently staying in a house is to toilet train Jack. Toilet training is particularly difficult in a campervan with no toilet. I am pleased to say we are having some success: three days ago Jack had his first wee in the toilet, followed by his second and then third. Just as we were beginning to feel smug and complacent, we had a smelly and rather messy dinner time event that put us both off the rather splendid food Clare had cooked (Ben didn't seem bothered and Meg was particularly delighted with the unexpected leftovers). But toilet training must go on, and two steps forward and one step back is to be expected.
We had a call from our hosts in Palermo. A package had arrived for me. This was a Brompton child seat that I had ordered at the beginning of December. We have one already, and Ben can ride a bike, but for longer distances he needs a seat on an adult's bike. Two Brompton child seats mean we can cycle further as a family, and we ordered it for delivery to Sicily. When it failed to arrive before Christmas my credit card company issued a chargeback so we haven't paid for it. Anyway, it had arrived and we needed to decide what to do with the parcel 200 miles away on the other side of the island. I drove with Ben to pick it up. This was an excellent opportunity to test the fuel consumption of our van, boasting in the literature 47.9mpg.
At the first fuel station we came to I topped up with diesel so we had a full tank, and reset the trip computer. Setting the cruise control to 'economic' mode we set off again, accelerating gradually to 90 kph, and holding it there, slowing for roadworks and junctions using the coasting function. The autostrada climbed gently from close to sea level to about 2500 feet, then dropped towards the other side of the island. At lunchtime the display was boasting 18.5 Km per litre (52.3 mpg). We collected the parcel soon after lunch, and headed on around the slower and rugged southern coast of the island. This was mostly on grade separated single carriageway, with cruise control limiting the speed to 70 kph, but this also included several sections through highly congested town centres, and one significant climb through hairpin bends over a big hill again to about 2500 feet. The return trip took twice as long as the outward trip, and was a mistake. The views over the Mediterranean Sea were fully obscured by torrential rain, and lost completely after sunset. Ben and I experienced nothing of interest, he became tired and distressed after so long in the car, and I felt like a dreadful dad until he fell asleep.
Near our journey's end I filled up with diesel once more and photographed the dashboard display as I couldn't be bothered to do the calculations there and then. Ben went straight to bed, and I had dinner. Eventually I had a look at the figures.
A boasted average of 18.2 km/l (51.4 mpg) over 638 Km (396 miles). But what of my true fuel consumption? On our return I had filled up with 36.69 litres of diesel, that gives 17.4 Km/l or an incredible 49.2 mpg, beating VW's extra urban claim of 47.9 mpg; the trip computer's boast was 4.6% higher.
The next morning I left the house to find our van wax at the end of a rainbow.
Today we went into Syracuse to visit a Greek theatre, its location is not as impressive as the one we visited previously at Segesta, but it has other features remaining for 2500 years not seen at Segesta, such as a water supply and tombs.
The water was channelled in to be used to purify the soul, not for drinking, and the seating for the theatre is hewn from the rock, not built. However, we were somewhat disappointed to learn that this is not the original 2500 year old theatre, it was substantially renovated sometime between 238 and 215 BC.
The theatre is still used for performances between May and July each year.
Sent from my iPad using Tapatalk
We emailed the admissions team, and after several useless cut and paste replies from them we received a sensible response, the salient parts are reproduced below:
==========
This has been escalated to me as the Primary Planned Admissions Officer. I have also discussed this response with the Admissions Manager, who is my line manager.
I have read the email correspondence to date and completely understand your current unique circumstances and the request that you are making. But, I must advise that I concur with the advice given by colleagues in previous emails.
[...]
In summary, the two options that you have are as follows;
a) you may apply from your Greenwich address, providing evidence that you are the owner, that that the property is currently being rented by tenants. And evidence stating your intention to move back to the UK and back into this property once the tenancy is complete. Your application will be processed from this address once you return.
b) you wait until you are back in the UK and residing at the address and provide the required evidence. Upon receipt of this we can process the application.
==========
The two two options given above will both mean that we miss the usual allocation of places to reception class. If we follow the advice given, on our return we would apply for a school place and be offered a place in a school in the Royal Borough that has a place available. We live in a remote corner of Greenwich and our road is in three London Boroughs: over the road is Lewisham and the bottom of our road, near where we live, is in Bromley. Our preferred schools for Ben are close to where we live, but not in the same London Borough. If we miss the application deadline, Ben would be offered a place at an unpopular school in Greenwich. The only way for us to be able to secure a place for Ben in the school of our choice would be to persuade Greenwich Council that we meet their definition of a 'traveller family', and then we would have absolute priority in securing a place for Ben in a school that a 'panel of educational professionals and council officials' agree is suitable. Once a suitable school is agreed, we would be offered a place for Ben in that school even if it is already full.
Fortunately, we have a third way. We own a flat near to our home that was vacated by a somewhat unreliable tenant at the beginning of last month. The flat is currently unoccupied and we pay the council tax. We have been able to submit an application from that flat as Ben's principal home address even though none of us have ever lived there. If that application is rejected, our best course of action will be to persuade Greenwich Council that we are a 'traveller family'.
One of the reasons for us currently staying in a house is to toilet train Jack. Toilet training is particularly difficult in a campervan with no toilet. I am pleased to say we are having some success: three days ago Jack had his first wee in the toilet, followed by his second and then third. Just as we were beginning to feel smug and complacent, we had a smelly and rather messy dinner time event that put us both off the rather splendid food Clare had cooked (Ben didn't seem bothered and Meg was particularly delighted with the unexpected leftovers). But toilet training must go on, and two steps forward and one step back is to be expected.
We had a call from our hosts in Palermo. A package had arrived for me. This was a Brompton child seat that I had ordered at the beginning of December. We have one already, and Ben can ride a bike, but for longer distances he needs a seat on an adult's bike. Two Brompton child seats mean we can cycle further as a family, and we ordered it for delivery to Sicily. When it failed to arrive before Christmas my credit card company issued a chargeback so we haven't paid for it. Anyway, it had arrived and we needed to decide what to do with the parcel 200 miles away on the other side of the island. I drove with Ben to pick it up. This was an excellent opportunity to test the fuel consumption of our van, boasting in the literature 47.9mpg.
At the first fuel station we came to I topped up with diesel so we had a full tank, and reset the trip computer. Setting the cruise control to 'economic' mode we set off again, accelerating gradually to 90 kph, and holding it there, slowing for roadworks and junctions using the coasting function. The autostrada climbed gently from close to sea level to about 2500 feet, then dropped towards the other side of the island. At lunchtime the display was boasting 18.5 Km per litre (52.3 mpg). We collected the parcel soon after lunch, and headed on around the slower and rugged southern coast of the island. This was mostly on grade separated single carriageway, with cruise control limiting the speed to 70 kph, but this also included several sections through highly congested town centres, and one significant climb through hairpin bends over a big hill again to about 2500 feet. The return trip took twice as long as the outward trip, and was a mistake. The views over the Mediterranean Sea were fully obscured by torrential rain, and lost completely after sunset. Ben and I experienced nothing of interest, he became tired and distressed after so long in the car, and I felt like a dreadful dad until he fell asleep.
Near our journey's end I filled up with diesel once more and photographed the dashboard display as I couldn't be bothered to do the calculations there and then. Ben went straight to bed, and I had dinner. Eventually I had a look at the figures.
A boasted average of 18.2 km/l (51.4 mpg) over 638 Km (396 miles). But what of my true fuel consumption? On our return I had filled up with 36.69 litres of diesel, that gives 17.4 Km/l or an incredible 49.2 mpg, beating VW's extra urban claim of 47.9 mpg; the trip computer's boast was 4.6% higher.
The next morning I left the house to find our van wax at the end of a rainbow.
Today we went into Syracuse to visit a Greek theatre, its location is not as impressive as the one we visited previously at Segesta, but it has other features remaining for 2500 years not seen at Segesta, such as a water supply and tombs.
The water was channelled in to be used to purify the soul, not for drinking, and the seating for the theatre is hewn from the rock, not built. However, we were somewhat disappointed to learn that this is not the original 2500 year old theatre, it was substantially renovated sometime between 238 and 215 BC.
The theatre is still used for performances between May and July each year.
Sent from my iPad using Tapatalk
Amarillo
Tom
Super Poster
VIP Member
We have now been in Sicily for a month, and are beginning to feel familiar with some of the regions quirks - like driving into a car park, being directed to a parking place, a cloakroom ticket being placed under the wiper blade and asked for a Euro for parking. This is in a free car park. At public toilets, and even private toilets in public places like service stations, a man in a blue jacket with a spray cleaner in one hand and cloth tucked into his pocket will be standing outside to collect a service charge. Begging is professionalised. I expect these people have an employer too, someone who rents them their spot in the car park or outside the toilets - sick pay and pension? Probably not.
Recycling is another thing Sicily does differently. At Palermo Airport, when collecting my parents, I went to buy a Diet Coke. The barman said his pump was out of order, but he took my money and sent me to the fridge for a bottle. The front six bottles all had their seals broken, and I had to take a bottle from the back. I sat down to enjoy my refreshment and watched as the barman recycled an empty coke bottle from under the counter by refilling it from the pump and putting it in the space freed by my purchase.
Driving is also very different. Speed limits, often treated as advisory anywhere I've been, are treated as a bare minimum requirement in Sicily. A no overtaking sign is an indication that overtaking is expected and the hard shoulder on motorways is for overtaking when the overtaking lane is occupied.
Even with all these nuances, we have thoroughly enjoyed our month in Sicily. It has miles of stunning beaches, amazing archeological sites, wonderful looking nature reserves (we never actually went in one because dogs are banned) and a volcano to excite a four year old.
Mount Etna dominates the land around Catania. Its smoking white cap can be seen for miles in every direction. The unremarkable photo below taken from just outside the Cavegrande nature reserve has Etna (left of centre) 55 miles away.
An equivalent distance is Buckingham Palace to Chichester cathedral!
closer, Etna is absolutely stunning, towering above the towns at its feet.
On Tuesday we drove as far up as permitted. It was a long climb, but not particularly steep, across a barren moonscape, occasionally glimpsing the remains of concrete homes consumed years earlier by lava flows. At just below 2000 metres we came to the ski station car park. At 6 degrees it was colder than we'd experienced since Florence, and it was windy. The cable car was not running because of the high wind, but there was a mountain bus service to 2500 metres for 30 Euros per adult (children free). We declined the opportunity to go higher - we'd been that high anyway, in Andorra, and knew what it would be like. Instead we explored one of Etna's many vent craters.
Horses and citrus fruits are two other features of Sicily etched in our memories. Seemingly, even more so than Valencia or Seville, oranges are everywhere, and the very best Sicilians reserve for themselves. This eight kilo bag costs just €5.
And below the orange trees, or in this case, almond trees, Sicilians keep their horses. Fearless and excited, Ben had his first ride.
Today we pack, tomorrow we say goodbye to Sicily and return to the mainland for nearly three weeks in the foot of Italy before we cross to Greece.
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Recycling is another thing Sicily does differently. At Palermo Airport, when collecting my parents, I went to buy a Diet Coke. The barman said his pump was out of order, but he took my money and sent me to the fridge for a bottle. The front six bottles all had their seals broken, and I had to take a bottle from the back. I sat down to enjoy my refreshment and watched as the barman recycled an empty coke bottle from under the counter by refilling it from the pump and putting it in the space freed by my purchase.
Driving is also very different. Speed limits, often treated as advisory anywhere I've been, are treated as a bare minimum requirement in Sicily. A no overtaking sign is an indication that overtaking is expected and the hard shoulder on motorways is for overtaking when the overtaking lane is occupied.
Even with all these nuances, we have thoroughly enjoyed our month in Sicily. It has miles of stunning beaches, amazing archeological sites, wonderful looking nature reserves (we never actually went in one because dogs are banned) and a volcano to excite a four year old.
Mount Etna dominates the land around Catania. Its smoking white cap can be seen for miles in every direction. The unremarkable photo below taken from just outside the Cavegrande nature reserve has Etna (left of centre) 55 miles away.
An equivalent distance is Buckingham Palace to Chichester cathedral!
closer, Etna is absolutely stunning, towering above the towns at its feet.
On Tuesday we drove as far up as permitted. It was a long climb, but not particularly steep, across a barren moonscape, occasionally glimpsing the remains of concrete homes consumed years earlier by lava flows. At just below 2000 metres we came to the ski station car park. At 6 degrees it was colder than we'd experienced since Florence, and it was windy. The cable car was not running because of the high wind, but there was a mountain bus service to 2500 metres for 30 Euros per adult (children free). We declined the opportunity to go higher - we'd been that high anyway, in Andorra, and knew what it would be like. Instead we explored one of Etna's many vent craters.
Horses and citrus fruits are two other features of Sicily etched in our memories. Seemingly, even more so than Valencia or Seville, oranges are everywhere, and the very best Sicilians reserve for themselves. This eight kilo bag costs just €5.
And below the orange trees, or in this case, almond trees, Sicilians keep their horses. Fearless and excited, Ben had his first ride.
Today we pack, tomorrow we say goodbye to Sicily and return to the mainland for nearly three weeks in the foot of Italy before we cross to Greece.
Sent from my iPad using Tapatalk
Amarillo
Tom
Super Poster
VIP Member
Day 203 - Noto to Marina di Caulonia
We left our house for the last two weeks at 10.13 and headed for Catania, Sicily's second city basking in the shadow of Etna. Catania, being so close to such a large and dominant mountain has its own microclimate, and boasts being the warmest city of anywhere in Italy in the winter months. We have watched the temperature closely over the last two weeks, and the forecast temperature in Catania has hovered between 16 and 20 degrees. However, we were not going there to bask, we were going there to exchange our nearly empty campingaz bottle for a full one. We should not have bothered trying: the only campingaz bottle supplier in southern Sicily was out of stock. We have one more place to try before we cross to Greece: Brindisi - our port of departure.
Mr Sat-Nav made a hash of getting me to the right place to catch the ferry to the mainland, directing me to the wrong terminal. Fortunately, flirty Italian wannabe Romeos were confused by the left hand drive car, thought Clare was magicking the van along, and directed her to the correct place, coyly waving at me upon realising their lusty mistake.
With a quarter of a tank remaining, we wanted to refuel before arriving at the campsite, tried a self serve pump - the chip and pin reader was broken so we left still with a quarter of a tank. Never mind! We will refuel next time we move. Apart from that, the drive was unremarkable.
Our campsite is ultra grotty, but has some charm, I'm not quite sure why... Perhaps it's the rabbit called Jennty in one of the toilet blocks, or the goat Ben and I stumbled into when taking Meg for a goodnight walk. Anyway - there's a restaurant on site which is open, its pizzas start at 6 Euros, it has beer, so that is all good. And we are close to an empty beach. But temperatures are forecast for four degrees lower than we have been used to on Sicily. The days are 5 minutes shorter too.
It's good to be sleeping back in the van.
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We left our house for the last two weeks at 10.13 and headed for Catania, Sicily's second city basking in the shadow of Etna. Catania, being so close to such a large and dominant mountain has its own microclimate, and boasts being the warmest city of anywhere in Italy in the winter months. We have watched the temperature closely over the last two weeks, and the forecast temperature in Catania has hovered between 16 and 20 degrees. However, we were not going there to bask, we were going there to exchange our nearly empty campingaz bottle for a full one. We should not have bothered trying: the only campingaz bottle supplier in southern Sicily was out of stock. We have one more place to try before we cross to Greece: Brindisi - our port of departure.
Mr Sat-Nav made a hash of getting me to the right place to catch the ferry to the mainland, directing me to the wrong terminal. Fortunately, flirty Italian wannabe Romeos were confused by the left hand drive car, thought Clare was magicking the van along, and directed her to the correct place, coyly waving at me upon realising their lusty mistake.
With a quarter of a tank remaining, we wanted to refuel before arriving at the campsite, tried a self serve pump - the chip and pin reader was broken so we left still with a quarter of a tank. Never mind! We will refuel next time we move. Apart from that, the drive was unremarkable.
Our campsite is ultra grotty, but has some charm, I'm not quite sure why... Perhaps it's the rabbit called Jennty in one of the toilet blocks, or the goat Ben and I stumbled into when taking Meg for a goodnight walk. Anyway - there's a restaurant on site which is open, its pizzas start at 6 Euros, it has beer, so that is all good. And we are close to an empty beach. But temperatures are forecast for four degrees lower than we have been used to on Sicily. The days are 5 minutes shorter too.
It's good to be sleeping back in the van.
Sent from my iPad using Tapatalk
Amarillo
Tom
Super Poster
VIP Member
Day 204 to 207 - Marina di Caulonia
This is undoubtedly the grubbiest campsite we have stayed on so far, but unlike the grubby campsite in Imperia, this campsite has rustic charm.
We haven't met the manager yet, but day to day running is handled by a very enthusiastic Bangladeshi man called Islam. He enjoys showing the boys his rabbit called Jenny. Islam spent some time living in England, but it seems he was slung out for not having the right papers, and has settled here in Caulonia where there is a very strong Bangladeshi presence.
It seems that wherever we are in Southern Italy, the various migrant communities stick together in various places trying to eek out a living of some sort. In the supermarket car parks of Avola young North African men would be eager to help with our trolley to unload it an return it to its place in return for the 50c deposit. In larger cities like Naples and Catania they try to sell packets of tissues at traffic lights, or just beg. Oddly, they were seemingly absent entirely in Palermo.
Back to our campsite, as well as Jenny the rabbit, we are camping with three donkeys, two goats and half a dozen cats. In the mornings Ben and Jack will walk quite confidently about among the donkeys.
We are right by the beach, and next to a dried up river bed. Behind a sea wall separating the sandy shingle from the road is a wide promenade, perfect for the boys to cycle along, overlooked by two statues of bearded and naked philosophical looking men. I've no idea who they represent.
Of the four days we have been here, two have been rainy. The first rainy day we took a trip northwards along the sole of Italy's boot. We found a hilltop castle to have lunch outside, sheltered from the rain inside Amarillo, and then during a break in the clouds found a remote beach to exercise the boys and Meg. A curious police car followed us onto the beach to see what we were doing but soon went away when the occupants saw the boys making angels in the sand.
On the second rainy day we headed for the hills and Aspromonte National Park. Even in the torrential rain we could see that it was a stunningly beautiful area. We didn't take lunch with us, hoping to share a pizza somewhere, but in such rain there would be no hope of even leaving the van: roads had become rivers. Fortunately, in the small town of Cittanova the rain eased sufficiently to dash into a restaurant for pasta bake. It was lukewarm but delicious.
After lunch we drove right up into the mountains, watching wisps of cloud rise from the densely wooded valleys below and walked along a trail marked by red and white paint on trees on a thick carpet of dark ocre beech leaves.
It was after dark when we arrived back to the goats, rabbit and donkeys.
We have three or four more days here, of forecast sunshine, and then we move on. We plan to go back to the national park in better weather before we leave.
Follow my blog: www.au-revoir.eu
This is undoubtedly the grubbiest campsite we have stayed on so far, but unlike the grubby campsite in Imperia, this campsite has rustic charm.
We haven't met the manager yet, but day to day running is handled by a very enthusiastic Bangladeshi man called Islam. He enjoys showing the boys his rabbit called Jenny. Islam spent some time living in England, but it seems he was slung out for not having the right papers, and has settled here in Caulonia where there is a very strong Bangladeshi presence.
It seems that wherever we are in Southern Italy, the various migrant communities stick together in various places trying to eek out a living of some sort. In the supermarket car parks of Avola young North African men would be eager to help with our trolley to unload it an return it to its place in return for the 50c deposit. In larger cities like Naples and Catania they try to sell packets of tissues at traffic lights, or just beg. Oddly, they were seemingly absent entirely in Palermo.
Back to our campsite, as well as Jenny the rabbit, we are camping with three donkeys, two goats and half a dozen cats. In the mornings Ben and Jack will walk quite confidently about among the donkeys.
We are right by the beach, and next to a dried up river bed. Behind a sea wall separating the sandy shingle from the road is a wide promenade, perfect for the boys to cycle along, overlooked by two statues of bearded and naked philosophical looking men. I've no idea who they represent.
Of the four days we have been here, two have been rainy. The first rainy day we took a trip northwards along the sole of Italy's boot. We found a hilltop castle to have lunch outside, sheltered from the rain inside Amarillo, and then during a break in the clouds found a remote beach to exercise the boys and Meg. A curious police car followed us onto the beach to see what we were doing but soon went away when the occupants saw the boys making angels in the sand.
On the second rainy day we headed for the hills and Aspromonte National Park. Even in the torrential rain we could see that it was a stunningly beautiful area. We didn't take lunch with us, hoping to share a pizza somewhere, but in such rain there would be no hope of even leaving the van: roads had become rivers. Fortunately, in the small town of Cittanova the rain eased sufficiently to dash into a restaurant for pasta bake. It was lukewarm but delicious.
After lunch we drove right up into the mountains, watching wisps of cloud rise from the densely wooded valleys below and walked along a trail marked by red and white paint on trees on a thick carpet of dark ocre beech leaves.
It was after dark when we arrived back to the goats, rabbit and donkeys.
We have three or four more days here, of forecast sunshine, and then we move on. We plan to go back to the national park in better weather before we leave.
Follow my blog: www.au-revoir.eu
Amarillo
Tom
Super Poster
VIP Member
We are right by the beach, and next to a dried up river bed. Behind a sea wall separating the sandy shingle from the road is a wide promenade, perfect for the boys to cycle along, overlooked by two statues of bearded and naked philosophical looking men. I've no idea who they represent.
2500 year old Greek warriors-
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Riace_bronzes
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Amarillo
Tom
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Day 208 to 211 - Marina di Caulonia
The weather has been mostly sunny with temperatures in the mid teens. On Thursday we drove back into the National Park and parked high up where we could see the Mediterranean on both sides of Italy's foot. We ate lunch in the van as it was cold at that height, with Meg running around outside.
something was up - Meg was barking. I got out of the van to see a drove of about a dozen pigs, several quite young, rooting there way along the roadside.
They looked domestic, but that was a puzzle - what would domestic piggies be doing wondering about at over 3000 feet in the mountains?
Later, after a walk, we met and chatted to some Carabinieri, they suggested boar. They didn't look like boar to us. They also told us about a "family" of about 20 wolves in the sector where we were.
We saw very few other people, but we did meet two other pairs of Carabinieri who both checked our identity. And possibly two further pairs, though they may have been the same. It could be said that the hills were swarming with Carabinieri. They were probably on wolf protection duties as local farmers will illegally hunt, kill and display wolves in villages. That then suggests that the piggies we saw were wolf fodder. But that is odd as the wolf population is healthy and stable, and there is no reason to feed the wolves. A more sinister possibility is that the piggies were released by farmers to lure the wolves into a trap. Of course, the most simple explanation is that they were just escaped domestic pigs.
On Friday morning we had a phone call. Clare's father had a fall and had broken his hip. We spent the morning debating what to do. Options included us all driving back to the UK - Google maps suggest Calais is just 22 hours away; two drives of about 12 hours. In the end we found a more sensible solution. On Sunday we drive back to Catania. Clare takes a direct EasyJet flight to Manchester then hires a car and goes on to her father near Ashbourne. I return with our two boys and Meg to the house in Calabernado and sit tight for a week with the secure large garden. Clare returns the following Sunday from Manchester.
Prices are surprisingly reasonable. Clare's flight is £80 return, car hire £50. The house is €25 per night plus €50, thus eight nights is €250.
We will stay in the house on the Sunday of Clare's return to Sicily, then on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday have a leisurely drive to Brindisi and our ferry to Greece.
As for Clare's dad, he has had a hip replacement operation and is recovering well albeit in considerable discomfort.
Islam, our Bangladeshi host on our campsite had taken pity on us and has given the boys a crate of oranges.
And Meg has come into season: she has a persistent following of stray suitors who she is flirting with outrageously. I'm glad the garden in Calabernardo is secure.
Follow my blog: www.au-revoir.eu
The weather has been mostly sunny with temperatures in the mid teens. On Thursday we drove back into the National Park and parked high up where we could see the Mediterranean on both sides of Italy's foot. We ate lunch in the van as it was cold at that height, with Meg running around outside.
something was up - Meg was barking. I got out of the van to see a drove of about a dozen pigs, several quite young, rooting there way along the roadside.
They looked domestic, but that was a puzzle - what would domestic piggies be doing wondering about at over 3000 feet in the mountains?
Later, after a walk, we met and chatted to some Carabinieri, they suggested boar. They didn't look like boar to us. They also told us about a "family" of about 20 wolves in the sector where we were.
We saw very few other people, but we did meet two other pairs of Carabinieri who both checked our identity. And possibly two further pairs, though they may have been the same. It could be said that the hills were swarming with Carabinieri. They were probably on wolf protection duties as local farmers will illegally hunt, kill and display wolves in villages. That then suggests that the piggies we saw were wolf fodder. But that is odd as the wolf population is healthy and stable, and there is no reason to feed the wolves. A more sinister possibility is that the piggies were released by farmers to lure the wolves into a trap. Of course, the most simple explanation is that they were just escaped domestic pigs.
On Friday morning we had a phone call. Clare's father had a fall and had broken his hip. We spent the morning debating what to do. Options included us all driving back to the UK - Google maps suggest Calais is just 22 hours away; two drives of about 12 hours. In the end we found a more sensible solution. On Sunday we drive back to Catania. Clare takes a direct EasyJet flight to Manchester then hires a car and goes on to her father near Ashbourne. I return with our two boys and Meg to the house in Calabernado and sit tight for a week with the secure large garden. Clare returns the following Sunday from Manchester.
Prices are surprisingly reasonable. Clare's flight is £80 return, car hire £50. The house is €25 per night plus €50, thus eight nights is €250.
We will stay in the house on the Sunday of Clare's return to Sicily, then on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday have a leisurely drive to Brindisi and our ferry to Greece.
As for Clare's dad, he has had a hip replacement operation and is recovering well albeit in considerable discomfort.
Islam, our Bangladeshi host on our campsite had taken pity on us and has given the boys a crate of oranges.
And Meg has come into season: she has a persistent following of stray suitors who she is flirting with outrageously. I'm glad the garden in Calabernardo is secure.
Follow my blog: www.au-revoir.eu
GillianC
Top Poster
Lifetime VIP Member
Sorry to hear about Clare's Dad, hope that he makes a good recovery.
You are going to have your hands full for the next week Tom!
You are going to have your hands full for the next week Tom!
jts46
Super Poster
Lifetime VIP Member
Clare's father lives in our neck of the woods then?
Amarillo
Tom
Super Poster
VIP Member
I guess so...he's about 5 miles SW of Ashbourne in an annexe of his youngest son's house.
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Amarillo
Tom
Super Poster
VIP Member
Day 212 - Marina di Caulonia to Calabernardo
We packed away quickly enough, paid Islam for the camping, and he gave Ben and Jack yet another crate of oranges.
Citrus fruits are everywhere at this time of year!
We drive swiftly to Villa San Giovanni, waited 20 minutes for the ferry, and stayed in the van for the short passage back to Sicily.. Driving standards in Italy are generally poor, in the south they are worse than the north, and on Sicily they are atrocious. The safest place to be is the slowest vehicle on the inside lane of the motorway. Being in no hurry, that is where I positioned ourselves as we headed for Ikea.
Ikea is a great place to eat with children. It is cheap and children can play watched by their parents while they finish their meal. As we drove into the Ikea car park I noticed that all the flags were at half mast.
Apparently Ikea's founder had just died aged 91.
We had lunch/dinner together as a family, then a five minute drive to the airport, which turned into 15 minutes because I took a wrong turn. A tearful farewell and I was on my own with the two boys and flirty Meg for a week.
Our first stop was the supermarket for milk, bread and other essentials. The boys tried to convince me that mum always bought various packets of sweets, crisps and biscuits. I didn't fall for it!
Then to the house in Calabernado. It really is the perfect place for us at this time. Sensible layout and an enormous secure garden for the boys and flirty Meg. No need for dinner - early bed.
You can see the huge garden by copying and pasting the coordinates into Google maps satellite view: 36°52'04.7"N 15°08'05.1"E the entire patch of green, both sides of the dividing hedges.
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We packed away quickly enough, paid Islam for the camping, and he gave Ben and Jack yet another crate of oranges.
Citrus fruits are everywhere at this time of year!
We drive swiftly to Villa San Giovanni, waited 20 minutes for the ferry, and stayed in the van for the short passage back to Sicily.. Driving standards in Italy are generally poor, in the south they are worse than the north, and on Sicily they are atrocious. The safest place to be is the slowest vehicle on the inside lane of the motorway. Being in no hurry, that is where I positioned ourselves as we headed for Ikea.
Ikea is a great place to eat with children. It is cheap and children can play watched by their parents while they finish their meal. As we drove into the Ikea car park I noticed that all the flags were at half mast.
Apparently Ikea's founder had just died aged 91.
We had lunch/dinner together as a family, then a five minute drive to the airport, which turned into 15 minutes because I took a wrong turn. A tearful farewell and I was on my own with the two boys and flirty Meg for a week.
Our first stop was the supermarket for milk, bread and other essentials. The boys tried to convince me that mum always bought various packets of sweets, crisps and biscuits. I didn't fall for it!
Then to the house in Calabernado. It really is the perfect place for us at this time. Sensible layout and an enormous secure garden for the boys and flirty Meg. No need for dinner - early bed.
You can see the huge garden by copying and pasting the coordinates into Google maps satellite view: 36°52'04.7"N 15°08'05.1"E the entire patch of green, both sides of the dividing hedges.
Follow my blog: www.au-revoir.eu
Last edited:
Amarillo
Tom
Super Poster
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Day 213 to 215 - Calabernado
My coffee and cornflakes tasted a bit odd, a closer inspection of the milk I had bought revealed the reason.
It is the confusion caused by shopping with two boys running wild in the ailes that made the mistake. I just wanted to tick things off my list as quickly as possible and get out, saw the word latte and went for it. We still have another two litres to drink. On the plus side, dogs can digest goats' milk more easily than cows' milk.
We stayed in the house all day Monday, the garden in plenty big enough for Meg and the boys. On Tuesday we had an excursion to Macdonalds in Syracuse, a bit sad, I know, but it is a contained safe area, and the food comes quickly..
Staying in this house again is a boon for Jack's toilet training. We have now had three consecutive dry days. He just runs about wearing nothing between his shirt and crocs. Both boys get a treat if Jack pees on the grass or two treats if he pees in the loo. Ben encourages Jack to go inside and use the loo.
Tonight was a supermoon, and we went for a night walk to see our moon shadows.. Flirty Meg came too, on a very short lead - the last thing I want is to use the van's boot as a whelping box somewhere in Bulgaria or Romania. The moon did not disappoint. It was big, white and perfectly round shimmering over the water.
I promised the boys a plate of chips to share at the local restaurant - but it was closed. That caused trouble... resolved with the promise of biscuits when we got home. By now we were being followed through the town by a pack of suitors for flirty Meg, and she was certainly enjoying the attention, pausing at each post, rock or car wheel to spray her scent which was immediately re scented by the pack of half a dozen following dogs. Sicily, and the whole south of Italy, is home to a very large number of stray dogs. We probably have another week of this flirty Meg, and by the time we take the ferry to Greece on 7 February she will have calmed down.
Follow my blog: www.au-revoir.eu
My coffee and cornflakes tasted a bit odd, a closer inspection of the milk I had bought revealed the reason.
It is the confusion caused by shopping with two boys running wild in the ailes that made the mistake. I just wanted to tick things off my list as quickly as possible and get out, saw the word latte and went for it. We still have another two litres to drink. On the plus side, dogs can digest goats' milk more easily than cows' milk.
We stayed in the house all day Monday, the garden in plenty big enough for Meg and the boys. On Tuesday we had an excursion to Macdonalds in Syracuse, a bit sad, I know, but it is a contained safe area, and the food comes quickly..
Staying in this house again is a boon for Jack's toilet training. We have now had three consecutive dry days. He just runs about wearing nothing between his shirt and crocs. Both boys get a treat if Jack pees on the grass or two treats if he pees in the loo. Ben encourages Jack to go inside and use the loo.
Tonight was a supermoon, and we went for a night walk to see our moon shadows.. Flirty Meg came too, on a very short lead - the last thing I want is to use the van's boot as a whelping box somewhere in Bulgaria or Romania. The moon did not disappoint. It was big, white and perfectly round shimmering over the water.
I promised the boys a plate of chips to share at the local restaurant - but it was closed. That caused trouble... resolved with the promise of biscuits when we got home. By now we were being followed through the town by a pack of suitors for flirty Meg, and she was certainly enjoying the attention, pausing at each post, rock or car wheel to spray her scent which was immediately re scented by the pack of half a dozen following dogs. Sicily, and the whole south of Italy, is home to a very large number of stray dogs. We probably have another week of this flirty Meg, and by the time we take the ferry to Greece on 7 February she will have calmed down.
Follow my blog: www.au-revoir.eu
Amarillo
Tom
Super Poster
VIP Member
Day 216 to 219 - Calabernado
We have too many oranges and other citrus fruits. People keep giving them to our boys. So what can we do with all this bounty?
Squeeze into juice.
And drink!
Apart from making orange juice, we have had a pretty lazy end to the week without Clare. Flirty Meg has still been flirty. Just the sound of another dog causes her ears to prick up and her tail bend into an 'S' shape exposing her inflamed bottom.
There's a dog, thankfully secure, behind those gates.
Fortunately the garden here is sufficiently large to exercise boys and dog without running the gauntlet of Sicily's numerous strays. We did manage one proper walk in the hills around Old Avola (Avola Antica), destroyed by an earthquake 400 years ago and replaced by a coastal town based on a hexagon. The town's biggest claim to fame is having a grape variety named after it, Nero d'Avola, but I've not noticed extensive viticulture here. Perhaps it is because at this time of year vines are well pruned and so less noticeable.
After five and a half weeks, we have spent longer in Sicily than the whole of Norway, but only now do I feel I'm beginning to have a feel for the island. Sicilians are unbelievably kind and generous. A farmer carting his trailer full of oranges stopped as he passed us and gave each of the boys an orange. In a supermarket in Ragusa a shopkeeper saw Jack crying because he didn't have a trolley like Ben, so he went to get Jack a trolley - then when we came to check out he gave each boy a (rather large) bag of biscuits. The lady running the horse stables refused payment for Ben riding her horse. And, of course, Sicily is quietly absorbing migrants unwanted in the rest of Europe. Daily we have seen bright yellow helicopters heading south over the Mediterranean Sea, returning north hours later, their mission unknown to us, but we did hear the other day of about 90 migrants drowned after their boat overturned. It must be a truly bleak future in their home country that pushes people onto crammed boats in winter to try to make it over the Mediterranean to Europe.
After returning from Catania Airport with Clare the first thing I did with my freedom from the boys was walk with Meg on the beach and watch the moon rise over the southern Mediterranean. We are very lucky.
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We have too many oranges and other citrus fruits. People keep giving them to our boys. So what can we do with all this bounty?
Squeeze into juice.
And drink!
Apart from making orange juice, we have had a pretty lazy end to the week without Clare. Flirty Meg has still been flirty. Just the sound of another dog causes her ears to prick up and her tail bend into an 'S' shape exposing her inflamed bottom.
There's a dog, thankfully secure, behind those gates.
Fortunately the garden here is sufficiently large to exercise boys and dog without running the gauntlet of Sicily's numerous strays. We did manage one proper walk in the hills around Old Avola (Avola Antica), destroyed by an earthquake 400 years ago and replaced by a coastal town based on a hexagon. The town's biggest claim to fame is having a grape variety named after it, Nero d'Avola, but I've not noticed extensive viticulture here. Perhaps it is because at this time of year vines are well pruned and so less noticeable.
After five and a half weeks, we have spent longer in Sicily than the whole of Norway, but only now do I feel I'm beginning to have a feel for the island. Sicilians are unbelievably kind and generous. A farmer carting his trailer full of oranges stopped as he passed us and gave each of the boys an orange. In a supermarket in Ragusa a shopkeeper saw Jack crying because he didn't have a trolley like Ben, so he went to get Jack a trolley - then when we came to check out he gave each boy a (rather large) bag of biscuits. The lady running the horse stables refused payment for Ben riding her horse. And, of course, Sicily is quietly absorbing migrants unwanted in the rest of Europe. Daily we have seen bright yellow helicopters heading south over the Mediterranean Sea, returning north hours later, their mission unknown to us, but we did hear the other day of about 90 migrants drowned after their boat overturned. It must be a truly bleak future in their home country that pushes people onto crammed boats in winter to try to make it over the Mediterranean to Europe.
After returning from Catania Airport with Clare the first thing I did with my freedom from the boys was walk with Meg on the beach and watch the moon rise over the southern Mediterranean. We are very lucky.
Sent from my iPad using Tapatalk
Bellcrew
Top Poster
VIP Member
Scurvy should be kept at bay with that diet.Day 216 to 219 - Calabernado
We have too many oranges and other citrus fruits. People keep giving them to our boys. So what can we do with all this bounty?
Squeeze into juice.
And drink!
Apart from making orange juice, we have had a pretty lazy end to the week without Clare. Flirty Meg has still been flirty. Just the sound of another dog causes her ears to prick up and her tail bend into an 'S' shape exposing her inflamed bottom.
There's a dog, thankfully secure, behind those gates.
Fortunately the garden here is sufficiently large to exercise boys and dog without running the gauntlet of Sicily's numerous strays. We did manage one proper walk in the hills around Old Avola (Avola Antica), destroyed by an earthquake 400 years ago and replaced by a coastal town based on a hexagon. The town's biggest claim to fame is having a grape variety named after it, Nero d'Avola, but I've not noticed extensive viticulture here. Perhaps it is because at this time of year vines are well pruned and so less noticeable.
After five and a half weeks, we have spent longer in Sicily than the whole of Norway, but only now do I feel I'm beginning to have a feel for the island. Sicilians are unbelievably kind and generous. A farmer carting his trailer full of oranges stopped as he passed us and gave each of the boys an orange. In a supermarket in Ragusa a shopkeeper saw Jack crying because he didn't have a trolley like Ben, so he went to get Jack a trolley - then when we came to check out he gave each boy a (rather large) bag of biscuits. The lady running the horse stables refused payment for Ben riding her horse. And, of course, Sicily is quietly absorbing migrants unwanted in the rest of Europe. Daily we have seen bright yellow helicopters heading south over the Mediterranean Sea, returning north hours later, their mission unknown to us, but we did hear the other day of about 90 migrants drowned after their boat overturned. It must be a truly bleak future in their home country that pushes people onto crammed boats in winter to try to make it over the Mediterranean to Europe.
After returning from Catania Airport with Clare the first thing I did with my freedom from the boys was walk with Meg on the beach and watch the moon rise over the southern Mediterranean. We are very lucky.
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