Our trip to Noto remained the source of debate for many days. Eventually, over glasses of diet Coke, we decided to abandon the journey. Even in our comfortable, capable FIAT 500x, with Lane Keep Assist – a genius system designed to keep Italian drivers from drifting across the highway – Noto would be a two and a half hour trip in each direction. Over two hours that is, without taking into account the narrow country roads, the crater-sized potholes, and the occasional stray peasant. Instead, we decided to drive 50 miles to Ragusa to have lunch at one of a handful of Michelin-starred restaurants in Sicily. But when we found the chef sitting on the wall making calls, we decided to dine at another of Ragusa's fine establishments.
Big mistake ... next time stick to the plan.
Ragusa is old, really old. It has its origins back in the 2nd millennium BC. Then Christ was born, Christians invented saints, and all hell broke loose. The once peaceful village of Ragusa was torn in two. Who was the true patron saint of Ragusa? Churches were built, feuds were fought, and eventually God sent an earthquake in 1693. The city was devastated, but do you think that helped? Nope. Right after the earthquake, the city was rebuilt, the churches were rebuilt, and the battle raged on.
According to our guide, this church was where they brought the blasphemous. Here they were covered in honey and left for the bees to sting - the evil things human beings do in the name of their religions. I ventured inside, expecting to see lunatics bearing pots of honey. Fortunately, those days are gone, at least in Ragusa.
Train trip anyone?
Happiness, Steph loves train trips...
The road back to Licata. We stopped to pick prickly pears and nearly got caught by the farmer's kids.