Fishermen at Porto Piccolo
Siracusa welcomed me with the best night’s sleep since I left Melbourne. Nine hours of dreamless bliss. This is despite leaving the high wooden doors to my terrace open to the sounds of the night and, delightfully, to the sounds of the morning.
From my perch on the terrace, just room enough for a few potted plants, a chair and a tiny clothesline, I can look either side and see water. It’s so good to be near water again.
To my right is Porto Piccolo, 5 metres away, and I awoke to fishermen docking their dinghies. I was up and out the door, bright eyed and bushy tailed, down at the tiny dock by 6.30 am to see the catch.
To my left is Porto Grande, 50 metres away, hidden behind clustered palm trees but I can see masts moving and, on tiptoe, glimpse a flash of blue-on-blue. I know the sea is there. I feel it.
Let me show you Siracusa
and here’s where I’m staying.
I feel right at home here.
I spent yesterday (Friday) settling into my appartamento, using the last of my shampoo, thoroughly scrubbing my nails and getting stuck into five weeks of accumulated washing.
Ecco! My socks and tights are hanging from the balcony. I feel like a real Siciliana!
And now I’m off to the open-air Mercato for some cheese, fruit and bread and perhaps some fresh mussels, cozze.