It’s a quiet, low-traffic morning in the ancient hill town of Ragusa in southeastern Sicily, Italy, a noted UNESCO World Heritage Site. I’m trudging, ever upward, on Corso Italia to the neighborhood butcher. The salmon-hued Palazzo Bertini and the sober-looking Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist, both UNESCO listed buildings, dot the way.
To help pass the time, I silently rehearse my meat order in my meager Italian. Pollo and maiale (chicken and pork), si. Cavallo (horse meat, a local specialty), no.
Suddenly, an errant black and white football (soccer ball in the United States) careens past me down the paved hill. The ball’s speedy, unimpeded descent is the complete reversal of my measured, huff-and-puff climb.
Seconds later, an obviously fit man hurtles after the ball in hot pursuit. A look of determination plays on his handsome face. His stride is even, graceful. I turn and watch him continue his quest, the football still teasingly yards ahead.
Frankly, my money (euros) is on the ball scoring a successful getaway. Perhaps it will add to the drama by veering into a side street and dropping into oblivion in the gorge below. I wonder if the chaser, despite his valiant effort, has resigned himself to that possible outcome, too.
This impromptu hilly moment, where man, football, and I cross paths going in opposite directions, serves as a metaphor for my visit. This scene encapsulates the perpetual up-down-down-up effort Ragusans and travelers like me expend as we conduct our daily activities.
A divided Ragusa
Ragusa is a city divided. It’s split into two parts, which are physically and geographically separated. Each half is distinctly different in appearance and identity from the other.
Ragusa Superiore, the site of my runaway football epiphany, is the upper town, set atop a sprawling hill. Called the newer, modern city, it’s laid out largely in a standard grid pattern with wide, linear streets. Concentrated here is Ragusa’s primary commercial district, comprising all manner of shops, restaurants, cafes, theaters, offices, services, professional offices, and high-density residences. Some of its building facades look rather worn and brittle, in need of maintenance and repairs.
On the other hand, Ragusa Ibla, the lower town, is the historic city center. It lies further down the ravine on a sloping, lower ridge. It’s loaded with historic charm and architectural character. It feels more touristed than its counterpart.
Ibla features the imposing and elegant San Giorgio Cathedral, with its prominent dome, a maze of narrow lanes and alleyways, and quaint homes of local limestone with wrought-iron balconies. Most of the 18 UNESCO buildings in Ragusa are in Ibla. Boutique shops and award-winning restaurants also stand out.
Iblean Garden, nestled at the foot of Ibla, is tranquil and picturesque. with meandering stone paths, brightly blooming bushes, and stunning views. This outdoor space looks and feels almost tropical, with its orderly allée of palm trees and a splashing circular fountain.
Nature strikes
A staffer in the small tourist center in Ragusa Superiore shares a brief history explaining the city’s, shall I say, quirky divide.
In 1693, a massive earthquake devasted southeastern Sicily in a region called Val de Noto. Fierce tremors flattened Ibla, the city’s original location.
After the earthquake, Ragusa’s nobles, who had owned the now-destroyed buildings in Ibla, decided to rebuild them in the grand Baroque style. The narrow, labyrinthian streets follow the old medieval layout, curving, twisting, intersecting, and joining up at airy plazas before resuming their winding ways.
Ragusans didn’t just rebuild Ibla, however. A new area, Ragusa Superiore, also emerged eventually, with wide streets and squares.
My Airbnb rental apartment straddles the hillside in Ragusa Superiore. The clear, unobstructed view from the second-floor balcony faces Ragusa Ibla head on. I stare at it daily, both morning and night.
The broad panorama of the surrounding countryside also is stunning – hilly (that’s a given), and densely green with hulking, pale limestone outcroppings.
The breeze, often of blow-your-hat-off strength, is constant. One day, lusty sirocco winds from the Sahara Desert in Africa sweep through the area. The bold breeze deposits fine particles of sand everywhere, obscuring my Ibla backdrop in a sepia-toned haze.
City of old stone stairways
They say all roads lead to Rome. In Ragusa, all stairsteps lead to Ibla.
An extensive winding stone staircase with breakaway alleys, all open-air, connect the districts of Ragusa Superiore and Ragusa Ibla, as do three bridges.
Stairways (scala in Italian) of varying lengths are prominent throughout Ragusa’s urban landscape. Their presence is celebrated.
For instance, an entry point into Ragusa Superiore leads up Via Scale (Stairs Street). The Church of Santa Maria Delle Scale (Saint Mary of the Steps), which clings to the walls of the gorge, is one of the oldest of the more than 50 churches in the city. It even contains traces of pre-earthquake construction.
The small plaza before the church is a noted, welcome stop for weary, pulse-racing climbers from Ibla to Superiore. While they congregate and catch their collective breaths, they drink in the glorious vista of Ibla blending into the horizon.
Literal stair climbing, not the machine version found in gyms, becomes my regular workout in Ragusa. I ascend and descend its multitude of undulating and interconnecting cobbled stones to get from here to there. Most of them are carved with deep-set risers that further challenge my progress. I must tread 40-plus steps outside my front door just to reach the nearest street.
I decide to count the steps the day I tackle those from the lower base of Superiore to the entry into Ragusa Ibla.
However, I soon lose count, distracted by the storied setting. I’ve heard differing numbers for the total number of steps, but I believe it’s around 340. Some sections fork. I’m unsure how to count them as I venture to check out sites of interest situated off the main route, then double back.
Mealtimes in Ragusa
Despite my knees, sensitive from years of running, my walks around town are invigorating. The heightened activity is helping to balance my eating, which is heavy in meat, pizza, bread, pasta, cheese, and occasional fish. Raw meat and raw fish options are always available, but I scrupulously avoid them.
I’m not sure why, but vegetable dishes are harder to come by on restaurant menus; although, I’m enjoying several versions of Sicilian caponata. This vegetarian classic is a savory mix of eggplant, capers, red bell peppers, onions, tomatoes, olives, celery, and vinegar. Honey adds a little sweetness.
Happily, produce is more available in small markets. While roaming in the countryside, I’ve seen panel and pickup trucks, laden with gorgeous produce, pulled off the road and parked on the shoulder as temporary roadside stands.
Sweets are a big deal in Sicily, consumed throughout the day. Caffé Italia in cathedral square of Ragusa Superiore is one such community gathering place of locals and travelers alike, who observe the anytime custom involving gelato, pastries, and conversation.
Modica, the chocolate capital
Speaking of sweets, the medieval city of Modica, a 20-minute drive south of Ragusa, is the holy grail of Sicilian chocolate. Like Ragusa, the 1693 earthquake razed Modica to the ground. It also was rebuilt in Baroque style. In addition, it’s a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
When the island of Sicily was a Spanish possession in the 1500s, they introduced cocoa beans. Spaniards also brought the metate. Commonly used in Mesoamerican cultures for food preparation, a metate is a slightly curved, hollowed-out rough stone for grinding down the beans and turning them into paste, accomplished with the aid of a hand-held stone.
Chocolate history at Antica Dolceria Bonajuto
I head to Antica Dolceria Bonajuto, Modica’s oldest chocolate manufacturer since 1880. This dolceria, or confectionary workshop, has occupied the same building since its founding. I almost miss it altogether, as it’s discretely tucked away in a lush alley.
I enter a jewel box-like space lined with glass-fronted wooden cabinets filled with the company’s curios and memorabilia. A sweet, wafting chocolate scent draws me to the counter. Chocolate morsels clustered on a petite tray await my sampling. Behind is a wall of colorfully wrapped bars aligned in orderly precision and in an infinity of flavors.
Unlike the smooth, rich chocolates I’ve sampled in Paris, Brussels, and other European chocolate capitals, Modica’s has unexpected texture. It’s actually grainy and a bit crumbly, thanks to the same cold process favored by the ancient cultures that prevents sugar crystals from dissolving.
Which is to say, it’s delicious.
So, too, are the house made mini, two-bite cannoli. When ordered, the kitchen fills empty shells on the spot with fluffy, barely sweetened ricotta, and tops them with a sprinkling of ground pistachios. My charge is to decide between as is or dusted with powdered sugar for extra garnish. I opt for fully loaded, and immediately devour them.
On the other hand, Modica’s Chocolate Museum is rather kitsch. I speed through rooms displaying hardened figurines – a teddy bear, Pinocchio, even 3-D sculptural maps of Italy and Sicily. They’re fashioned from now-inedible, solid dark chocolate. Who knows how long they’ve sat there. Years, I suspect, judging by their dry, matte appearance and musty chocolate smell.
Beachfront Ragusa
While Ragusa is up in the hills, nearby on lower ground I find Marina di Ragusa beach hugging the Mediterranean Sea.
My timing is off. The sky is overcast, and winds blow energetically. It’s still early spring and the kickoff of tourist season is at least six weeks away. Consequently, the boardwalk is essentially empty, and most amenities are still closed.
Several streets back, the main square shows signs of life with a smattering of pedestrians and a few open cafés.
Variis Cucina in Piazza, a small restaurant decorated in a fish motif, is a surprising setup. Outside, arranged like a mini farmers market, are tables lining the terrace’s perimeter and laden with baskets of brilliantly colored fresh produce. I hungrily inspect tomatoes, peppers, zucchini, artichokes, eggplants, lemons, and herbs. I’ve never seen a restaurant showcase its ingredients in such an artful, enticing way. I assume they’re also for sale.
Lured in, I lunch on a briny lobster pasta.
I leave fueled and eager to climb more hills and stairs.
