Walking Across and Driving Around Sicily

Sicily. Just the name conjures up images of crumbling ruins, mountains, vineyards, quaint villages, unique cuisine, the White Lotus TV series, and the Mafia. It has been on our bucket list for years, and we thought walking 100 miles across it would be easier at our ages than 500 miles of the Camino de Santiago was three years ago. We were wrong.

We started in Palermo, NW on map and trekked due south,
to Agrigento, on the SW coast. Then drove to Ragusa,
Syracuse, Catania, Cefalu, Trapani, then back to Palermo

Walking Across Sicily

Our trek started in Palermo, a chaotic blend of medieval lanes, Baroque churches, street vendors, upscale restaurants, and refugees trying to make a place in their new home. It’s also the birthplace of the Mafia, or Cosa Nostra, as well as where the Mafia was mostly subdued in the 1990s and 2000s.

This was the wrong path—Again!

We bought trekking poles and trail provisions and started off. We used a company called Slow Ways to book our accommodations, transport our bags, and provide an app with maps and support. During the afternoons we listened to Jamie McKay’s excellent The Invention of Sicily, a Mediterranean History on Audible. We wished we had read it before we got here, and we highly recommend it, even if you never plan to go here.

It turned out to be tougher and more remote than we had imagined. Day One was supposed to be 16.5 miles but stretched to 20 thanks to poor so-called trails that were sometimes tractor tracks in tall grass, thistles, or cow paths. Also, our app didn’t always work, especially the “off trail” alarm. There were no villages along the way, and toward the end we ran out of snacks and water. 

Fortunately the streams were easy to ford.

The final push was a 17% uphill slog into Corleone, a town known as the fictional home of the Godfather. It’s a sleepy hillside town with stunning views and preparations for a festival we wish we could have stayed to enjoy. While Kathy was fast asleep upstairs at 9:30 and I was finishing dinner, I enjoyed a loud multigenerational family materialize for a Friday night dinner.

Day Two wasn’t much better, turning out to be 17, rather than 12 miles for the same reasons. But the hilltop village of Prizzi was worth the effort, so much that we

Prizzi was behind the ridge in the upper right.

decided to stay there for the day and just take the luggage van to our next destination. We enjoyed English-speaking Guissippe, an electronics engineer in Milan, home on holiday to help at his family’s restaurant. Like so many others, he had to go north to find work. Sicily has a huge depopulation problem, and all the deserted homes and buildings we passed along the way attest to it. Fortunately, according to several sources we consulted, the refugees are starting to invigorate the island. 

The remaining days got easier with less mileage and a village en route for coffee, 

Sutera Village, where immigrant enrollments
are helping to keep the school open

beer, and lunch. This was no Camino de Santiago, with its regular villages, culture, hostels, cathedrals, and convivial pilgrims. It was remote, rugged, and lonely, especially with so many deserted or dilapidated buildings we passed.

We wouldn’t do it again, not even for the first time. But at least it was very beautiful, and we got to experience a side of Sicily that few visitors do. It gave us both a sense of pride and gratitude that we can still do this kind of thing, but it was also a reminder that we’re getting older.

Driving Around Sicily—An Even Bigger Adventure!

The amazing Greek ruins are thought to be the
best preserved anywhere. Later the Romans
converted them to their own temples.
Built 5th Century BCE by 7,000 slaves

After two days in Agrigento for laundry and touring ruins, we squeezed ourselves and our carry-on bags into our rental “Clown Car,” a tiny six-speed manual Fiat 500. We felt excited that we were embarking on an even bigger adventure than the trek. Kathy, my amazing navigator, didn’t have control of the car and thus had more stress than me. Google Maps often sent us on crazy so-called shortcuts and was often about five seconds too late to announce a turn. The country roads were a rollercoaster of potholes, sharp curves, tailgating drivers, suicidal motorcyclists, and steep grades. Lane lines, traffic signs, and speed limits were merely suggestions. We got “off trail” more than on our trek.

The villages were even worse. In a few tight spots we folded in the side mirrors, and Kathy directed me out. No wonder so many of the cars here are severely dented, scratched, or with dangling side mirrors. We’re so glad we didn’t take the free upgrade to a larger model!

Small photo for a small car. 

For me, I eventually got into the zen of it, totally engaged, constantly working the gears, obeying Kathy’s directions, and driving like an Italian by asserting our right of way in roundabouts and intersections, using the horn, but not tailgating or passing on blind curves.

But most of the time, the countryside was beautiful. We loved the freedom to go where we wanted, change plans on a whim, or pull over for a photo at a rare wide spot. The Clown Car was a manual hybrid, and we got 60-70 mpg, but we paid much more for parking.

Food and Wine, of Course!

Spaghetti with fresh mussels and a delicate
tomato-parsley-seafood broth.Most dishes had
only three seasoning ingredients.

No blog about Sicily is complete without mentioning the food and wine. In fact, they are reasons in themselves to go here. We quickly tired of Sicily’s signature arancini, a fried rice ball filled with diced vegetables, meat, or seafood, as we’re not into deep fat fried food of any cuisine. But we loved the pasta, fresh seafood, pizzas, and gelatos. When not on the road, we settled into a routine of a BIG late lunch, and then a “small” pizza in the evening, sometimes in our apartment. And of course, nice wines, often cheaper than soft drinks. You can see a few food and pizza photos here.

Churched Out!

Some of the churches here originally started out as pagan altars, then morphed into Greek temples, then Roman temples. Then the Normans came and converted them into churches. Then the Muslims came and converted them into mosques. Then they became churches again. Quite often the building materials were repurposed from religion to the next. The big earthquake in1693 leveled many of them, but often the bones of the Roman temples remained.

The spectacular Monreale Cathedral,
built 1174-89, has several tons of gold
in its decorations, and is a fusion of
Arab, Byzantine,and Norman styles. 

They were rebuilt in Baroque style with a vengeance. So after awhile, one church starts to look like the next, except for the occasional outliers. Many of them have Arabic influences. The small towns have a church for every sin, and the larger ones have a church for every sin in of all the world’s major religions. 

Special Sicilian Moments

The ruins, monuments, cathedrals, and beautiful countryside were amazing. However, like any other country we visit, we enjoy our encounters with the locals the most. We just wish we had learned more Italian before we arrived. But thank you, Google Translate and to the warm-hearted Sicilians trying to communicate with us. Besides the many waiters, shopkeepers, baristas, and Italian tourists we met, here are a few memories of people we will cherish:

·      On the second day of our trek, an elderly farmer on his way to the market gave us some of his fresh fava beans. “How are we going to cook them,” we wondered. They tasted good raw.

·      Guissippe, mentioned above in the village of Prizzi.

Guissippe in Prizzi

·      In Sutera, a 70-year-old woman we met in a bar who left at the age of 12 when her family migrated to Germany to find work. She comes back every year to sell the family home, but no takers, not even for 5 euros!

·      Being in a small pizza joint in Agrigento that erupted in cheers when the TV monitor showed white smoke emerging from the Vatican.

·      Valeria, our BnB host in Syracuse. A mother of two young children, she met her husband in a cave. They were both paleontologists at the time. She talked about life as a young family in Syracuse and tried to give me Italian lessons.

Valeria in Syracuse

·      Getting nudged by a crowd surge into a marching band at a festival. I got in step and fulfilled a lifelong dream to be in a marching band. 

·      An older couple having a special Sunday lunch in the resort town of Cefalu. They couldn’t speak English, but wanted to know about us, and before long we were exchanging children and grandchildren photos.

·      In Trapani, a fun haircut with Abdullah and his patrons patiently waiting their turns. He came from Nigeria on a refugee boat a few years ago.

He seemed to be the mayor of this town, as everybody greeted him as they walked by.

We loved this place!

From beautiful beaches to Mt. Etna; from quaint villages to bustling small cities; from Greek and Roman ruins to modern art galleries; from unique wines to fresh seafood, Sicily has it all. It has more layers of history than a thick lasagna.  Its known history is older than Europe’s, later shaped by Europe, and now trying to catch up with it. It’s not quite Italian, not quite North African. It’s Sicily!

You can see different photos on this link that narrate our three-week adventure even better. They are mostly in chronological order and best enjoyed on something larger than a phone screen. You can find an almost daily commentary on my public Facebook page.

“What We Can, While We Can”

“What We Could, While We Could”

 

Mt. Etna

Making News in Northern Malaysia as We Revisited Our Past

It was much easier crossing the Thai/Malaysia
Border with just our Peace Corps ID in 1979

When we left Malaysia in September of 1980, we had no desire to return.  We had worked there as Peace Corps volunteers in Perlis, the northern most and smallest state, for over two years and gave it our all. We both liked and disliked our job in rural health and economic development. 

Perlis on the Thai border

And the same could be said for Malaysia. The extreme heat and humidity, the bugs, bureaucracy, language barriers, our lack of privacy and productivity, government policies toward ethnic Chinese and Indians, and rising Islamism started to wear us down. We didn’t sign up for an optional third year, but we went out on top with good feelings and accolades by our neighbors, colleagues, the governor, and the local rajah (sultan), and yes, Malaysia still has six of them.

So after three months of travel through Burma and India, we booted up our lives 2.0 back in the States. We started a business, raised a family, hosted exchange students, and immersed ourselves in the community of Salem, Oregon. When we became empty nesters, we started traveling with a vengeance, all over the USA and the world.

Our house in Kg Santan. Rent was $40 per month

Eventually, curiosity and Google Earth maps of Perlis got the best of us. McDonalds? 7-11s? KFCs? New Hospitals? Three universities? New parks and tourist attractions? Ten story hotels and office buildings? Shopping malls? A major reservoir? Two and three lane paved roads?  Laundromats and car washes? And where was our home in the village? So when we were looking for “neighboring”places to visit after our Bhutan trip, we decided, “Why Not?”

At first we were apprehensive. Like any favorite wilderness campsite or childhood hometown, we held a nostalgic view of Kampong Santan (our village), its people and environs, and even our old rundown office building in the capital city of Kangar. Will the people and places we knew still be there? We wouldn’t know until the morning after we arrived, and arriving is a story in itself.

Getting There

We flew from Chaing Mai, Thailand to Hat Yai, then took a 50-minute taxi ride from the airport to the border.  It just seemed too easy, until it wasn’t. The border was not set up for pedestrians, only for a daily train, tour busses and returning minivans of Malaysian shoppers. 

Familiar landmarks we could recognize in the dark

Eventually we were directed to an office, not an immigration podium. The Thai official had us sit at his paper-strewn desk as he carefully reviewed our passports. He eventually stamped them, pointed out the window and said “Malaysia down road.” Well, the curved road was about a 1/2 mile of barbed wire frontier to the Malaysian check point, and it was almost dark. 

I think they were both money changers. But through our rusty Malay (it’s MUCH better now), they called a friend in a nearby town to come and take us through the frontier, Malaysian immigration, an ATM, and to our hotel in Kangar, 45 minutes away. Turns out, he knew our former boss! He detoured briefly in a nearby village to pick up his wife and young son, because they wanted to have a meal in “the big city.” 

A very happy reunion over great food.

We finally met our Malaysian Chinese friend Moee Choo, who we had known back in the day, when she was a 24-year old administrative assistant and wife to a Canadian World Bank employee we had met at the raja’s birthday dinner. Now widowed, she drove up from Penang, and it was like we saw each other just last week. 

Surprises, Good and Sad

A former neighbor in a colorful
Sarong and kebeya

Our biggest shocks were two-fold:  1) all the new roads, buildings, and vehicles we had seen on Google Earth actually exist at “street level” (the good) and 2) all the Malay women and often very young girls wearing head scarves and frumpy black gowns (the sad). They used to wear colorful batik sarongs and flattering kebayas (blouses), but Perlis and Malaysia in general have become more religiously conservative. You can see some examples of how they used to colorfully dress in the photo link below.

Our old office building, now substantially upgraded.
We worked there mornings, then rode our Honda 70
To the villages in the hot afternoon.

Our old office area was closed, because it was Sunday. Forty-five years ago, Thursday afternoons and Fridays were the weekends. And because the retirement age for government workers is 58, we moved on as even the younger ones we knew are long gone.

Homecoming

We drove around, and the only really familiar landmarks were the geological limestone formations. Everything else was new, big, and disorienting—but impressive. We had difficulty finding our former kampong. But, armed with some photos we had printed out at home, we spotted the shape of the top of our kampong’s renovated mosque and entered on the now paved lane.

Where our old house was

Our old teakwood home was long gone as its termites and ants keeping it together stopped holding hands. But within minutes, people materialized, some our age, most younger.  They all remembered us—especially those who were teenagers at the time—but we struggled to remember them. 

Younger relatives of our landlords

All of the older people are long gone. We were invited in for tea and shared more photos. It was like we had never left; very fun and heartwarming. Our Malay came back quickly. Some of their children now live in either the US, the UK, or Australia, and get periodic visits from their Kg. Santan parents.

Making News

The kampong has a Facebook group page, dedicated to memories. It has 968 members, many who are scattered about Malaysia and elsewhere. The next thing we knew we were all over it with a few of the photos we gave them. 

Censored photo

We later added more of our digital photos, and so far there are over 500 likes plus many comments. They are having a blast trying to identify their younger selves or deceased aunts and uncles. However, one photo of Kathy cooking in the kitchen with her shoulders exposed was deleted!

A framed photo of us a neighbor
Had kept!

The Kampong’s Facebook memories group

The local newspaper picked up on our visit, and here’s the link. We  were the most interesting thing to happen to Kampong Santan back then, and today. In  fact, we were the only orang putihs (white people) we saw in two days throughout the state. Everyone wanted to know where we were from and why we could speak Malay. All were friendly and impressed that we paid for purchases and accepted change with our right hand supported at the wrist by the left hand (it’s still a habit with us).

It says “From America to Kampung Santan: Nostalgia 44
Years Ron and Kathy (Yes, Malay is a simple language!)

Economic Success

As we drove around, we were impressed by all the development that has occurred over the past 45 years. It was much cleaner, and we didn’t see poverty like before. Perlis is no longer the rustic pre-internet, pre-smartphone state it used to be.  But hey, that’s more than okay, and we are happy for the state and its denizens.  That’s what economic development is all about, although it does come with more sprawl, vehicles, traffic, and pollution. Were it not for the treacherous concrete open storm sewers and lack of sidewalks, I’d rate it almost a first world country.

Shuttered downtown Kangar. On street parking
Was eliminated so vehicles can blow through.

Unfortunately, the suburban air conditioned shopping centers of Perlis have had a detrimental effect on Main Street Kangar, just like they do on Main Street, USA. As we paid a visit to Albert Wong, a goldsmith we knew with a shop downtown, more than half of the shops and businesses were closed and for sale.

Penang 

Penang island, two hours south, is a boom town.  We used to take the ferry from Butterworth and enjoyed the quaint colonial architecture, and Chinese and South Indian vibe. It was our place for R&R and privacy. (Check out our before-and-after photos of the Swiss Hotel where we stayed for $2 per night). It now has two four-lane bridges and jaw-dropping residential high rises with many more under construction—at the expense of unique colonial and Chinese homes.

While there, one of the former teenagers from Kampong Santan reached out to us and we had coffee at a large shopping mall. He said we had inspired him to travel abroad, and he did.  He got his PhD in automotive design in the UK and just retired as a professor at Malaysia’s Technology University.  He showed up with his second wife, a PhD in textile design.  

Dr. Mohamad Hariri and Dr. Irma

It was a delightful conversation though we had trouble overlooking the younger second wife thing. The three of them get along well and it was fun visiting with them.

So Worth The Trip!

We are glad we came, if nothing else for the fabulous and cheap food. If we hadn’t, we would always have wondered how Malaysia—and Perlis in particular—changed.  We got to experience it before it was even at a crossroad, let alone in one.

At Kg. Santan

Our visit reminded us of our early marriage days and all we liked and disliked about Malaysia.  We had forgotten just how hot it gets here, even though there is much more air conditioning now than  back then.                                                                                   

Above all, it was so fun going down memory lane and reconnecting with  Moee Choo, our wonderful host, Penang guide, and friend from so long ago. It has been so fun learning about growing up in a poor Chinese family of 11 in Malaysia shortly after its independence from the British, getting through the 1965 race riots, and going through recent widowhood.

Bhutan—Our Happy Place

It is both luck and a privilege to travel to a country at its crossroads. We got to experience Nepal in 1977, Bali in 1979, and Thailand and India in 1980 before they went through massive transformations and became hot tourist destinations. 

We can now add Bhutan to the list—and declare it as perhaps the most favorite country we’ve ever visited out of about 46.

At the giant Buddha Point above Thimphu

Flying in from Kathmandu to Paro is quite an experience, both for the Himalayan mountain scenery and the dicey landing in Paro.  Only 50 pilots worldwide are certified to fly in and out of there.

The Paro airport from road to our hotel

A video clip of our landing in the narrow valley with a short runway is in the photo link below.  All that tension melted away when the immigration officer asked me “How was your flight?” She promptly stamped my passport, smiled, then said, “Enjoy Bhutan, Mr. Ronald.”

We were in a cohesive 11-person Road Scholar tour group for two weeks with Tim, our charismatic and humorous 38-year old Bhutanese guide, and Sonam, our skillful 20-passenger minibus driver.

Tishim (Tim) our guide

The amazing Sonnam

It often took six hours to cover 100 miles crossing several passes on narrow rough roads. But the time passed quickly through the beautiful mountains and serene valleys while Tim regaled us Bhutanese history and culture, and with stories of his youth as Bhutan was entering the modern world.  

Our two-week route, out and back.  The house icons are where we stayed for 2-3 nights. The knife and fork symbols in the upper left were the Tiger’s Nest near Paro, where we landed, departed, and stayed two nights.

A stupa and prayer flags

Countless Buddhist temples, stupas, shrines, monasteries, and prayer flags dotted the verdant countryside. Tim, a devout Buddhist, explained its belief system and demonstrated rituals as we entered holy places. “To understand Bhutan,” he said, “you have to understand Buddhism.”  He’s right, and I still don’t fully understand either.

Bhutan is so friendly and mellow! The people are reserved and polite. Drivers cooperate and don’t honk. Everyone aged 10-40 is fluent in English, and many older than that can also understand and speak it.

Friendly girls at a festival wanting to talk with us

It is relativity clean and litter free. Although we saw signs of new wealth, it wasn’t ostentatious, and we didn’t see the income gaps and poverty we recently saw in Nepal or Thailand. Or in the USA.  Beyond its mellow vibe, we got a sense of Bhutan’s cohesion, strong Buddhist faith, and national pride.  However, that comes with the price tag of conformity and sameness.

On our way back from a hike on Hwy #1,
The main road going east to west

Instead of GDP (gross national product) as a measurement of progress, Bhutan pioneered the GNH (gross national happiness) metric. We attended a lecture on the topic on how it is measured through surveys. It IS a happy place, and it was certainly our happy place in the two weeks leading up to the US elections.

Dochola Pass, elevation 10,000+ 
The Himalayas in the backkground

While Kathy and were playing cribbage in the small restaurant of our guest house in Bumthang, the Prime Minister came in and briefly chatted with us.  He wanted to know if Oregon was a blue state and if we had voted yet. He was very intrigued with our vote by mail system. Later the Home Minister came by. He was in Portland two years ago for a forestry conference.

Tourism is the second highest source of income (hydropower is first). Bhutan can go the path of many popular destinations that have become overbuilt and overrun with culturally insensitive tourists, party seekers, bargain hunters, and runaway development.  But I don’t think it will.

First, geography. It took us 23 hours of flight time, plus long layovers to get there. The narrow valleys and steep mountains prohibit jumbo jets. The nearest cruise port is Kolkata, 18 hours away by bus on torturous roads.  

The landlocked mountain kingdom of Bhutan

The altitude of Thimphu, the capital city in the center of the country is 8400 feet, but many of the sites and hikes are at higher elevations. It takes forever to get anywhere. We got farther east than 90% of most tourists do, but it took one week at a leisurely pace and we barely got past central Bhutan.  And by the way, our 20-passenger bus was the largest that the sometimes one-lane roads can accommodate. And we had to constantly make way for cows and dogs.

We each got a window, and turns to ride “shotgun”

Second, policy. Bhutan requires all visitors to either be on an organized trip or with private guides, which supports the travel industry in a labor-intensive way, promotes Bhutanese culture, and helps enforce temple etiquette.  And it discourages one from lying around the pool in the cool weather. Visitors must pay $250 per day to the tour operators/guide, but almost all charge more. The government takes $100 of that and applies it to health and education, some of which goes to traditional art training. Unlike Nepal, mountaineering isn’t allowed as the peaks are sacred places, home to gods and spirits.  Trekking, however is encouraged and abundant.

New hotel or apt. Under way in Thimphu
Note the bamboo scaffolding

Geography and policies aside, we saw a tremendous amount of new hotel construction underway.  Fortunately, all construction has to generally conform to traditional Bhutanese architecture and design. This supports local artisans that the government helped train. However, we were there at peak season, yet some of our hotels were only partially occupied. Is there a real estate bust in the making? Will the government loosen its policies to help fill them in the future? 

Bhutan isn’t for everyone. There are no bar scenes, beaches, or tobacco sales. But for uniqueness, culture, and beauty, this was our happy place and the trip of a lifetime that went by too quickly.  

What’s not to like?  Just two things:  the forgettable food and the feral dogs that barked all night long. (We made up for the food and the lack of sleep in noisy Thailand.)

We took a LOT of photos, but here a link to but a few that can give you a feel for Bhutan more than the above words. They are best viewed on something larger than a phone. About five photos and our route map were taken by fellow travelers, and all of our photos cannot convey the fun spirit of our group and the beautiful interiors of on the insides of the Dzongs (temples). Some rival that of European cathedrals.  My favorite photo/vido is at the end. Enjoy!

“What We Can, While We Can”

“What We Could, While We Could”

PS:  Bhutan update:

About the time this blog was published, CBS 60 Minutes aired a segment on Bhutan.  Very interesting, especially as it talks about its brain drain and the king’s efforts to create a “Mindfulness City” near the southern border to bring the educated young back home.  Here’s the link.

View from our room in Punakha

Tiger’s Nest view point, elevation 

10,240 feet