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Erice
I really liked Trapani, where few tourists go, but I didn't love Erice, as most tourists do. It is the tiny and ancient town at the top of the mountain that overlooks Trapani. I'd like to say that the best thing about Erice (pronounced Eh-ree-chay) is the view that it offers of Trapani, but I know that is tourist heresy. Still, from the top of that mountain you get the full scope of the city's crescent shape, surrounded by the spectacularly blue sea. The view makes it clear why the ancient Greeks thought Trapni was Demeter's lost scythe (see Maven's Diary item of September 19).
Actually, Erice begins on the same sea-level plain as Trapani. You really can't tell where one town ends and the other begins. Via Fardella, Trapani's major modern avenue, starts in the middle of the city and ends where Erice begins. I forget what it is called once it's in Erice. It doesn't matter. The picturesque Erice that everyone goes to is the old town. There are several ways to get there. You can drive up the mountian if you have a car. You can go by tour bus if you are on a tour. You can hire a taxi. We thought it would be fun, not to mention budget-wise, to go by the newly installed cable car, which costs about $3, and which you can get to very easily by a public bus that costs about $1.25. Of course, we went on Monday morning when the cable car doesn't run. And, of course, no one with whom we discussed our travel plan seemed to know that. So we got to the cable car and had to call a cab --Leonardo to the rescue ... he'd saved us before -- or not get to Erice that morning. It cost $45 to get up the mountain. It took about 15 minutes.
I went to Erice because everyone who comes to this part of Sicily goes to Erice and, like everyone else, I had to see this famous place for myself. In any case, I'll go to just about anywhere I haven't been. I had a work agenda, too. I wanted to visit with Maria Grammatico, a famous baker. Her story was written by Mary Taylor Simeti in a book titled "Bitter Almonds." In short, Maria was raised by nuns who taught her how to make the pastries by which they earned their living. Now she earns her living this way, and she has become the number one attraction in Erice. I have to say she was very kind and generous to me. We had a nice talk. I indulged in some of her wonderful pastries, too. But – literally – busloads of tourists pack her small shop every 20 minutes, and she puts on a show. She's a lively woman to start, but when I turned my video camera on her, she mugged like Carol Burnet. She did the same when the tourists arrived. When they leave, she retreats to a rear balcony near the bathroom and smokes. That's where we talked.
To her great credit, she has kept the quality of her pastries very high, which with her fame and her unknowing customer base she doesn't really have to do. Like most Sicilian pastries, they are based on almond paste, pistachio paste, and ricotta cream. But who's complaining? If I wasn't trying to reduce, I would have eaten one of everything in sight. As it is, I couldn't stop "tasting" her Genovese, which has nothing at all to do with Genoa, the northern Italian city. Indeed, it is yet another one of the Italian foods with a place name that has nothing to do with the place. Another example would be Eggplant Parmigiana, which is not at all a dish of Parma. Genovese Ericine look like three-inch round, sugar-dusted ravioli, but they are made with very thinly rolled short pastry enclosing velvety, eggy pastry cream. I tried several while in Trapani-Erice, but only Maria's were worth the calories. The pastry was as delicate as could be and the pastry cream, which was only lightly sweet while most are teeth-tinglingly sugared, had no sense of starch, although I know it can't be made with eggs alone.
Erice certainly has plenty of atmosphere. It's a windy place, often in the clouds, so it is humid, too. As a result, the heavily carved stone decorations on its buildings are so wind-swept and weather-beaten they've lost their details. The town has a faded mystery about it. The streets are narrow and paved with glossy, well-worn stone in a checkered pattern, difficult to walk on but beautiful. Still, I felt somewhat claustrophobic up there, and I really have problems with places that are strictly for the tourists. Because I walked a little off the usual course, I could see that some normal people lived there, but most of those narrow streets are lined with trinket shops, mostly truly horrible goods, everything plastered with the word "Erice," even otherwise nice pottery. Plus, another downer that colored my experience, was that the restaurant I wanted to go to was closed. But it was the only day I could go. There are several snack shops and a couple of tavole calde (steam table restaurants) where the busloads of tourists eat outside on the picturesque streets, but that wasn't for me. Dieting has made me even more particular than usual. No deep-fried treats or baked pasta for me. I ended up eating at a very nice looking place with a very good reputation but with seriously mediocre food. It was a good diet day. I was able to leave most everything over.
