Stone upon stone: an Italian sojourn: Closed shutters and salt lagoons

On an unexpectedly cold day, in what is turning into a relatively chilly week for Sicily, we visited Erice, which, at last, was in the sun; though a gentle wind blew down from the north and channelled enough chill into the medieval lanes to turn them, and all the stone walls there, into a refrigerator zone. It was 6°C cooler up the mountain than down in Trapani where it was only 12° or 13°C, but with the wind chill it felt near freezing. We had all our winter woolies on and wished we'd bought gloves and knitted ear muffs, as well.

Enroute to Erice we came across a family touring Sicily on cycles. They claimed the weather wasn't too cold for them on their travels and clearly it wasn't as we saw them pedalling along several more times that day. They must come from north of Norway to think that.

Still, the trip was wonderful. We initially wondered if the cable car up to Erice was operating, and popped into Trapani, found the car park, but as luck would have it this trip, the rig is closed for maintenance at this time. So, up we drove instead. The mountain climb, for a start, was an experience. On advice, we took the route via Valderice and the uphill climb only took about 15 minutes of glorious views and switchbacks to reach the top. The hire car has heaps of power and the road is well built with low-set stone walls on the drop side, which give a sense of security. But like many of these Italian roads you wonder how they ever were built in the first place.

And to think that the Elymians, so long ago, lived up here. How they negotiated the terrain is simply amazing: it is all rock and razor-shaved edges. How they even thought to have their folk live here is even more amazing. They must have worn fur in summer, I should think. Yet their strategic view would have been spectacular. On an excellent day they could have seen Mt Etna erupting in one direction, and any potential Selinunte foes attempting to reach harbour in the other. Though they would have had to have sent smoke signals over to Segesta to warn the inhabitants there, if that was their job, as they never could have made it down then uphill quickly enough to alert them in the event of an invasion. We parked at the Porte Trapani car park and still had a good climb up, through, and around the village.

Erice is another of those beautiful but 'dead' hill villages that are found all over Europe filled with closed churches, towers, and long lanes of terraced stone homes, fairly well maintained but most with their shutters closed.

And although there are 300 residents listed on the register most of them likely turn up only for the summer to operate their homes as guest houses or B&B's for the season, bringing in foreign uni students to man the cafes and restaurants that are needed then.

Today, if there were three venues open that would have been all. And they appeared to be being run by older folk and their families, who were doing a decent trade, despite the icy conditions. They served us wonderful hot home-made soup and toasted baguettes of ham, salami and cheese which was perfect for the conditions. My home-made roasted tomato soup was the best I have ever eaten, so incredibly sweet and thick, too. We rarely think to bother to make it these days, but we should, as it really is delicious.

Erice is probably one of the prettiest of the mountain villages on the island so its lovely old cobbles are well trodden. Today, we could see right down to the Custonaci Caves and to the waterfront where we picnicked yesterday. We were lucky with the sun shining on the mountain today, and not the low angry clouds of yesterday.

Our afternoon was spent back downhill at a dedicated marine nature reserve learning about the ancient salt pans, just south of Trapani, which produce some of the finest finishing salt in the world. All hand harvested by traditional methods.

The Phoenicians were the first to come here in their gorgeous round bottomed galleys manned by cannabis-chewing slaves with a single sail aloft. Over 2,500 years ago they were the entrepreneurs of the Mediterranean: the sea traders. They came west from parts over near Lebanon, looking for tin, oil, wine, slaves, amber, copper and minerals, bringing with them in exchange the beautiful sweet smelling logs of their home grown cedar so valuable as trade, and the royal red-purple dyed fabric they had learned to concoct that other settlements so prized.

For their meat they needed salt, filled with all its health bearing minerals. And, in this place, where the hot Sirocco blew up from Africa, the summer sun beat mercilessly and the salty sea waters along the coast were fresh and shallow--sea water and sun evaporation: exactly the ingredients needed to produce the salt that would preserve their meat for longer voyages as they were exploring and trading around the coast of Africa. They settled on a tiny island, Mozza, just off the coast of Trapania and over time expanded this west coast of Sicily into a thriving trading hub: the amazon.com of ancient times.

Today, salt is still cultivated and harvested in these picturesque beds. Ancient windmills bring water through the sluice gates into and out of the beds, refreshing it: growing the salt, allowing it to develop more intensity: the Curatolo, monitoring it, ever determining the perfect saline level at each stage of development.

Then, in summer, when the entire process has peaked and the last water pumped out, it is hand harvested: the prized finishing salt that is dry, light and expensive comes from the centre of the ponds; the bulk of it -- after the crisp salt crust has formed is cracked with a special shovel--then loaded into wheelbarrows, then on to a conveyor belt which drops it into small white pyramid piles on the docks, there to be covered by terracotta tiles for protection against the wind and weather. The Phoenicians collected it in cane baskets. How picturesque that would have been.

Such a lovely spot, and despite the chilly day, the sun occasionally shone out in patches and illuminated the lagoon for us. Just as we'd hoped.

Family from Europe holidaying here on their bicycles

Road to Erice via Valderice

Delightful climb to the church 'fort'

Beautiful but dead hill village, Erice

Chiesa Matrice, the Mother Church, with its mix of square blocky Norman and intricate woven Islamic architecture indicative of the mixed culture of Sicily