There’s a church half way down the Corso Umberto toward the circle in the centre of Modica. This church – Chiesa Madre di San Pietro – is not the most grand one in this beautiful town, which is difficult to fathom, due to its grandiosity. No, that prize goes to the Duomo di San Giorgio, up an impossibly steep back road that leads up one of the cliffs upon which most of the town of Modica precariously balance.
We pass the church, with its huge, wide steps watched by the twelve apostles who flank them, twice each time we go for an amble (which is often, there’s much to see): once on our way down the gentle slope and again on our way up. Each time it offers up a different view as the sun changes position and the huge blocks of stone from which it’s made change from rock-coloured to pink in the setting sun and then golden in the orange light of Mediterranean nights. The apostles, too, take on different looks as they watch frilly brides and their grooms posing for photos, exuding love; black-clad old Sicilian women clutching rosaries heading in to the ornate church to pray; and youngsters gathering on the steps to watch the town on their evening ramble.
The evening ramble was one of my (many) favourite things in Sicily. In fact, the whole lifestyle is. The Mediterranean countries just get it right. It’s hot in the middle of the day so they close up shop and head home for a siesta. Later, when its cooling (slightly), everything opens up again. Even later – because the sun only sets at about ten – families go out for their evening stroll and, often, dinner at a sidewalk Osteria. Friends stop and greet, discuss their days, pass the baby around to be cuddled and made to gurgle and laugh. It’s just so friendly.
Our amblings during the day and ramblings at night take us past – and into – ancient buildings that glow, huge doorways and tiny side alleys, music schools and town halls and gelateria, all wound around the aroma of one of Modica’s most famous things … chocolate.The original Aztec way of making chocolate was learnt in Modica during that occupation and it is the best I’ve ever come across (not forgetting that I’ve tasted plenty of chocolate in my time).
Hemingway’s, in the back alley behind the church, serves amazing aperitivo – which will get their own blog, they’re so wonderful – at sunset, while old men play chess watched by their teenage grandsons. At the end of the alley, the disciples from Chiesa San Pietro turn pink in the setting sun.
Later, as we amble home, we happen across the local orchestra practicing. Standing next to ancient buildings that are burnt orange in the evening light, the sky that blue that squelches my heart, we listen to a full orchestral soundtrack of an ABBA medley as we stand listening on a pavement worn smooth by hundreds of years of just such ambling. It is entirely surreal and wonderful.
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