We’ve done a bit of napping since Nannette arrived. She has been jet-lagged and I was sleep-deprived from late nights socializing and early morning habitual rising. Seems to be a pattern that I can’t easily break.
But we’ve done our share of exploring, too. One day we wandered through Centro
Storico. Since that is my favorite spot in Scalea, I’m always anxious to share it. Nan was fascinated by the antiquity and we snapped a lot of photos.
And we had a wonderful meal at Pizzac’ando Trattoria. It was one of the 16-different-dish meals including due paste and a dolce. (If I remember correctly, that did not include wine and the local Cedro
which is offered as an after-dinner drink.
On Saturday we headed for Diamante. It’s a charming beach town which is known for the paintings and murals on the houses in the old town. The art is beautiful and fascinating…from anti-war messages to zen-like paintings of trees and starlit nights. Nannette spotted one that had the madonna the baby Jesus, both with cell phones by their ears.
Market day is Saturday there, too. That was an added perk for taking the bus south. As we were walking toward the market I spotted an oleandar bush that had spectacular pink rose-like blooms. These smelled very sweet and I picked a blossom and handed it to Nan. “Non, Non,” said a woman who was behind us.
Essentially she told us that we shouldn’t pick them, smell them, or even touch them. Luckily I had thrown in a couple of hand-wipes which we used to wash our hands and noses. I’m not sure that it is all THAT dangerous, but why take chances? I looked it up on the internet. Sure enough, don’t touch, smell, etc.
We do wonder, though, why these blossoms are lining every sidewalk in Scalea and Diamante.
It’s quite a trek back to the bus stop along the highway from Diamante. We found the right place and were finding as much shade as possible when about 10 women came toward the shelter. They were chatting and laughing and eventually engaged us in conversation. I (luckily) introduced Nan as la mia nuora. THey were so impressed by my correct use of the possessive pronoun that they were sure (unluckily) that I knew how to speak Italian. They continued to talk a mile a minute as we waited for an extra 40 minutes for a bus that wasn’t on schedule.
One of the most dramatic events of this trip is without photo documentation. This little icon of the weather in Scalea doesn’t really tell the story of what happened in the wee hours of the morning.