I slept in one of Don Arcangelo all’Olmo’s bedrooms, floating as if in a dream between Mount Etna and the Ionian Sea. Don Arcangelo all’ Olmo, or L’Olmo, as he is affectionately referred to, is actually a villa located near the town of Taormina on Sicily’s east coast. It’s been in the same family for generations (since the 1700s). The current owners opened their home to paying guests, when L’Olmo joined an exclusive club in The Thinking Traveller’s collection of 200 villas in Sicily, Puglia, and the Ionian and Sporades islands.
From the outside L’Olmo is unprepossessing, but once through the arched doorway, the smell of jasmine, the carefully honed lava stone paths, the sheltering pine trees laden with acorns, the billowing bougainvillea, the rose-covered lawns encircling the heated pool and the glistening stretch of sea beyond the hectares of lemon groves, all conspire to enchant, embrace and imbue a sense of history and hominess that I found to be rare. There are no telephones, no television, no invasive noise in my spacious suite, only soothing sounds: the calls of the courting doves, the whispers of soft breezes through the latticed windows, the chime of distant church bells and, on wakening on the first of my six mornings there, the rhythmical sound of sweeping, as Carmelo, the gardener, clears the ground of fruit and flowers that had fallen during the night.
“Tranquillo,” as the Italians say.
L’Olmo can accommodate 24 guests in the original Casale and the adjacent converted farmhouse. Each of the 12 bedrooms is unique and easily appeals to a variety of personal tastes. Throughout the villa quiet elegance and ageless beauty abound: art books, paintings, etchings and antique furniture adorn the general living and eating areas; vintage Kilim rugs soften the black lava floors, and cozy chairs placed by the grand fireplaces encourage a nod or two (somewhat induced by sipping Limoncello).
L’Olmo’s staff of six seamlessly and intuitively cater to the guests. The breakfast table set outdoors under the garlanded arbour, is laden with pots of rich coffee and boiled milk, razor-thin prosciutto, mounds of buffalo mozzarella and ricotta cheese, homemade yogurts, freshly squeezed citrus juices, Italian pastries and breads fresh from the kitchen or the village bakery down the road. Pistachio gelato for lunch? No problem. Homemade pasta with asparagus or spinach? Absolutely. Light-as-air risotto with artichokes and fresh grilled sardines for dinner? Bene. It is all presented with style: white gloves shining in the candlelight, serving from the left, removing from the right — a kind of Downton Abbey, Sicilian-style.
One afternoon I was invited into the kitchen for a lesson in tagliatelle making. Salvatore, the young and inventive chef, was patient with my attempt, but I knew, despite his expert help, that before I left Sicily I would purchase packages of pasta from an infinite variety of choices, to unleash their magic at home. Fact: Sicilian Arabs were the first to mass produce dried pasta. Fact: the culinary heritage of Sicilian Jews would become the root of much of Rome’s cuisine — fried artichoke, Carciofi Alla Giudia, just one savoury dish.
Although Goethe, the German writer, lies buried in the Protestant Cemetery in Rome, while he lived, his heart rested in Sicily where, for 40 days in 1787, he was guided through the country that captured his imagination. “Without Sicily, Italy creates no image in the soul,” he wrote. “Here is the key to everything.”
I heard that quote several times during my journey in Sicily, from proud Sicilians such as Catania-born Federica Musco, who sources and manages villas for The Thinking Traveller. Another “key,” she suggests, is her beloved Mount Etna. “Mother” Etna has reigned over the landscape long before Sicily was claimed by the Greeks, then the Romans, Arabs, Normans, Spanish and French, over its 2,500-year history. She is still the highest active volcano in Europe and her rumblings and lava outpourings created the fertile earth but yet, at any moment, could destroy it all in one angry outburst.
On the day our group ascended the lower slopes of Mount Etna, with the trekking company, EtnaFinder, we secretly hoped that this wouldn’t be that “moment.” In fact it turned out to be utterly fascinating as our guide, Lorenzo Motta, was thoroughly immersed in the science of volcanos and shared his love of lava and the variety of terrains it fosters.
Not far from Mount Etna, we visited another “Don” in The Thinking Traveller collection. Don Venerando’s interior designer created a subtle but rich palette of colors and textures by combining the finest linens, silks, furniture and ceramics in this five-bedroom, five-bathroom home with its massive pool parallel to the sea. The villa borders on one of the largest plant nurseries in Sicily.
As you can imagine, six days anywhere, can offer only the merest glimpse into the culture of a country, even on an island the size of Sicily. But its complex heritage is evident everywhere, from the Greek temples of Syracusa, birthplace of the mighty Archimedes; the nearby outdoor market of Syracusa’s “island heart” Ortigia, with its staggering choice of fruits and vegetables, fish and pasta, olive oils and honey; the Baroque wonder that is Noto, a city completely destroyed in the 1693 earthquake and rebuilt from scratch on a new site, about six miles from the old center; Taormina, often referred to as “The Pearl of the Mediterranean,” perched high above the sea, a tourist town for centuries with its medieval buildings, grand piazzas, winding streets and the jewel in its crown, the Greco-Roman amphitheater that was built in the 3rd century B.C. Plays by Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides and Aristophanes were performed there and then the Romans re-created that perfect space to thrill their crowds with blood-letting sports and circuses.
As part of the Thinking Traveller group, the professorial and patient Max Lane escorted us to all these places as well as tours of other villas, as diverse in design as their nearby towns. Crossing the Rock: all white and airy, like a massive sail overlooking the small fishing village of Santa Maria La Scala; La Limonaia in Pozzillo: a comfortably restored lava stone farmhouse surrounded by luxuriant gardens and lemon orchards; Sighilli: situated in the Vendicari Nature Reserve with 1,000 year old trees and overlooking salt pans where flamingos frolic; Casa Vera near Noto: Ultra-modern, streamlined perfection built high on a hill with 360-degree views; and last, but certainly not least, one of my favorites, Ortensia in Giarre: the lovely villa created by the renowned Milanese architect, Crispi, filled with the touches only a true artist can provide.
It was my last day at L’Olmo, Federica Musco and I were having lunch outdoors, when all of a sudden it started to rain, or so I thought. In fact it rained pure ash … ash from Mount Etna. Tiny granules of grit covered everything, the table cloth, my hair, the silver. It felt both wondrous and slightly ominous. I think Federica was amused at my reaction. A few moments later Salvo appeared balancing a silver tray on one hand and in the other carried an open umbrella. He valiantly tried to shelter our dessert from Etna’s, shall I say, belch. But as soon as my last Sicilian gelato was placed before me, bits of Etna floated onto its icy surface. Instead of scooping them out, I savored it all in a kind of acknowledgement of Etna’s fond farewell gesture. The ash tasted gritty, like the chocolate from Modica.
Sweet and grit combined, like Sicily herself.
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