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One
in spring and one in summer.
Both
underrated.
And
surprising.
I’ll
start with western Sicily and then end with southern Bulgaria.
I
got to know Trapani well after
sunset, under a light wind that soon turned aggressive. Navigating the narrow
streets while searching for our accommodation felt like treasure hunting, all
the while dodging the papers that were furiously thrown in our faces by the
gusts.
On
our way to hip Il Barbagianni – the new craft beer joint in town –, at which I
had previously booked us a table via Facebook and still found it overcrowded, I
let my eyes window shop and wander about designs and styles that seem possible
only in the Mediterranean boot and its islands.
Dinner
was superb, so were the beers – and I must say that Overdose kicked in and
we decided to go to bed.
In
our quaint bluish apartment that brought the islands closer. Time and space
wise.
We
were going to run comparisons the following day.
So,
how should a morning in Sicily start? On some sweet notes. Caramelle alla carruba and a plateful of Sicilian specialties
packed by the pastry chef of the most famous place in town – Pasticceria La
Rinascente. I shook his hand and devoured everything down to the crumbs. I smiled to the old men selling fresh vegetables, I caressed old door
frames, and I got lost looking at the delicate balconies and windings that those
alleys brought forward.
Moody
Erice split our time in Trapani. The afternoon sun got deceiving as we started
wondering whether the bus would drive us up the cliff or not. It did.
Clouds
started coming and going. We walked the old streets, basked in the views [they
reminded me of Rio and, honestly, I liked them more], chose to get back into
town by cable car. The panorama was… aham.
And
then came the heat, haunting us to the port – quite difficult to find by foot
–; the kind locals helped us and we were soon on our way to the Aegadian
Islands.
I
still miss Trapani.
Another
Old Town was set to fascinate me mid-July.
Plovdiv, the second
largest city in Bulgaria, had always been disregarded by me, although there
were some cafés calling me there. Even when a city is under massive
reconstruction, we can still know its worth.
We
parked, we started climbing, we kept nodding our heads.
Not
even the rain could stop our enthusiasm; after a splendid lunch at Rahat Tepe,
we climbed some more to check out the view – it came with wows.
Those
followed while we visited the artisans on our way down. Jewellery makers, bag
knitters, puppeteers. Marcel stopped. Played. And rushed me to find an ATM and
buy himself an old Macedonian tambura – I couldn’t believe how quickly he had
made his mind up. The kind blue-eyed artist gifted me big red wooden earrings.
They were my favourite pair.
As
the sun started piercing the clouds again, we found the amphitheatre closed. We
didn’t mind.
The
whole vibe had enchanted and re-enchanted us through the joy we felt fully and
we knew we’d be back. Our passion for watersports would also surely fuel our
return to Plovdiv, to paddling competitions worth attending. After all, it
hosts the most beautiful rowing channel in the world, I was to find out later
on in Sofia.
As
a very kind gentleman told us after asking us if we were artists, too—
‘Nowadays,
people travelling the world only smile in selfies. You two are different. You
do it from all your heart.’
