ARMCHAIR TRAVELS - SAN VITO LO CAPO

Well, I could have written about Barton Gellman’s cover story in the November issue of The Atlantic (“The Election that Could Break America”). 

 Or I could have written about Daniel Ziblatt’s blinking red light warning about the fate of democracy in America:

 [I]t can be observed in the United States that government institutions are weak, that there is strong political polarization and pronounced inequality, and that social unrest is associated with an economic crisis. All of these are features that can make democracy turn into authoritarian overnight.

 a warning he reiterated in a recent interview for “The Interpreter” in The New York Times:

 “If you have one of the two parties in a two-party system not committed to the rules, your system is really in trouble. There’s just no way out of that,” Mr. Ziblatt said. Asked if he knew of any democracies where this had happened and the system had recovered, he paused for several moments before answering, “No. Just no.”

Or I could have written about how I’ve been so distraught over the ill-timed death of Ruth Bader Ginsburg that I had no desire to write anything at all.

But screw it!  Let’s not write about such things.  Let’s not read about them either.  Let’s go to the beach--San Vito lo Capo, to be precise, on the northwest coast of Sicily.

The road to San Vito from Palermo traces the coast.  It avoids Mondello, hugs Sferracavallo (below),

presses on to Falcone-Borsellino Airport, skirts Partinico (a reputed Mafia stronghold, below), 

and rushes onward to Castellamare del Golfo (below). 

After climbing the cliffs above Castellamare, it winds westward toward the fishing village of Scopello and the nature reserve Lo Zingaro (below),

but you don’t turn further north toward the water at the Scopello fork.  Instead, you continue left toward Trapani, before turning off to the right toward Custonaci, which eventually takes you to San Vito.  Somewhere after Custonaci and before San Vito, you pass through Purgatorio.  Seriously.  Here’s the sign.

Which seemed altogether fitting, given the Gellman-Ziblatt-Ginsburg scenarios:  "Welcome to Purgatorio!  Next stop Election 2020 Hell!" But that’s enough of that divine comedy, where the joke, as usual, is on the American people.  Back to the beach.

First things always being first, we have lunch in San Vito at Ristorante Profumi di Cous Cous at the Hotel Ghibli, where they specialize in couscous, as you might have guessed.  Given “la Covid-a,” as they pronounce it in Italy, we ate outside in the restaurant’s airy garden, surrounded by jasmine, bougainvillea, and the oldest lemon tree (below) I’ve ever seen.

There were quite a few people lunching with us, but they were appropriately socially distanced, and the gentle breeze floating in through the canopy openings kept things cool, well ventilated, and comfortable. There were even little take-away bottles of hand sanitizer on the table, complete with the restaurant's label.

For a first course, we each chose the Antipasto Ghibli (below, moving counterclockwise from top right):  a swordfish roll topped with orange marmalade; bruschetta with citrus pesto and bottarga (tuna roe); sarda beccafico (a split sardine stuffed with breadcrumbs, raisins, and pine nuts); a delicate calamari custard encircled by alici (anchovy); and the most tender octopus salad I've ever tasted.  The entire ensemble was unbelievably good and definitely not your Sicilian grandfather's seafood antipasto.

My main course was Couscous Rais, a whole grain couscous mixed with ground almonds, to which chunks of freshly-caught tuna and eggplant were added, all served up with a citrus-based broth on the side.  It was cooked perfectly and it tasted just as nutty as the world has become lately.  

My husband chose a couscous pairing of Couscous Rais and Couscous Ghibli (under attack below), the latter being whole grain couscous cooked with wild fennel and cherry tomatoes, to which chunks of spatola (silver scabbard fish) were added, served with a tomato-based broth on the side.

To wash it down and our residual blues away, we chose a bottle of catarratto, a white wine grape native to Sicily.  It wasn't this one, which is an excellent label, even if a bit commercial.  The catarratto was relatively low in alcohol, which was a good thing, since we were headed to the beach for a swim after lunch. 

And here we are!  

The coast at San Vito lo Capo is barren and rugged, as you can see below,

but the sandy beach is wide and golden, a rarity in Sicily, where most access to the water is over piping hot gravel or large, jagged rocks.

We rented two lettini (chaises) and an umbrella—the latter being essential beach equipment where the latitude is closer to Tunisia than Naples.  The sea was so clear, I could see my feet in chest-high water.  It was purifying, as I am testifying.

Men dressed in North African garb hawked bracelets, cigarette lighters, and beach toys.

Most people simply waved them away, usually courteously.

At close to 6 o'clock, we reluctantly packed it in, just before our parking meter turned a nice sunburned red.  All in all, our day at the beach was a little bit of Heaven, a welcome respite before we got back on the road to Purgatory.

Keep it real!  And do like the Sicilians.  Wear your damn mask!

Marilyn