The walk to Cefalu, and back to S. Stefano

12/17 - S. Stefano di Camastra to Cefalù and back - 21.90 miles

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There is nothing so comforting as knowing that you have a place to sleep, and after spending a raucous evening with the guys, who insisted that I stay at S. Stefano, or at the very least return the following evening, I was told not to worry about lodging.

Walking to Cefalù was easy enough, with a sprinkle or two of rain but nothing to complain about (after all, a little rain here and there never hurt a soul), and a pleasant but not life-changing path along the state road. My only lingering memories are my lunch spot atop a boulder in the midst of the charred remains of bushes, where I took a short nap, and my first pastry shop cannoli, a culinary treasure that has nothing to do with that cardboard crap they pass off as cannoli back in the US. Globalization, where are you with my fresh cannoli, overstuffed with fresh ricotta and complete with candied orange peel? If you can't deliver on that, what the hell are you good for?

Upon my arrival at S. Stefano, I was picked up by Pepe, one of the guys from dinner the night before, and the most vocal proponent of my return. He had told me "don't worry about lodging," and he delivered, taking me to the B&B owned by his good friend Vincenzo. The B&B, called I Colori dell'Arcobaleno, had a unique floral design and color scheme for each room, with plenty of clever details in the choices of fixtures, art, furniture, and decor to match the scheme. Smiling at the idea of the smelly backpacker occupying the "rose room," I nonetheless appreciated the eye for detail displayed by Vincenzo.

After a refreshing shower (sometimes it's easy to forget that I had just walked over 20 miles, my third longest day of the trip), Vincenzo took me down to the indoor soccer field, where his buddies were playing a closely followed and hotly contested league match. We had a couple beers, cheered and jeered both squads, and together with Albeto and Gino, two other members of the group, made plans for the evening. Before I move on, please picture me knocking back Peronis with the boys, shouting encouragement as the local squads play for keeps on the indoor soccer pitch. You can't get much more local than that.

Or can you? Like most of Italy, but especially here, it's not hard to plan your evening. Pick a restaurant, arrange a meeting time, knowing full well that it's flexible by at least an hour, and the only thing left to consider is whether you're drinking beer or wine, and what you'll eat.

In my case, even this was taken care of in advance. The restaurant we chose, Ritrovo Felicità, was owned by Pepe, and I could sense immediately that he was ready to outmatch the fabulous experience I had shared with him the previous evening. For protocol's sake, he asked me what I had in mind, I knew better than to pick something from the menu, and my reward was a meal fit for a king. Awash in a bottomless carafe of red wine, gnocchi in a truffle sauce, fried cheese wrapped with prosciutto, a loaded pizza, an abundant plate of meat, I had a moment of clarity, and decided that it's only fair to amend my first statement of the post: there's nothing so comforting as knowing that you have a place to sleep except knowing and befriending the owner of a top-notch Sicilian restaurant and have him decide your meal for you.

Right in line with the friendly competition between restaurants, Pepe brought out all the bottles, including an unforgettable chocolate cream liqueur and cream of limoncello made by his mother, and once he closed the restaurant around one, we had his full attention as we picked at the remains of the food, sampled desserts, compared life experiences, and joked around until 4:30 in the morning. When it was time to go, he shooed us all out, and as a welcome gesture to me, announced that the entire meal for all four of us was on the house. What else can I say?