Going for Baroque in Ragusa

November 8, 12:47 PMItaly Culture & Travel ExaminerLucia Mauro

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Chiesa di San Giorgio, Ragusa Ibla.

Despite having one of the highest concentrations of Baroque architecture and some of the most dramatic views of sloping fertile plains, Ragusa is often overshadowed by the historic sprawl of nearby Siracusa (Syracuse). The layered city, split into the upper Ragusa Superiore and lower Ragusa Ibla, winds around the mountainous interior of southeastern Sicily. To this day, it remains the land that time forgot. And understandably so. 

Baroque splendor of Noto, Sicily.

My husband Joe and I made a personal pilgrimage to Ragusa to try to get a sense of my paternal grandfather's birthplace. While in his thirties, he settled in the United States during the well-documented wave of post-World War I immigration, and preferred to speak of the present and future rather than his struggles growing up in a once-depressed farming community. Though I located my grandfather's name on the ship's manifest and his home town as Camarina (just outside Ragusa), I wasn't able to find any records of him in this small town of ancient Greek origins.  I eventually theorized that he most likely grew up in the agricultural Scoglitti area, also skirting Ragusa. Traveling to this beautiful and majestic part of Sicily made me aware of its remoteness and inaccessibility. I could clearly see how isolated these communities must have been a century ago by the sheer geographic stranglehold of jagged cliffs and narrow winding roads.

Marina di Ragusa.

We had been traveling by car through the dusty desert terrain of central Sicily. So by the time we reached Ragusa, Joe and I really needed to be near water. Surprisingly, we spotted the green-blue ocean meeting the horizon along a stretch of highway as we approached our intended destination. We were so elated to catch a glimpse of the sea, at the last minute, Joe headed straight for Marina di Ragusa, the lively beach strip that hugs the Mediterranean. It turned out to be a much-need relaxing choice. The reasonably priced Hotel Miramare, with an ocean view, became our base for exploring the non-touristy Ragusa triangle (which also encompasses the Baroque treasure troves of Modica and Noto).

Though a seasonal getaway destination, Marina di Ragusa is also an active year-round town with a delightful piazza, near an anchor monument, where elderly men gather on benches to laugh, debate and play cards. Children run up and down the steps of a smooth, white-washed church, while buxom grandmothers in black dresses and chunky-heeled mules jostle for position in the Panificio di San Giuseppe. Joe and I spent time at the beach, together with groups of windsurfers, and sauntered along the promenade framed by crepe restaurants and a few bars with a Polynesian theme. Of course, seafood eateries abounded. So we made it a point to walk the long ocean-and-palm-tree stretch to Trattoria da Carmelo, where the tables are situated so close to the water, the waves slapped against our ankles. The fresh tuna chunks in olive oil were divine, as was a surprisingly light and sweet plate of spaghetti al nero di sepia (tossed with the black ink of the cuttlefish). The latter dish left us with Goth-stained lips. All we needed was some chalk-white makeup to become Johnny Depp in Sweeney Todd.

On the stroll back to our hotel, we couldn't help but notice the abundance of stores with the surname "Mauro" attached to them. Mauro is my paternal family name. Though we made numerous inquiries, it was difficult to determine if any of these business owners were distant relatives. So much time had passed, and I simply did not have enough specifics on my grandfather's history to assist me. Nevertheless, I remained content knowing I had spent time in his homeland.

We set off the next overcast morning to Camarina, a small town with a long and embattled history linked to Greece and Carthage. Ruins dedicated to Athena and Demeter are scattered throughout the town. But we found that the Museo Archeologico Ibleo in Ragusa Superiore painted a more comprehensive portrait of Camarina's ancient history.

We accessed the higher Ragusa Superiore by winding up a narrow cliff. The orderly city culminates in the elaborate Baroque Duomo, or Cathedral of St. John the Baptist. Though clouds still loomed overhead, we walked around this regal district, where balconies were held up by sweet ponies and snarling griffins. After stopping for coffee and pastries at a marble-bedecked café, we visited the Duomo and stayed to witness a wedding ceremony. We slipped out before the ceremony ended and watched from a short distance as the bride and groom and their guests - all dressed with the same graceful butter cream extravagance  as the church's swirling architecture - exited to a sudden downpour. Everyone scattered and good-naturedly shouted, "Porta fortuna!" - a famous Italian saying meaning that rain brings good luck.

Our luck, however, seemed quite precarious as we descended the slippery curves in our rental car down to the more rustic Ragusa Ibla section. It was raining so hard we couldn't even locate the Giardino Ibleo, a normally lovely series of manicured gardens, ruins and churches. An elderly man clutching a giant umbrella gave us directions but advised us to get something to eat rather than slog through Giardino Ibleo, now a muddy swamp. We heeded his suggestion and, as if guided by an invisible force, found ourselves in front of the inviting Trattoria da Nino, where we enjoyed a massive degustazione lunch that lasted for three hours.

Joe and I joined a small group of diners in this cozy restaurant decorated with colorful posters of the city's Busker Fest. We met the proud owners, who presented each of the seven courses as if they were priceless works of art. Joe chose the fish menu, and I opted for meat. The feast epitomized Sicily's love of abbondanza: delectable platters of rosemary-scented focaccia, grilled octopus, smoked swordfish, sardines, cured meats, eggplant, gnocchi, sausage, steak, pork shank, shrimp, roasted potatoes, pecorino siciliano cheese dotted with black peppercorns and drizzled with honey, and homemade hazelnut chocolates. The chef frequently checked to see if we had enough to eat. He even loaded us down with two carry-out bags of fresh-baked rolls filled with cheese and prosciutto.

Miraculously, by late afternoon, the sun came out. So we could walk off the most substantial meal of our lives. Ragusa and its environs are defined by the deadly earthquake of 1693. It leveled the area and, throughout the 18th century, architects rebuilt it in grandiose Baroque style. Ragusa Superiore is clearly arranged in this ornate and orderly vein. Ragusa Ibla, however, still retains a degree of historic layering that speaks to its Hellenic, Byzantine, Arab and Norman past. The ancient white-alabaster Porta di San Giorgio, an arched doorway, greets visitors to the Giardino Ibleo - a seductive park surrounded by fountains, palm trees and expansive views of the hulking mountains. We spotted the brightly colored mosaic cupola of the 14th century Chiesa di Sant'Antonio, and it appeared to be sprouting what looked like tufts of hair or, more realistically, bird nests

Travelers to Ragusa Ibla can certainly get their fill of frilly Baroque churches - the pattern continues to Modica, Noto and even Catania. But we sought out the city's most famous: the Chiesa di San Giorgio, reached by climbing a series of steps with little white arrows painted on them. Though partially under restoration, the church's magnificent cupola, or dome, glistened a ghostly purple-blue in the late-afternoon light. Because large sections of the church jut out into oblivion, with only the stark slopes surrounding it, the dome - also reminiscent of the U.S. Capitol --  appeared suspended in mid-air.

We left Marina di Ragusa on a bright, warm Sunday morning to explore another Baroque gem: Noto. After passing through Modica, adorned with wide-arched feast lights lining the streets like huge bent croquet wires, we arrived in Noto at the height of the town's passeggiata. We followed narrow cobblestone streets packed with palazzi and their bloated wrought-iron balconies (including the famed Palazzo Niccolaci) held up by lions and mermaids before arriving on the main Corso Vittorio Emmanuele. It's remarkable how such a small stretch of road holds so many lusciously-decorated churches: from the Duomo to the Chiesa di San Francesco to the Chiesa di San Carlo. At the latter place of worship, we ascended a tiny spiral staircase to an elegant balcony whose balustrades seemed to entice a rigid row of palazzi across the street with their voluptuous geometry.

So much confectionery architecture made us hungry. Joe and I enjoyed a simple but delicious lunch of mushrooms and sun dried tomatoes in olive oil, pecorino siciliano, prosciutto cotto, and bread filled with green olives at an Enoteca.

Then we decided to go for Baroque and head for Catania - another living architectural museum of Enlightenment-era splendor.

END