The ancient Greek jewel of Siracusa

Siracusa, Sicily, arguably the most historic city on the island, if not in the whole Mediterranean, greets us with a rather smutty introduction, our train reaching its terminus station following mile-upon-mile of dirty, suffocating, petrochemical plants.  It's not quite the welcome we expected from a city dubbed "more Greek than ancient Greece", but we arrive in good spirits and set off for the Neapolis, an archaeological park north of the city centre.  The sun beats down early.  The roads are not signposted.  The city's street layout is in stark contrast to that in the guidebook.  The pavements give way, without warning, to wide roads of heavy traffic.  We take several wrong turns.  An elderly couple point us in the right direction, but even when we think we've found the site entrance, all we've actually found is a local market.  Astoundingly, getting to one of the island's most famous tourist attractions is made just about as difficult as it could possibly be.  Even when we finally get there, the ticket office is nowhere near the park, but a quick glance around reveals exactly why things are the way they are - the infrastructure for Neapolis has been purely set up to cater for the coach tour.  There are no independent travellers here, so there is nothing to assist them - why would anyone in their right mind try and walk here from the railway station after all?

Parco Archeologico della Neapolis sits in an enormous site, about a twenty-minute walk from central Siracusa, and contains the monumental remains of a once very powerful city.  We've just about beaten the tour groups here, but feeling them hot-on-our-tail, we're quick to make for the most famous site in the complex - the enormous ancient Greek theatre.  Built in the 5th century BC, reconstructed in the 3rd century BC, then modified by the Romans, it is one of the largest ever built by the ancient Greeks, with 67 rows, divided into nine sections, with eight aisles.  It's difficult to see the original edifice, covered as it is with wooden boards for modern performances that no doubt take place here year-round, but you can still get an idea of its complexity and enormity.  What I like best, however, isn't the theatre at all, but rather what lives within, for out of holes in the porous terraces dart colourful little lizards that, by my reckoning, have probably been living on this site since the Greeks first put on shows all those centuries ago.

Ancient Greek inscription at the theatre

A theatre lizard

As it turns out, the authorities at the Neapolis (and just about all the visitors too) are only interested in the theatre, and so we stroll into the nearby ancient Roman amphitheatre without even having to show our ticket.  This, too, is sizeable, but crumbling, overgrown, and far more atmospheric.  Siracusa became a Roman colony in 21BC, and the conquering army wasted no time in building themselves a further entertainment venue.  The amphitheatre is classically Roman, but has a gruesome addition - a square reservoir in the middle of the arena, in which the blood and bodies of wild beasts and wild men would be swept during barbaric competitions.  It is said that the weak and enfeebled from the audience were allowed to make their way up to this reservoir at the end of the spectacle, and drink from it, the belief being that the blood of the vanquished would make them strong again.  Somewhat disgusted, we leave, running almost immediately into a stall selling fresh blood-red orange juice.  Putting the matter of gladiatorial combat behind us, we enjoy a refreshing drink in the company of an eccentric accordionist, who provides one of those holiday moments you just don't forget.

Siracusa's Roman amphitheatre

The old town of Siracusa, called Ortigia, sits across a bridge on a small island jutting out into the sea.  We make our way there via the Catacombs of San Giovanni, an underground honeycomb in which there were once several hundred burials.  Legend has it that Saint Paul himself stopped and preached in one of the crypts on his way from Malta to Rome (Acts 28:12 states: "We put in at Syracuse and stayed there three days"), and it is well established that this is one of the earliest Christian sites in Europe, featuring many ancient tombs and frescoes.  Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your point of view), the bodies were removed during the Second World War, when Siracusans used the space to shelter from the relentless Allied bombings of 1943, but one nonetheless gets a sense of both spirituality and mortality.

The church of San Giovanni (St. John)

Ortigia comes as something of a relief after another battle with the Sicilian road system, and by the time we get to the island, we're almost too tired to explore.  Pizza revives us, and we go in search of the Temple of Apollo, built in the 6th century BC, and something of a prototype for how temples would eventually look across the entire Greek world.  A short walk up the hill, we come to the gentle Piazza Archimede, named in honour of the great Greek mathematician, physicist, engineer, inventor, and astronomer who met a sticky end in Siracusa in c.212 BC, when he was killed by a Roman soldier, despite specific instructions that he should not be harmed.  It is then only a stone's throw to the centre of Ortigia, and the magnificent Piazza Duomo, described as the "loveliest square in Sicily."  The cathedral itself (incidentally, the only church on our trip to Sicily to charge entrance, albeit a paltry two euros) is just as historic as every other part of the city, its nave incorporating another very ancient Greek temple, dedicated to Athena, and converted to a church with the advent of Christianity.  

The Temple of Apollo, Ortagia

Piazza Duomo

Beyond the cathedral, the Castello Maniace marks the tip of Ortigia, watching over the sea and keeping the city safe since AD1240.  Nowadays, the site is part-military, part-university, and although it accepts visitors, it only accepts them before lunchtime, and we are left locked out, peering through the bars of a large iron gate.  It scuppers our plan for our remaining couple of hours, so instead we browse the shops of Ortigia, which are situated on curious winding streets, all the time wending our way back to the new part of town.

A street in Ortagia

Siracusa has exhausted us, and we leave with aching legs and mixed feeling about the city.  I love the city's history, its reputation as one of the most important ancient Greek cities on the Mediterranean, and its confident nod to its past, and I do feel we've seen much more of the place than the aforementioned coach tourists.  However, Siracusa has been one very tough nut to crack, and as we pull out of the station and make our way through all those smelly petrochemical plants, I get the distinct feeling we will probably never be back.  Perhaps that fact alone makes it worth visiting this corner of Sicily; or perhaps we should have just done it by coach.