It was a discovery born out of very little research or planning. Arriving by fast ferry, speeding across the Ionian from Malta, and landing in a fairly forlorn part of the island, I disembarked long after dark. A taxi driver met me in the parking lot. The whole adventure came out of an assumption and an idea: I had a few extra days at the end of a weeks-long trip to Europe and wanted to see more of Sicily, so I made last-minute plans, basically picking a spot at random on a map and hoping for the best (aka, assuming everything would work out).
‘Greatest Greek City’
I was in Syracuse—known locally in Sicilian as Siracusa. Now a fairly small, out-of-the-way city (total population just tops 120,000), it retains remnants of its glory days as a powerful city-state. For just a couple of days, on land and sea, with no preconceptions and no real plans, I was ready to explore this place which is usually bypassed by international tourists and embraced as a bit of a secret by Sicilians and other Italians.Syracuse was founded 2,700 years ago by Greek Corinthians. Allied with Sparta and Corinth, as a city-state, it dominated the region; in the fifth century B.C., it rose to a status equal to Athens. The statesman and philosopher Cicero even called it the “greatest Greek city, and the most beautiful of them all.”
It’s referenced once in the Bible, in just a single verse; the book of Acts notes the fact that the Apostle Paul spent three days here (no other details are given). In the seventh century A.D., Syracuse even served—albeit briefly—as the capital of the Byzantine Empire, and the city later spent two centuries as part of the Emirate of Sicily. The Phoenicians probably gave the city its name, deriving from words that meant “stone of the seagulls.” Bourbons, Normans, and others also blew through on the trade winds.
Walking the Streets
Now preserved as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the heart of its ancient wonders sits on the island of Ortygia. My hotel is a couple of kilometers away but directly across from the city’s archaeological park, so I began with a quick tour there. Within, I found the fifth-century Teatro Greco, an amphitheater that could once seat 16,000, as well as catacombs and grottoes. One was dubbed The Ear of Dionysus—Orecchio di Dionisio—by the famed painter Caravaggio.Soon afterward, a pleasant downhill stroll took me through broad boulevards and small parks. Making a left, I passed a small marina filled with while sailboats and crossed a small bridge to arrive at Ortygia. Surrounded by water, this is the heart of ancient Syracuse.
The first thing you see, sitting in a big square, is the Temple of Apollo. Dating back to the sixth century, its ruins are a perfect example of the civilization-built-upon-civilization architecture that marks this part of the Mediterranean. Originally dedicated to the Greek god Apollo, it subsequently served in various incarnations as a mosque, basilica, barracks, and Catholic church. Some of the original stone columns remain.
If you go just steps beyond the open-air market lining one side of the street, the old town swallows you up. Cobblestone lanes wind like secret passages. Small squares bustle with life, and in the main square, I toured the city’s cathedral, which was built upon a Greek Doric temple.
Inside, you’ll find relics from Syracuse’s patron saint, Saint Lucy—a pair of shoes, veil, robe, and bone fragments. Just around the corner lies the famed Fountain of Arethusa. In mythology, this is the place where the namesake nymph escaped her undersea home, and it’s been mentioned by authors from Virgil to Herman Melville (in Moby-Dick). Today, the fountain is a sort of tropical pond that’s girded by stone walls, shaded by reaching palms, and filled with papyrus plants that date back to the ancients.
Syracuse by Water
Passing the papyrus on a slow descent to the waterfront, I walked past a simple wooden stand. The young man there told me the tours were being offered for half price. The next one left in an hour. I quickly paid cash and was soon rolling out with a small group comprised entirely of Italians on a simple, open boat.The first bit was slightly terrifying. Passing through a canal, our captain, Giuseppe, told us to duck. He wasn’t kidding. We motored under the Ponte Umbertino. At first, its low archways looked far too low for even our small boat to fit beneath. Crouching below the gunnels, I could feel the cool stone of the arch pass just over my head, the clearance literally just inches, the bridge itself seeming to sweep right over the top of my hair.
Emerging on the other side, the splendor of this place opened up. Giuseppe took us inside grottoes, carved naturally into the cliffs. The full breadth of Ortygia spread before us across the waters, its towers and buttresses and palaces just stacked up, one upon the other. The captain expertly steered us around the island, his young niece regularly taking the controls like an old hand so that Giuseppe could take photos (and pose in them, too).
We arrived on the west side just in time for sunset. Those flaming orange rays cast long trails on the water and warmed up the nearby walls of the city’s fortress. “Mamma mia!” one of the Italian women gasped.
It was lovely, and the night had just begun. Soon I’d be back there—ashore in old Siracusa, the streets coming alive again after dark. First, looking for a heaping plate of pasta al sugo di maiale (with local pork, onion, and fresh tomato sauce) and, later, a gelato and maybe just one last limoncello as I readied myself to rest up for another day of touring Syracuse.
