On November 19th, after waiting for four hours in the Palermo train station due to a broken train, I welcomed two of my dearest friends from college, Theresa and Lorelei, to Sicily! Even after a very long and tumultuous over-night journey from Rome, they ran toward me in the station with their backpacking bags on their back and big grins on their faces. The first emissaries from home to visit me, they were a site for sore eyes. As we journeyed across chaotic Palermo by bus and by foot, trying to locate my friend Costanza without a phone, they gushed with stories of their journeys through Europe over the last two months. After wringing the doorbell to her flat without success, we paused in a nearby pizzeria to recalibrate our plans, chatting with the owner about his relatives in the United States (as per normal), when Giovanni, Costanza's boyfriend unexpectedly arrived at the pizzeria to let us in the flat so I could retrieve my things. "Grazie a Dio!" I exclaimed, kissing his cheeks, and introducing him to my friends.
We then trekked a few kilometers to the nearby train station to pick up the car I had reserved. In typical Sicilian style, my reservation that I had made 4 weeks previously failed to procure us a car. After an hour of negotiating and explaining and despairing in Italian at the, admittedly friendly, rental car agents, we got a small Fiat for triple the original price and piled in it with all of our things. Brave Lorelei was our intrepid driver and managed to keep us alive while driving out of Palermo to nearby Mondello, where we were to sleep in Fabrizia's beach house. In Palermo, there is no such thing as driving lanes, stop lights, or any type of driving rules. It's a paradoxically polite game of survival of the fittest, honking, and nudging, through roads designed in the 13th century. But she did brilliantly.
We then had a wonderful dinner in Mondello, hosted by Costanza, for us and all over family (her grandmother, her mother, her mother's partner, her boyfriend, Fabrizia's father, and her priest friend, Vito). In occasions like this, when Costanza, Fabrizia, and their family are overwhelming gentile and welcoming to me and my friends, I am struck by the hospitality of Sicily. You hear this stereotype about Italians, but until you are the recipient of such generosity, it doesn't hit home. Costanza whipped up a wonderful risotto, after a round of cheeses and meats and olives and Tasca wine, and followed by sausages and chicken grilled in their large fire place (and more wine, of course...). Theresa, the historian, was particularly charmed by Fabrizia's father, a man from a past era, whose family on both sides are related to seemingly every aristocratic family in Europe. He is a Marquess, though his paternal family were once the princes of Sicily, and his maternal family are Spanish aristocrats (his grandmother was a patron of Picasso, no less). With such breeding a person could be despicably stuck up, but he is delightful-- a wonderful raconteur of tales and history. And a great fan of drinking only wine and no water. Before wishing us goodnight, he asked us (teasing, of course) if we had enough alcohol for the next day's breakfast.
We then trekked a few kilometers to the nearby train station to pick up the car I had reserved. In typical Sicilian style, my reservation that I had made 4 weeks previously failed to procure us a car. After an hour of negotiating and explaining and despairing in Italian at the, admittedly friendly, rental car agents, we got a small Fiat for triple the original price and piled in it with all of our things. Brave Lorelei was our intrepid driver and managed to keep us alive while driving out of Palermo to nearby Mondello, where we were to sleep in Fabrizia's beach house. In Palermo, there is no such thing as driving lanes, stop lights, or any type of driving rules. It's a paradoxically polite game of survival of the fittest, honking, and nudging, through roads designed in the 13th century. But she did brilliantly.
We then had a wonderful dinner in Mondello, hosted by Costanza, for us and all over family (her grandmother, her mother, her mother's partner, her boyfriend, Fabrizia's father, and her priest friend, Vito). In occasions like this, when Costanza, Fabrizia, and their family are overwhelming gentile and welcoming to me and my friends, I am struck by the hospitality of Sicily. You hear this stereotype about Italians, but until you are the recipient of such generosity, it doesn't hit home. Costanza whipped up a wonderful risotto, after a round of cheeses and meats and olives and Tasca wine, and followed by sausages and chicken grilled in their large fire place (and more wine, of course...). Theresa, the historian, was particularly charmed by Fabrizia's father, a man from a past era, whose family on both sides are related to seemingly every aristocratic family in Europe. He is a Marquess, though his paternal family were once the princes of Sicily, and his maternal family are Spanish aristocrats (his grandmother was a patron of Picasso, no less). With such breeding a person could be despicably stuck up, but he is delightful-- a wonderful raconteur of tales and history. And a great fan of drinking only wine and no water. Before wishing us goodnight, he asked us (teasing, of course) if we had enough alcohol for the next day's breakfast.
The next day, we took a short hike in the coastal wilderness north of Mondello. It's one of those places that is set apart from time (apart from the occasional rock graffiti announcing nudist zones). As we watched the waves crash against the rocks, it seemed very reasonable that this is the same island that Homer wrote about, where Persephone was kidnapped by Hades and Daedalus fled to when Icarus took a tumble. It feels wild and ancient.
We drove the 1.5 hour winding ride back to Case Vecchie to spend the night and pick up Fiona, who was to come with us on our next day's journey east to Mount Etna. I took the girls around the estate and up to Casa Grande, and then we used some of the legendary local, sheep's milk ricotta to make gnocchi.
The next morning, we got up early to hit the road and drive across the island towards Catania (the other large city in Sicily) and to the famous volcano. Lorelei, an enthusiastic geologist who is heading off in a few months to do her masters in New Zealand, was anxious to see Etna, especially because it had exploded the week before and was predicted to spew some more fireworks. The tallest volcano in Europe, Etna has inspired poetry and legend since Greek times. I chatted to our hotel hostess about what it was like to grow up in one of the towns near the summit, and she said that the locals think of it as a mostly-friendly giant. It erupts often, but rarely catastrophically. She did tell me a story of a man who prayed that his home would be protected from the flowing lava during an eruption, only to find when he came back to the house that his wish had come true: the lava had parted around his house, but encased it in a 5-meter wall on all sides of cooled lava rock!
The drive up the slope of the mountain is winding but stunning. This side of the island is much greener, as Etna has fed the soil for eons with rich nutrients. For the first time in Sicily, I saw a proper forest, full of scrub oaks not unlike the type I would see in Florida or California. But the black color of the rocks and boulders and pyroclastic flows was unlike anything I had ever seen. The top of mountain was snow-covered and cloud-covered, and (sadly for Lorelei) not erupting. She pouted a bit, but was a good sport really, considering that she had come a long way and it wasn't performing.
We then traveled down the mountain to the famous city of Taormina. One of the first Greek settlements in Sicily, it was then important to every major power that ruled Sicily: the Romans, the Arabs, the Normans, the Spanish, the British, etc. And each left their mark on the town, from the famous Greco-Roman theatre overlooking Etna and the sea to the mix of Norman, Arabic, and Spanish Baroque architecture in the town. It's a must-see tourist destination, so I was grateful we saw it in off-season, without the teeming masses. It is indeed worth the trip...
I was so pleased to have Fiona on our trip with us. She was quite happy to break the Case Vecchie bubble and take a short adventure with us. And I was, as always, grateful for her sunshiny presence. She flew home a few days ago, on the 30th, and I already miss her dreadfully. She was my companion and kindred spirit during the last two months, and I know that we will be life long friends.
That night, we had an eccentric dinner at a restaurant where Lorelei accidentally ordered pizza with french fries piled on top (a tourist special, perhaps), but the waiter charmingly gave us free limoncello. We also curled up to watch an episode of Nashville (the favorite TV show of T & L and I, which was always the highlight of my week during my insanely stressful senior year). It was a cross cultural treat, to be crooning country music in a quaint hotel on the other side of the world with two good friends. We said goodbye the next day and they drove back to Palermo and dropped us off at Case Vecchie.
The next day, the 23rd, Etna exploded in one of her most dramatic displays of billowing ash in years... Poor Lorelei. I'd say it was bad luck, but I'm not sure if I want to go so far as to say that being in the vicinity of an erupting volcano is good luck.
But then again, Sicilians love their muntagna.
The next day, the 23rd, Etna exploded in one of her most dramatic displays of billowing ash in years... Poor Lorelei. I'd say it was bad luck, but I'm not sure if I want to go so far as to say that being in the vicinity of an erupting volcano is good luck.
But then again, Sicilians love their muntagna.