Another Breed

Anna and I tend to use words like "authentic", "colorful", and "old-worldly" to describe Sicily, but someone with a less empathetic lens might just as easily choose "run down", "begrimed", and "third-worldly".  Many sidewalks are torn up, with loose cobblestones in uneven areas covered with dirt instead of cement.  Fashion ranges from classy beachwear and heels to atrociously trashy and heels (I saw a voluptuous mother-daughter pair wearing matching American flag tube tops with their bras showing as much as possible).  Retired police offers patrol churches while smoking pipes.  Ticket checkers on buses can't bring themselves to make you pay a fine for riding dirty, so they just kick you off, perpetuating the ethical and fiscal problem.  Another breed of men, in herds on the street, stare you up and down, turn their heads to follow you when riding past on a bike, and accost you in the cereal isle.

Still, to us, there's magic here.  This place is filled with life, from the people yelling and whistling on the streets to the gelato truck that blasts Eurotrash music on the corner.  Cities are filled with glowing baroque architecture and boisterous fish and produce markets.  You can talk your way into or out of anything.  The people would give you the shirts off their back (when I insisted in giving up my seat to a signora on the bus, she said it upset her to make me stand up) and engage you in conversation whenever possible.  The fish is fresher than a teenager's attitude and the sweets make even me swoon (another granita e brioche, please).  There are fireworks constantly, for some saint or another.  The water is like staring into liquid crystals, there's an active volcano smoking in the background, and one can't go many kilometers without stumbling upon ancient ruins or some supposed site of Greek mythology.

 

One morning here in Catania I toured the Benedictine Monastery, which before being destroyed in the catastrophic earthquake of 1693 had been very humble, but was then rebuilt in grand proportions (it is the second largest monastery in all of Europe) with lavish details.  It is no longer used as a monastery, but rather the department of humanities for the University of Catania.

The girl without a sweet tooth averages three sweets a day.  The canoli are so good you might even notice a tear welling up in your eye.

Buildings are dilapidated, but covered in blooming flowers.  It really speaks to the population's ability to deal with the degeneration of the city while still living vibrantly.

The view from Anna's balcony is to die for.  To the right the sea is visible, front and center are the domes of the cathedral, and looming off to the left (not visible in this photo) is Mount Etna.  We keep hoping for an eruption because the view would be gorgeous, but no such luck as of yet.

One night we splurged at a restaurant in the centuries old fish market and got to try a bit of everything with the varied seafood appetizer.  I tried raw shrimp for the first time, as well as sweet and sour octopus.  There was also raw swordfish and fennel with a cherry on top.  For dessert, they brought us lemon granita with strawberries of the forest (tiny and super sweet natural berries) and I dare say it was our favorite thing out of our entire seafood meal!

One morning I took a lively bus to Acitrezza, which is famous for its giant rocks in the sea having been those thrown by the giant cyclops at Ulysses.  The bus was a spettacolo with a cast of characters worthy of an award-winning short story.  All the strangers of the bus seemed to engage eachother in conversation of something or another throughout the 50 minute journey to the Acitrezza.  There were people complaining about how people don't wash themselves (la gente non si lava!), people observing the degenerating respect of today's youth (but since I gave up my seat, I, one woman kindly said, "come from a good family"), and people complaining about any myriad of other things from the weather to the driver's lack of finesse to the lady dripping fish juice from her grocery bag.  If understanding the communications of Sicilians on a crowded bus were to serve as an Italian test, then I would've passed.  I couldn't keep from smiling and giggling the whole 50 minutes, and have never been more entertained on public transportation.  These are the kind of experiences that make Sicily, Sicily.

Once at the water, I was able to appreciate just how gorgeous it and the cyclops rocks were, but the lava rock beach provided some logistical difficulties. 

I had a beautiful view of Acicastello, which is where Alan and his family lived before moving back up to Florence, from my lounge chair on a private hotel deck, which I acquired for free by sweet talking the lifeguard.