Sicily

Let’s call this little jaunt to Sicily my Spring Break. Never mind that the weather was locked into winter, and that the Sicilians talked nonstop of what a cold, wet and miserable winter they were having. Never mind that it was colder in Sicily than it had been in London, and I had to break out the long underwear, which I really had packed for my travels in Scandinavia. Never mind that snow fell on the hills just above Palermo on the last day I was in Sicily. Every day it was cold, but not wet, and the umbrella stayed in the suitcase. And nearly every day, the skies were blue, the bluest of blue. And the waters of the Ionian, Mediterranean and the Tyrrhenian Seas sparkled.
My visit to the Palazzo Chiaramonte, built in 1307, off the Piazza Marina and just off Giardino Garibaldi and across from the enormous ficus tree that is 150 years old and Palermo’s oldest tree, thus a tourist attraction, was memorable for a variety of reasons. The guard at the door insisted on taking me on a tour, and spoke the loveliest English, heavily accented and flowery. He was profuse in his apologies for the poor tour information, but in fact, his passion for the building and its history and his careful attention in pointing out details and bringing the past to life, along with his pride in Sicily, made this the most interesting “guided tour” of my stay. Hanging on one large wall of the restored palazzo was “Vucciria,” a painting by Renato Guttuso. The open air market in Vucciria is no longer in existence, and Sicilians look to this painting with patriotism as it memorializes a part of Sicilian life. Then, around a corner and down a few steps I came to a room that had been used during the Inquisition (1601-1782) when the building was used as the headquarters of the Inquisition in Palermo, and included the prison. Written on the prison wall was the word “couraggi,” courage. There were also words that translate into “my soul (animo) is imprisoned.” And there were two murals still visible of St. Nicholas. And on display was the large bell which was rung to announce an execution, which would then take place in the plaza, which is now the garden with the ficus tree. It was chilling, seeing and touching these memorials to such personal pain and tragedy. The Palazzo is now the seat of the Rectory of Palermo University, and upstairs, in what was a chapel, a conference on diabetes was in progress. The guide was not going to let me leave without seeing the paintings from the Norman period on the wooden ceiling, which are an encyclopedia of medieval tales and imaginary beasts, so we sneaked into to back of the conference proceedings, and spent our time looking up, while the attendees continued to give their attention to the speaker and his power point presentation.




Throughout Sicily there are ancient ruins, and many are striking. The Teatro Greco, or Teatro Antico, in Taormina was notable for the scenery. The town of Taormina, set on a knife’s edge rocky ledge, with the sea on three sides and the village of Castelmola directly above clinging to the rocks, is as scenic as it gets, especially when you add views of Mt. Etna, snow-covered and smoking. Evenings, before and after late dinners, the one main street was filled with people out and about enjoying their evening stroll, or passeggiata. What a great way to visit with friends and so some people watching. One day, a day with clear skies, I took the funivia (cable car) down to Mazzaro beach and took a boat ride around the cape and into Naxos Bay. The high cliffs and the grottoes below with azure blue water were stunning. As drawn to the sea as I am, it was wonderful to be on the water and to be looking up at the cliffs and beyond, to Mt. Etna. The day I went to Mt. Etna, however, was anything but clear. The entire mountain was engulfed with fog and clouds. There was snow at the spot where one can take a gondola up, but there was no point in that, as snow was falling, and the visibility was zero. Instead, I walked around the Silvestri Crater, sliding along the volcanic ground, and unable to see two steps ahead. It was eerie. And it was a bit scary, being on an active volcano.
As successive invaders conquered and settled in Sicily, the victors put their unique stamp on the existing buildings. In Taormina, the Greek theater was reworked to comply with Roman standards. In Ortigia, the island part of Siracusa, the cathedral was built on the site of a temple to Athena and the Doric columns from that temple are used in the duomo, and are of structural value, not just decorative. And there is an altar (ara) from about the 6th century BC built by Sicily’s first settlers, the Siculi. It is the only surviving piece from their civilization.

In Agrigento, towards the end of the main street Via Atenea, I visited the Chiesa di Santa Maria dei Greci, once again built on the site of a Greek temple to Athena. A man popped out of a doorway across the street from the church and unlocked the gate and gave an enthusiastic tour. Here also, the 5th century BC Doric columns are visible. When the Saracens were dominate in the area and discouraged the Christians from worship, the church literally went underground, and the present church is designed so that visitors and worshippers can see through the glass floor down to the carved cross. The garden planted above to disguise the site remains a lovely garden. Inside the present church you can see frescoes from the Byzantine time and a wooden, painted ceiling from the time of the Normans. Time and time again in Sicily the buildings showed evidence of the successive waves of invaders, who each built upon the existing buildings, upon existing sites. Useful, strategic, holy, or scenic places are valued by all.


Being in Sicily was like being in Greece in some ways, at least when walking among the fantastic Greek ruins. Some of the most impressive Greek temples and stages were built in the Greek cities on Sicily. But then, when dinner time came around, I knew that I was in Sicily. My favorite main course was spada – sword fish – and I had it cooked many ways. And the house wines were each unique. One was remarkable in that I knew immediately that it came from the slopes of Mt. Etna because of its ashy taste, which was strong and a perfect match for the meal. Try a Nero d’Avola if you ever get the chance. And where else but in Sicily can you have juice from blood oranges? Or the overly sweet cassata, a cake that words cannot describe? Or the roasted chicken, discovered in a small takeout pizza joint , that is now my gold standard for chicken? And while places and food are reasons to travel, a travel experience can only be successful if the people you meet laugh with you, are kind and gentle. And Sicily scores off the charts in that category as well.

There was the bus driver of the #1 bus down from the city of Agrigento to the Valle of the Tempi who nodded and indicated he would drop me off at the ticket area. But when I eventually walked to the front of the bus and shrugged my shoulders in a questioning gesture, he rolled his eyes and apologized for forgetting. My mind was someplace else, I think he said. Go sit down and I will stop on the “ritorno.” Then, on the way back up the mountain, when I knew we were passing the ticket booth and I jumped up, pushing the stop button, he laughed, stopping just past the bus stop sign (fermata), and smiled at his joke.


Then there was a memorable late lunch, when not much is open. My friend and I found a kebab shop open, and ordered inside, bringing out our food to eat on the tables out front along the sidewalk. At the next table was a family group enjoying a large meal. Soon, the workers at the neighboring shop closed their doors and joined in. Next thing we knew, the father of the family served us a heaping plate of shellfish and pasta. A worker, recently from Africa, passed by and was urged to join in. Then two American sailors sat down, and they quickly became part of the very international group. What fun.





Generous with their time and with their smiles, the Sicilians surely found a spot in my heart. Like any good travel adventure, what I saw and what I learned opened my mind and I marveled at how history unfolds and tells its tales. And like any good travel adventure, my heart grew a little larger (to use Dr. Seuss’s words) too.