PINO and GIOVANNA'S SICILY RENTALS OR SWAPS!My good friends in Sicily have some wonderful properties to rent or swap with you in Sicily. One is on the sea shore in famous Taormina, the other is a country home with gardens and orchards and grape vines just outside the town of Caltanissetta. For viewing properties contact them at andolinagiovanna@yahoo.com Think about this opportunity. Sicily is a wonderful and exciting place to explore.
In the evening we catch the ferry to Sicily from Villa San Giovanni. The port is at the city of Messina and we see it first from the water at sunset. I have not heard of Messina before, though it is the gateway to Sicily, an important Mediterranean trade route, and has existed here for 2,000 years. We drive off the ferry into a busy metropolis. Lots of traffic and lovely buildings. First stop, a book store...hoping to gain some informational maps and brochures. We do not have a guide book for this island. Ah, but there is no printed help in English. We buy a map and follow the salesperson's suggestion for parking and and take an evening walk. We find ourselves in the main center. Fabulous.
In 1783 an earthquake flattened all the buildings. Another earthquake nearly destroyed the city in 1908. Determined people built and rebuilt their city. In 1943 during WWII, a fierce bombardment rendered the city in ruins...and once more Messina was reconstructed. This is the wonderful town center that we walk into. The citizens have made it a place to see, to visit. We understand now, why the buildings are not old...the wars and earthquakes.
In Piazza Antonello there are four very large beautifully architected buildings, built in the same style, on each corner of a circular design with wide streets. White porticos. Domes. Colonades. We walk into one of them, the concert/opera hall, Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, because there is a is a restaurant inside...well, sort of inside. Beer and pizza at Vulkania, outside on the piazza which is under a dome of decorative windows and intricate black and white tile. What a space. Once it was a showplace of concert goers, dressed in finery. It is still a showplace, but we are eating pizza in our jeans.
We bed down in the van, parking being free overnight. We have more to see here tomorrow.
October 24
In the morning we watch as the parking cop is busy on our street. We have bought a ticket for the morning. It is a silvery scratch-with-your-key ticket...scratch out the year, the month, the day and the time of day...ours being morning (mattina). It is an 'on your honor' ticket, as really you could enter anything you like on it. But, the cop is busy wandering this particular section of the street, maybe two blocks. Cars are parked illegally...up on the sidewalk, double parked, sideways/diagonal with their rears sticking into the street. Can you imagine...just squeeze your car anywhere it sort of fits! Funny! The policeman stands by a car and blows a whistle, a few times, loud and clear. He is warning the owner. If he doesn't appear the policeman moves on to the next offender. THEN he does his second round. If your car is still there, you get a ticket. Pretty decent really.
Today we walk more of the streets, checking out the shops as we make our way to a huge cathedral, del Doumo di Messina. Magnificant marble floors and incredible mosaics, both illustrative and decorative. Thirteen columns. Gigantic archways. Ten religious figures in settings under arches along the side walls, the figures are of carved stone and take the place of the usual separate chapels. Of course Mary and her Baby are in the middle of it all in a small lit space in the the main alter, where there are two beautiful chapels on each side.
And, we are just in time for the daily bell tower show on the adjoining square. This is a one of a kind treat and should be on your list if you find yourself in these 'parts'. The structure is a majestic 60 meters high. Quite a crowd has gathered...all waiting for this mysterious happening. In 1933 it was fitted with a mechanical device containing a perpetual... as well as an astronomical... calendar, and various representations of the historical and religious life of the city are activated at midday, one after the other, accompanied by religious music. A lion wags his tale, throws his head back and roars! Flags wave. A rooster crows three times, flapping his wings! To the strains of Ave Maria, a church slowly rises out of a field of sand. Angels move under arches in a circle. Mary stands stationary in the middle of the Three Wisemen carrying gifts and shepherds...each bowing to her as he passes, her arms are held up, blessing them. Two 'people figures' hold strings to the big bells above. They pull...and the bells ring. Real drummers play below the display, some women dance. Not part of the everyday show, but nevertheless appreciated. We all clap for the show. It was truly remarkable and fun.
Our morning paid parking all used up, we head out along the old coast road, through villages of buildings so tall and close that they form narrow roads in high canyons. Mainland Italy is on our left as we head south. 76 degrees. White and fucia boganvilla, purple morning glories. Then we climb so high that when we look back down on where we have come from it feels like a view from an aeroplane. Everyone has told us that we must see the Greek ruins of the hill town of Taormina, but the shape of Mount Etna beacons us so we move on toward her. We can see the Greek fortress and theater on a high Taormina hill. We notice many dry river beds, wide and stony. I imagine the rush of water after a rain fall, or maybe a road to the sea for hot lava. We overnight in the residential street of Fiumefreddo. There is a gym beside us. Loud men's voices play at a game. A metal gate squeaks open and closed well into the night.
October 25
Steam rises out of Etna. I wonder when it last went off? The walled fences here are made of its volcanic basalt. We drive through Etna National Park to find a closer view. How close can we get? This forest is lovely. Dark trunked oak trees with grassy green or dirt understory. The basalt gravel crunches under our tires. The air is colder, the conifers thicker and taller. We are getting close. A sign says...6 degrees TORNANTE, indicating the degree of tightness of the road-turn that we are about to take. Pointy roofed wooden cabins. And wham! Here we are sitting in a field of cooled lava - volcanic ash and rock just below the mountain. The road has had to be redirected through the rubble. Did it recently go off? Hurling the red hot lava in chunks? Etna itself is treeless, flat topped, probably with a crator behind that flat horizon, where the steam comes out like a geyser, more than one fissure it seems. The steam turns into clouds, puffy and white against the blue sky. A basalt ridge provides a trail up to the rim. Other clouds are behind us, coming up off the sea.
We drive higher in the healthy pines that escaped the thrust...then back into dark brown fields that have been pushed into lava ridges, one behind the other, riotous and chunky. We can see a car up on the basalt ridge. Perhaps one could hire a guide.
In 2002 there was a huge noteworthy eruption. The most recent eruption was this past April, with many inbetween. Active! 3,300? meters of ancient lava rock. We drive back down to the village of Zafferana before heading back up to Etna's south side through beech and aspen. We come to older lava fields leached a light grey color. Folks wander close-by, picking mushrooms and fistfuls of winter crocus. These lava fields have had time to grow vegetation. Our road leads ribbon-like through them. Sturdy Scotch broom the size of trees lines the road. Now the fields are made of black sand spotted by round humps of thick green growth. Wild flowers. Tour buses and their passengers converge to the tourist viewpoint and walkabout. Etna, above us, is covered in cloud and mist. Taking the planned ride up higher on the gondola hardly seems worth it. So we leave, glad to have seen the mountain's north face and boiling steam.
Now heading inland toward Adrano. Chestnut and pear trees. Fern fronds are brown with the heat. The villages that we pass through are poor. It appears that the people who live here have lost hope, lost any belief in themselves. We cross a wide flat valley full of crops of apples, olives, grapes, oranges and lemons, then through white tuff stone and caves on the rise. Hill town ahead, white with stone and sunshine. Prickly pear, yucca, grey-green thistle. A Canadian War Cemetary is settled in the dip of a hill, away up in in these mountainous hills! We stay overnight on the hillside of the town of Agira.
November 26
In the morning we walk up into the old residential area, up long wide stairs to homes and apartments on narrow streets spidering this way and that. We glance into windows through pots of flowers and filmy curtains and wander along canyon-like alleys, flattening ourselves to the walls so small cars can get past us. We look up to wash-day balconies with fresh colorful clothes waving like Hindu flags. Rugs hang over the rot iron railings.
There is a strange plume of a cloud, a big stretched-out thing of eerie color; dark yellow with a fringe of black. The sun is beyond the plume shadow, unable to show itself. We ask a local, "Did Etna blow last night?" "Oh no, he says. Ah but yes, Etna did blow just hours after we left and most of you heard and saw the reports on it. A big one! A film of gritty black ash was over everything. Certainly our car, and in our hair and on our clothes.
Later we drive to the top Agira to see its old castle. The clock tower bangs out 11:00 as we reach the summit. Old lovely grey stone churches with pointed colorful mosaic steeples mark this region's style. From this point of view it is evident that this town has had its beginnings at the top then spilled down the less steep back side. The buildings furthest away from our perch are all much newer. From here we can see that Etna is very active!
In this town we have come across an olive oil processing plant, Frantoio Rinaldi dal 1957. Individuals have come and gone all morning, bringing their personal harvests of olives. We make our way there, hoping to watch the process. Hard green olives await pressing into extra virgin olive oil. The process seems similar to our wine making at home. First the olives go through a destemmer and someone picks out the remaining leaves before it goes up an enclosed conveyor belt to be mashed. The owner opens a window-hole for us to look into. He tells us to smell the delicious odor! From here it goes through separation and cleaning with water, that is removed as we reach the final product...fairly green oil which is put into containers by hand, one by one. We are unsure of the next step. Where does it get bottled? Or, I guess many locals just take it home in buckets and bottle their own in saved bottles of all shapes and sizes. We buy a bottle of oil from the young owner who stands by a photo of his father and a priest at the blessing of the opening of the processing plant. Rinaldi Orazio gives us a hot pepper/picante flavored oil as well. Such a nice encounter with all the men on the processing line.
At 12:00 noon every church bell tower goes nuts! Like a celebration. Bang bang bang... bang bang bang bang bang...some fast, some slow, different tempos and tones. It is joyous! We start off to Caltanissetta. Ash blows around on the road. Gritty pummice drifts like fine black snow. Naturally built walls on hill tops have been pushed up from the earth's center.
We find the city of Caltanissetta, but can we find our Servas hosts Giovanna and Pino? There it is! #7 via Bissolati. We ring the bell and Giovanna comes down from the seventh floor to greet us. Their apartment is a lovely home full of glowing wood, oriental rugs and original art. Treasures of their passionate lives are everywhere...placed lovingly. Plates, cups and saucers, glass. Giovanna is a handsome classically dressed woman. She says that it is the Italian way...to look your best. I sit on a lovely couch and look at a picture album of her son Albert's wedding. Any day now Giovanna and Pino will become grandparents!
Giovanna likes to work with her hands, sewing, crafts. She is most excited about scrap booking! She does not know anyone else that does this. No stores for supplies, no groups to join. She has been given everything she needs by an American friend. Her studio is full of papers and tools. And, she is a natural book-maker. Dear little books...very creative and well crafted. She is busy at a book for her grandchild to come.
Lena, Pino's sister, is staying here at this time. When she arrives home, the four of us take their dear little dog with us to walk in the city. Our first stop is the church. All Saints Day is being celebrated. Here we buy marzipan in the shapes of fruit, nuts and vegetables. The custom; Loved ones who have died will quietly return and put marzipan under the children's beds...IF they have been good! Giovanna tells us that Halloween is now taking over. Maybe they will combine the two...both customs sound good to me!
The main center street has been redeveloped to wide walking areas. After six in the evening the area is closed to cars and strollers come out to parade, shop and generally 'take the air'. We love this European pass time! The church at the end of the promenade, Chiesa di Sant'Agata al Collegio, is a striking red and white in color and has amazing inlaid marble decorating its interior. Not too far away stands the statue of the First King. We walk to the Viceroy's Palace where there is an excellent exhibit of local artist's work...statues, busts. The most important are the works of the sculpter and painter, Michele Tripisciano. Inside the very old theater, Teatro Bauffremont, the old stables of the Palace compoound have been adapted to a stage. Here one can enjoy the cinema these days along with many other events. The old, adapted to the demands of today. It is such a rich combination.
At home again we are treated to a freshly made Italian meal and Pino comes home...finally. Harvest time. He has finished picking his grapes and has now started on gathering his olives! A busy time for him as he does most of the work himself. But, he is that kind of guy. An outdoor man who loves the earth and what he can grow in it.
October 27
Today we follow Giovanna's suggestion to drive to Petralia Soprana where the town is hosting an annual festival. Pino is off early to his olive grove and Giovanna has appointments and chores. We drive an hour to a hill town and find no festivities here but we walk the gorgeous town, then try a sister town, Petralia Sottana. We park far down the hill and walk to the central town streets. Ah, it is here that things are hopping! The main thing to experience is the making of Ricotta cheese. We eat a sweet ricotta treat and try roasted chestnuts. From our shady table, drinking our Italian beer, we watch an unusually good group of spirited young musicians in costume who are playing catchy traditional music. Behind them, and along the narrow streets are booths of food, jewelry, photos, paintings, scarves and crafts. We eat barbecued Italian sausage meat rolled up in a pastry with a sour green to compliment, much like we cook spinach. Delicious. Persimmons are in season. A delicate sweet taste. Atogether a fine day of festival celebration and a lovely country ride in the high country.
When we reach home Giovanna is ready to teach us to make Carbonera for three.
PASTA alla CARBONERA
Pasta...egg noodles, Giovanna cooked 3 ball-nests in salted water.
In frying pan, saute cut up spring onion and bacon. Add rosemary.
Add the cooked noodles to the frying pan mixture with a little bit of the salted water. (More of the water can be added if the pasta is too dry.)
Beat up one egg per person and put on top of frying pan mixture, mix carefully and spoon to plates.
David and I tried this ourselves on the van camper-stove and it was delicious.
October 28
Pino is so busy we don't get many visits in. While we are sleeping, it seems he has peeled some prickly pears for us. These have a beautiful red colored flesh. Ambrosia! Gentle and sweet, somewhat like a watermelon. The fruit also comes in yellow, green and white...and sometimes on the same plant. Giovanna has made up some black olives for us. Straight from their grove! Ingredients in the jar...olive oil (wouldn't you know!), garlic, salt, oregano and hot chili.
This morning Giovanna shows us the beautiful very old church that her son and wife were married in. It is a Norman Abbey from the 11th century and next to it is a home for retired priests. The Abbey has been thoughtfully and simply restored. Some of the wall paintings have been saved and put into frames. A fresco of Cristo Pantocratore was painted in the alter dome.
Close-by the Abbey is Giovanna and Pino's country home. A typical relaxed country garden and orchard sprawl around their three story dwelling. A cliff borders one side, their property is at its base. Giovanna and Pino have an apartment for themselves in the cool lower level, appointed with a travel collection of art and craft. They rent out their top floors and their seaside apartment on the beach of Taormina, to vacationers.
In the afternoon we say goodbye, but with the knowledge that we will be passing through again on our way back from exploring this lucious island. We have been given a list of places to see as well as gifts of preserves, apricot jam, marmalade and apples. In the evening we are in the center of the city of Agrigento, on the south coast. We read Rick Steves guide book and find that he believes Sicily to be worth seeing because of the 'sassy and spicy' people. So far it is true! We are also finding the island itself to our liking. Raw around the edges with great pockets of culture, much that is undeveloped, gorgeous hills and beaches. Relaxed and friendly.
The next morning we spend a few hours on Atenae Street in the town center. We walk a lengthy and interesting loop back to our car then lunch in the camper by a huge commercial fishboat marina. We move on to look for the harbor of Porto Palo. Gypsy leaves us high and dry to find our own way through old town back roads to the sea. This is nice! A cozy enclosure, harboring a nice strip of small boats which we inspect. We park for the night and watch night fishermen on the jetty, their lights flashing here and there with no particular rhythm. Dinner at home is delicious; tomato pesto and chunks of fresh tomato, onion and garlic folded in and spooned on top of wide ribboned pasta. The Sicilian markets devote at least two isles of all sizes and shapes of pasta. Hard to choose.
October 30
As we bask in the warm sun and cool breezes we remark...''It doesn't get better than this!'' Doors and windows are open to the freshness and warmth. In the light of day we can see that there has been an oil explosion on one of the small boats, spattering the mess all over its neighbors. The owners are trying to scrub all three boats but to no avail. Yikes. This could mean hard-come-by money spent on a lot of paint.
THOUGHTS and OBSERVATIONS
> We notice the soft ground and chasms of sunken holes caused by the many earthquakes.
> When we ask for directions we only get verbal explanations and hands waving. No amount of persuading will talk them into drawing a map...or even looking at one!
> When trying to find stove propane we stop at a gas station. The attendant looks at us blankly and somehow gets it across to us that, "We don't talk the same language but we are brothers."
> Giovanna tells us that the buildings are unattractive on the outside because the Sicilian people are so used to being shoved around by so many other nations...robbed or items just taken...that no one wants anyone to know that there is anything of any worth inside. Believe me, the inside of the homes and apartments are full of beauty and comfort.
> I find that I am tiring of the antiquities and all the history. I am wanting to live in the now of these cultures we visit, to experience their contemporary spirit...and art, architecture.
> Tunesia is maybe 100 miles away. It was on our list to see but we are warned not to go at this time. Is this someone else's fear?
> Giovanna also told us that when you buy an apartment flat it does not come with a completed kitchen. You choose the room and make it into a kitchen yourselves. Other rooms also need cabinets and cupboards and wardrobes. Furniture stores provide a variety of options for you to choose from.
We drive to another spot on the Mediterranean where we watch men fishing in the surf, wearing rubber suits of overalls with sea boots attached. We drive further. A 'witchy looking woman' leans out her door. Hmmm. I could look like that some day. At Pizzolato the beaches are full of heaped dried seaweed from storms, just as we experienced on Cyprus last year. It is not pretty and makes access to beaches impossible. David thinks it would make wonderful compost. Small summer rentals and holiday homes line the beachfront, empty and boarded up, out of season. Boats fill a perfectly formed natural reef harbor. Everyone must own a boat. The styles run from rowboats to small sailboats to motorized small private fishboats. It is nice here. We park in front of a huge gated white building, a work in progress. Private? Hotel? The gate is wonderful. The crossbars above hold a colorful wooden boat...it seems to be laying on its back like an otter, tail in the back, head in the front.
More fellows are fishing from the shore. Beside them each has a large spool of fishing line that they turn easily with one hand...so many ways to fish.
October 31
Lightening, lots of it and some thunder and rain as we enjoy our little cocoon of a warm bed. Police shone lights on us but kept going. We rise and gobble our museli and sip a hot cup of coffee. Next stop Marsala, known for its terrific desert wine. We hunt for a wine shop. All closed. But we stick with the search and finally are able to store a bottle of Masala wine in our 'cellar'. It is similar to a port, drank with or after dinner. Later we try it and it is truly rich and tasty.
The road continues along the waterfront. Iceplants spill out the fence slats, covering parts of the sidewalks. Old medieval walls remind us where we are. Bus horns make a funny circus blare to warn folks to get ready...'we are coming!'
We are near to the island of Mozia where there are salt ponds which are filled with salt water and then rapidly the water evaporates. It is then raked up into crystal piles all the same size and shape. I think the temperature, the flat terrain and the shallow sea may all contribute to the success. We are looking for the Staghorn Lagoon where the old salt pond operations can be viewed. A man working his tractor at the side of the road waves us down. "Looking for the salt pools? It is left at the next turn." We can see windmills, like the old Dutch ones, at the end of long rows of grape vines...then we turn left and soon we are there. Windmills must have played their part in regulating the pool water. We also see buff color buildings with red pointed roofs...they turn out to be piles of salt covered neatly with tiles to keep the salt dry! The ticket office seems closed. The only person there is a man selling hand made wares...he is the craft person and his wares are salt carvings. It is a bit hard to get detail in seasalt I think. We had a very interesting conversation. Locally he is called the 'Craftsman Poet". Peppe Genna shows us a newspaper article written about him. He is a lover of ancient traditions. This is where he grew up. He has come back home from his life wanderings and this is where he will stay.
Driving through Trapini, a nice town of wide streets, we find a road leading up Ericina Hill on many steep bumpy switch-backs. Treacherous! But, what a view, the most interesting being the salt pans we just left. We reach Erice, a fascinating hill town, the most beautiful of them all. Monotones of grey patterns. The streets have been hand set in stone designs. There are many lovely historic churches to visit...we buy a ticket that comes with a map, to follow through the stone maze, and enjoy a wonderful three hours. The stunner is the Royal Church constructed by King Frederick lll of Aragon in 1312.
It is dark at 5:30 so we quickly exit the village by foot to the car and hightail it down to a town below, Valderice, and find a place for the night. Dinner; olives, pecorino cheese, pear and the local Marsala. Sweet. 17o alcohol. It is Halloween and the Italian children have adopted the wearing of costumes and fireworks displays. I don't know if they go trick or treating...but they were moving about in 'gangs'. We have noticed many flower-sellers at roadside. It is also the more serious time of honoring and remembering the dead.
November 1
Many people are in the cemeteries, part of the three day weekend of observance. Children run through the trees. Flowers are being placed on many graves. It does not feel like a solemn time, but a close family time. We are in San Vito lo Capo on the northwest tip of Sicily to witness a kite festival. Trophies and prizes will be given on Sunday. It is Friday and not much is happening. There is not much wind. Children with kites give it their all. Stalls are set up with the usual fare. We wander the waterfront. The air feels warm enough to swim. The beach is huge, clean, long and golden. Many people are sunning on lounge chairs or towels on this superb day. We find fish and couscous, the local favorite, and share it on a bench by the beach. It is good! With it comes a slug of mild fish sauce to use at your own discretion. It has been a fun day, even though the serious kite contestants have not begun their show. We have bought some ceramic fish from a local artist, Nino Anselmo...his work is a cut above the regular ceramics sold in an outdoor market.
Tonight we are camped not far away, by the editerranean Sea, on a flat valley delta floor with powerful rock mountains around us. It is a special place. A great sunset caught by David's camera. Young German travelers on a three day holiday come to talk to us. They are riding bikes on a dirt trail by the sea in the dark. They have a 1986 VW bus and want to know about shipping it to the USA.
November 2
A magic morning on the sea. David hands me a great cup of coffee and a bowl of museli with walnuts and banana slices. I take time to write as David walks a trail. The floor of the camper is yellow filthy grit brought in on our shoes in the dark. It needs a good cleaning before we go, and when this is done we choose a back road through the mountains on a valley road. It is heavenly. Some stone farms sit amongst the sloping green vegetation ... until, at the top, the rock mountains take over. On one side of a long prescipice of white rock there are random quarries...the stone is cut into perfect huge blocks, looking like a white village.
We are heading towards the Gulf of Castellammare where we will turn south to Gibellina, population 4,200. This city is a special tip from Giovanna and it proves to be one of our all-time favorite experiences. An earthquake absolutely destroyed this town. Many people lost their lives. Temporary housing was set up below the town. The far-sighted mayor had a dream to build everyone a brand new city 11 kilometers away. This dream was fulfilled ten years later, to give everyone a chance to mourn and get used to a new idea. It was very hard for all.
The new city has wide streets, new pretty homes and apartments, good shops and offices. The mayor had called in good architects and artists. "We deserve a beautiful town." Most of the architecture is good, but some of it is amazing. Solid new design ideas are followed through. Parks and squares are many. Our goal was to see all the outdoor sculptured pieces and to check out the works in the contemporary art museum. Pieces of art stand thoughout the city. Good work, much of it monumental.
BUT where is everybody? It is Saturday. Children should be everywhere. The parks are not used and they are becoming wastelands. It seems as though all the human race has died without our knowledge. Somehow we escaped it and we are looking at creative works that human hands have wrought. And it is rather lonely! The graffiti...made by lesser minds, but human thought still exists for us to contemplate. Plants have not been watered. Brown and drooping. Is there any water? Clothes hang on a balcony line. What has happened here? The museum is closed.
Finally we find a human to ask questions of, understanding and speaking only Italian. We wander more. Friendly little dog packs wander the town. It is their town today. Ahhhh. Maybe everyone has gone to the coast for the three day weekend. That idea will have to surfice...as nothing else presents itself.
But Gibellina does not seem to function on all cylinders. Does anybody care about all this fabulous art or are all those visionaries 'dead and gone'? Beauty everywhere but filthy, moldy, dirty rain streaks the walls, unfinished structures stand like ghosts. Somehow this place has me caring deeply. So much planning. So much building. So many dreams and good intentions. Maybe when we try so hard to make something happen because we think it is good and right for all, our efforts flop. When a community develops organically, everyone has input...sometimes without even knowing it.
(Giovanna has another view of Gibellina. "A lot of money was spent soon after the earthquake in 1966, only for the artistic side of the town while the people were left to live in campers and baracks until a few years ago when the houses were completed. In the meantime, the old town's people emigrated and the new town art deteriorated.")
November 3
We finish our search for the city's outdoor art and during this time we notice a huge white sphere. It is close but seems to keep moving as we move. Elusive. Finally we turn a corner and it is there in front of us. A unique open air play and concert space within the white sphere. There are steps leading up and around to other spaces, roof to basement. We find doors of different shapes and sizes to accommodate giant props and stage sets and costume changing rooms, set within the walls as we inspect this unique site. The walls are formed from a rectangular building that intercepts the sphere. We walk to the far end of the rectangle and find that it is a church! It is Sunday and open, about ready to begin services. We peek in and we are astounded! The congregation sits looking at the alter, which seems to sit in front of the universe! A part of the sphere enters the sanctuary at one corner, its round convex side somehow creates an illusion that we are looking into the universe, that we are looking inside the huge ball. Incredible!
There is another treat close-by. Trame del Mediterraneo, Museum of Mediterranean crafts located in Baglio Di Stephano, opened in 1992, founded and still funded and administrated by The Orestiadi Foundation. Non government and non profit.
It is a bit hard to find, off in the country hills, but we find a monestery-turned-museum of art from all Mediterranean cultures. Textiles, jewelry, ceramics, paintings, archeological artifacts and sculptures. Along with permanent originals from different historical periods the exhibits are composed of current art, installations and temporary art. A diversity of religious and cultural art. This is a gem! We only have time to see part of it today. We are assured that the doors will be open for us tomorrow. So exciting!
November 4
Back to the Mediterranean Craft Museum. We enter a building that we missed yesterday. The rooms are darkened to protect the antiquities and the music is soft and appropriate. I wander through old and modern pieces that send me to unknown worlds, beautifully and sincerely rendered. Basic images that tell their own stories without words. Can I keep all this with me, inside, to pull to the foreground when I need it? The richness of it all inspires me to somehow use its truthful essence in my own artwork.
Outside there is a very large installation/sculpture of horses on a big white hill of salt. They are not all standing. Some are caught in the salt, on their sides or parts of their bodies covered in the salt, some seem to be sliding down the hill. I cannot decide if this is a tragedy or a victory. Are the horses being sucked under or are they rising from a tragic situation? It is hard to turn away.
This museum has taken my heart and my imagination to the fullest places. I leave reluctantly, knowing that I will not be here again. I would visit it weekly if it were a possibility.
Roads edges just slip and slide into dirt gullies. Water erosion. The ground is not stable. We stop beside a cemetery gate. An art piece itself, and within, the memorials look like little homes of a community in cul de sacs with the church in the center. We walk these roads. How remarkable! Families have had their family chapels built of dome shapes, or elegant boxes in which to lay their dead. It seems to me that there are up to twelve spaces or beds, at its center a shrine to the dead, candles glow in red glass beside photos and displays of flowers. We can see through gated glass but some doors are open wide to the public. Perhaps it is because of the Memorial weekend that there is so much action here today.
On our way again. Most of the fields have been plowed and the result is a gorgeous shade of brown with buff color grass dividers. And a first for us, a prickley pear farm! We wanted to find the old Gibellina, in its earthquake state, but after driving miles on a dirt road we found it closed to further traffic. It would have been nice to see the old and the new both.
And our last goal for the day, The Cathedral of Monreale. Commissioned by a Norman ruler of Sicily in the 12th century, it is a place of gold. Glorious golden mosaics (Gustaf Klimpt) influenced by Sicilian and Byzantine crafts people, resulting in a fusion of East and West, now a national monument of Italy. It is really two different churches put together end-wise, Roman Catholic and Eastern Rite. Monreale means Monte Reale or Royal Mountain, the name coming from the Royal Castle built here by Roger I of Sicily. The spot is famed for its orange, olive and almond trees.
Inside the walls are covered in monumental illustrations of Biblical stories. For example, Noah's arc in three panels. The loading up of the animals two by two, the journey on the water, white dove and olive branch, and the last panel, the animals unloading on to new dry land. Another example is a mosiac picture of William II offering the Monreale Cathedral to the Virgin Mary. In the old times, only the church people could read and write (Latin) so paintings and mosaics became the way to teach the common people about the Bible. This church masters this, so many incredibly beautiful patterns and stories.
November 5
Today it is raining. We stay in the camper awhile and I make a salad to take to visit our Palermo Servas host, Agata. At two pm we arrive at her door. She has a lovely large apartment in the center of Palermo. We spend little time there as she wants us to see the city before dark, so we load into her car and see all the important sites. This way we can choose what to visit the next day. What a place! It is beautiful and busy. Traffic is amazing. Dart here and there around any obstacle or sit and wait and honk your horn! It's fun! Agata is a very good driver.
Back to the apartment. For dinner we have lovely talks and spaghetti, of course! She shows us a video of her visit to Uzbekistan. Very exciting. My favorite shots were of fantastic mosaics.
Our room is huge, full of books and records... yes, records. Her career as an English teacher is all around us. Some of the record albums have been used to teach English. She explains that it is the best way, slow and musical. Who are the singers, the musicians? Bob Dylan is a very favorite, along with Leonard Cohen and Eric Clapton. The records spin out the memories as we ready ourselves for bed.
November 6
A really wonderful day of bus rides and walking. A big and alive city. David and I are on our own until around 6:00 pm. We pick a few things to do well. One of these is a tour of the La Fondazione Teatro Massimo, the opera house. Our guide tells us that the last four top levels are the best seating. At this time there are rehearsals for La Traviata. We learn that Wagner is a favorite at this venue. During WWII the opera house stayed open as it was not touched by bombs as much of the city was. Amazing, as it is a big and beautiful building. I wonder if I would have defied the enemy by attending the opera...and if I would have been able to keep my mind on the production knowing the possibilities of war. At the time of the Unification of Italy, young Enrico Caruso sang at the first concert, Verdi...on this huge stage, 52 meters wide and 72 meters high. 1,350 people capacity. There is a lovely centrally located Royal Box that is rented out today to anyone, any party or celebration, for 120 euro per chair. The acoustics are fabulous as the inside of the hall is mahogany. Also, the roof can be open, with windows to the sky. The tour is well worth paying for a ticket and guide.
The other chosen destination; a visit to the Gallery of Modern Art. In 1910 people had the the opportunity to enjoy the heritage of the exciting period that saw the rise of the part of Palermo that took inspiration from Art Nouveau. Today the museum is in the complex of Sant'Anna with both paintings and sculptures illustrating the evolution of Italian figurative arts in the 19th and 20th centuries. Good Italian artists whose names are mostly new to me but very worthy of note in the world of modern art pieces. My favorites: Francesco Lojacono, 'The Sun Thief ...Antioniao Leto's works of nature... and Etlore De Maria Bergler, of the Liberty Art Movement 1850-1938.
In the streets we walk through and around striking workers where they are causing traffic to stack up for miles. Honk, honk, honk! Even this is fun!
From the inner city we walked to the harbor marina and the amazing Victims of the Mafia Memorial. That in itself was a shock to me...the wide open huge statement that this is not okay and will not be tolerated! We learn from Agata that the Mafia is somewhat controlled these days. NO MORE KILLING.
We find the right bus home but do not have the right change. Ha! We took a chance and jammed in with everyone else on their way home from work. Free ride. The bus stops in front of Agata's building where we sit at an outdoor table with a glass of wine until it is time to connect with Agata again. Tonight we see slides of her visits to Ireland and Iceland.
November 7 & 8
Breakfast with Agata. She's a smart and witty woman, tiny and energetic, who tells us about herself and her life. She remained single. Her home is filled with good books, travel pieces and memories and gifts from friends and interesting fabrics, rugs and pillows. She tells us a story of her life during the war...
Her family went from the city to a country house to join other families there, a safer place, especially for the children. It was very hard for the families to find food and hunger was always knawing at them.
Her father was serving in Messina which was totally bombed. He would send messages home that said, "I am still alive!" Then, for quite some time, they heard nothing from him. When finally he arrived at their country doorstep all the people were so happy and grateful that they washed him and then gave the family the largest bed to sleep in; mother, father, Agata and her brother.
She showed me her knitting, pulling each item out from a lower drawer in her bedroom. "I don't wear these outside anymore, just around home." These sweaters were complicated patterns that she had figured out herself. She pulled out very large hooked rugs from a hall closet that she had made. They go on her floor during the cold winter months.
And then there is a person that she takes responsibility for...he has grown from boy to a 40 year old man during their relationship. He was found on the streets naked and beaten. She still makes sure that his basic life needs are met. His unfortunate boyhood is still a mystery.
David teased her ever so gently about her habit of attaching an Italian 'a' to the end of English words. "You will not have a bed in my home ever again if you are not careful!"...said with a grin...while we ate homemade yogurt for breakfast. She walked to our car garage (45 euros for two days) with us to say her goodbyes. A good stay with a good woman of substance.
We are close to the town of Misilmeri where we want to pay our respects in general, to the Perone/Peroni families of that town. Our Bainbridge Island neighbor, Angela, has told us that her parents are from here. We drive slowly through the streets and think of her mom and dad, whom we knew. No sign of a Perone, though not too far away we do see a business sign with the name Peroni.
Cefalu. A fantastic beach town though the warm sun of the morning has now changed to chilly cloud cover. We park along the sea front promenade. A few brave vacationers are 'sun bathing' and bobbing in the surf. Shops and residences are stacked up the hillside. A summertime place for most, but in the less-peopled winter it must also be a good spot to live with the ever-changing views of the weather layed out before you. We stay the night overlooking the sea and in the morning begin our trip back to Caltanissetta and our friends Pino and Giovana.
We are in farm country. Italian farms. Hills and hills of different textured patches, crazy quilt style: artichokes, basil, fennel, cabbage, cauliflower
...and scarecrows. Lemons, limes and oranges are coming on strong in the orchards. The green olives are nearly all picked from the trees and taken to be processed into extra virgin oil. A stream flows through the valley. A dirt road follows its winding contours. Long morning shadows give such interest to the landscape. High mountains, up to 1300 meters, seem to keep the valley cozy and protected. The mountains seem to be slabs of plates pushed up. Red-pink and celery green rock shows through. Long bridges and tunnels provide a good road, keeping us safe from unstable ground. The blades of wind generators are still. A large flock of sheep are feeding on the one green and grassy hill, the rest are plowed brown or dead grass buff.
We pick up our new credit cards and car license at our Servas friend's apartment. A short visit here as we leave in the morning but we do manage to visit the internationally important Museo Mineralogico, which was created originallly as the laboratory of the Mineral School. . Hardly a soul is in this excellent museum of sulpher based rock, found in the local mines. Great was the toll of exploitation...the blood of citizens and the labor of children. There are 25,000 examples of minerals and 15,000 fossils from different geological eras...these from across the world. An old teacher from the mineral school is there to answer questions, a kind and unassuming man who is also internationally known and is often asked to lecture. This museum is a total pleasure and a big surprise, being just down the road from Giovana and Pino.
November 9
This morning we say goodbye to our Sicilian friends. We may see them on Cyprus in January. Giovana has given us a list of the best Sicilian wines and a few more goals not to miss.
The first is Villa Romana Del Casale, near the town of Piazza Armerina. It is the richest, largest and most complex of mosaics, nothing like it in the rest of the world! So many scenes and designs, nothing repeated, built in the first quarter of the 4th Century AD, now a UNESCO World Heritage Center. It was an upper class Roman's country home, maybe that of a senator or an imperial personage, built in the center of a huge agricultural estate where a town grew up around it...but all was destroyed in a 12th century landslide, covering the villa.
The landslide protected the mosaics that we see today! Ancient pieces were found in the 19th century and excavating began. We wander through residential rooms and those of official purpose all on a single story, a rare building design of that time. Full intact mosaic scenes of war, of river travel, of animals, sports, of interesting images of people (one in particular, a strong bearded man with a third eye) and the biggest surprise!...found in the Chamber of the Ten Maidens, women in bikinis! Wow, the Romans invented those, too! In this large scene the women are 'working out'. Weight lifting, ball games, running and discus for example. Another winning site of the island of Sicily! If you are on this island ask a local for suggestions. It may be the only way you find these treasures.
And we drive to the next suggested stop, again on small roads through the countryside. Red cauliflower, green cauliflower. Sicily is beautiful in its unassuming way, simply presented, calming. We come to the town of Citta'Di Caltragirone. This is a ceramic center of a lovely baroque 1,000 year old tradition. Pottery is made from this area's abundance of clay. Majolica and terra cotta. Artistic Italian production. It is evening but magically lit. We climb the 30 foot wide, 142 steps called 'Staircase of Santa Maria Del Monte', each 14 steps representing 100 years of ceramic making. And the stairs are ceramic tiles of all designs. As you walk them, the one-of-a-kind tile images present themselves for close viewing, good fodder for picture taking. At the side of the steps and in the streets there are many ceramic shops and little cafes. Unable to resist, we bought a plate from Mario Alba, a sweetheart of a guy. He lives above his shop/studio with his wife and two children. We loved this town. Busy with people living on steep-sided hills, their homes built to fit. It is a good place!
November 10
We move on east through the center of the island to the town of Catania. A sunny warm happy morning. Many black African men are walking or bicycling the road we travel. They may be illigal emigrants who are escaping civil wars and dictatorships and now live in a community together, a place to start fresh, make a new life. It seems their main work may be in the agricultural field, as the North Americans get help from the Mexican people. It feels similar, especially when I hear that recently 300 boat people died...bad boat, too many people who had paid good money with hope in their hearts. Catania is the second largest city after Messina. Busy. Lots of gypsy beggars. Chestnuts roast on the street sides, artichokes grill black on top of a barbecue. I pass an apple through the window to a handicapped fellow. White hybiscus in bloom and butter yellow bugels hang from green-leafed branches. This evening we stop in Marina Di Cottone by the beach, well, practically on it. Dinner and bed.
November 11
Monday morning. Rain overnight and a stormy morning...but give the sunshine time, it always seems to prevail. While it rained on the beach, it snowed on the top of Mount Etna. Fire and water! Pumice is everywhere, people are washing their cars. Today is our last day in Italy as we head back to Messina and the ferry. We stop to mail a thank you card to Agata and also to send her our Servas papers so she can add them to the hundreds of other pages in her guest book. A different system presence us at the Post Office. Take a ticket, but there are five choices?! Which window? We get lucky. After some discussion in an Italian-English exchange, we get the job done and we are on our way again. We have been told that we must go to a certain restaurant in the lovely town of Taormino, everybody goes. The draw? Well, the decor; paintings, tables and chairs are all designed in the shapes of penus'. That fact seems as important as the Greek ruins above it! Instead we have lunch with a view from our camper van and finally taste Pino's wine. It is the best! Just like we prefer. Superb! Subtle sweetness with some tannin tang pullin at our tongues. Thank you Pino!
The drive is pretty to Messina. We have a high coastline view through open car windows. Pumice grit drifts in. A rock and treed island is a short way into the sea. A peninsula spit guards a tiny crescent bay. The top of an onion dome at eye level, made of soft blue, white and gold tiles. This route rivals the Amalfi coast but with less traffic. A wide dry river bed scoots under our bridge and into the sea. Poinsettia in full bloom. Red-fusia- yellow-orange flowers dot a bushy plant, each flower has all these colors in it. Lovely! Dark sand pumice beaches and then we glide into Trenitalia, the town streets forming tight canyons of upper residences over shops. Potted plants on iron balconies. An old man on a bike slowly peddles in front of us. Women shopping, many bags in hand...in the pharmacy, out of the bakery, into the butchers...pick through the sidewalk fruits and vegetables. We need gas but our credit card won't work. A good citizen says, "Follow me" and soon we are taken care of. Into Messina and cue up in the ferry line to the mainland. 38 euros for a ferry ride no longer than from Bainbridge Island to Seattle. Over the sea. We dock. It is a free-for-all to push our way off the ferry. No orderly two lane exit. Individual 'me first, me first' attitude. Mainland Italy.
In the evening we head south down to the water. Sicily and Etna are across the water. Boats are pulled up on the beach, small fishing boats. A small bulky wood skiff with fresh paint of red, white, blue and green with the yellow warmth of shellaced wood, looks like a new child's wood toy. A small handicapped man comes over to us. "Do you think we can sleep here?"...as we lay our heads over on our pillowed hands to get the idea across. He points to a good spot and wants a cigarette in exchange. We shake our heads 'sorry'.
Oh my! It is a windy night. Big waves crash against the shore, spewing 20 feet into the air when they hit a rocky breakwater. I glance up from our back cabin and, WOW, Etna is spurting firey red, orange and yellow! We watch the mighty show for an hour, until she tires and settles down. We feel very lucky to be at this spot to see her release her hot and colorful anger!
November 12
In the morning, Etna has more new snow on her long gradual upper flanks. A soft cooling blanket while she sleeps. What a beauty.
A man seems to be harvesting something near the breakwater. He has a bag he is filling. Another man arrives a bit later to the same spot but finds he has been beaten. Maybe a shell fish that was thrown from the crashing waves last night?
And here comes another fellow, walking toward us, looking at our license plate. A wave from us and he comes around to our open sliding door. Francesco is his name, the owner and builder of the restaurant at the end of the road. He has a bit of a story to tell. His wife is Anna Marie, and they have two children, grown and making their way in life. He is very proud of his 27 year old who is making good money as an engineer planning and designing tunnels and underwater canals. Francesco says that he also graduated from college. I think he is about 55. We learn all this without a common language. He is a loving person who makes tears come to my eyes. He hugs David often and says, "Simpatico". "Good couple. Beautiful wife". He strokes my hair and kisses me. Finally he must get back to his restaurant. What a hit! But 'ciao'...we will never see him again.
There are open showers on the beach. We screw on our hose and fill our kitchen water tank, then wash the black pumice off the camper. We are traveling the coast road at the bottom of the Italian 'boot'. It is gorgeous. Palm trees, grasses growing right to the sea edge, changing colors of the water. Lava roadbed, prickly pear cactus, boats and more boats pulled up onto the shore grass. A railway track runs along the roadside between us and the sea. An old man helping his old wife over rough ground makes my heart soar. With snow on Etna, there is now a constant nip in the air. Time to stop for the day. Mosquitos are waiting for me to open the door. I'll show them. I sneak back to the cabin through the front seats. Soon, though, bats come looking for dinner and the insects skidaddle.
November 13 & 14
A long drive today to Brindisi, where we will catch our ferry to Greece. It rains most of the day. We wiggle down a town road for breakfast on the beach. The surf is high and dirty, full of sand pulled from the bottom. Still, beyond that is a lovely aqua marine strip before it turns into a dark sea. All the rocks on this beach are a brown color with white streaks; every one of them. At noon we find that we are in familiar country. We have explored this before with our friend Deb. Taranto, an industrial sea port, Montera where there are good local wines and Aberabello with its crazy little white pointy topped homes. All memories are vivid and treasured.
Finally, in Brindisi, we learn that we can get on an overnight ferry to Greece. Get in line at 10:30. This is similar to the ferry we take to Cyprus. No signage. Big semi trucks with tickets to tell them when it is their turn to be 'fitted' in to the lower deck. Some trucks have to back in up long ramps. All a tight fit. We are settled into our bed, curtains and blinds pulled tight. At 2:00 a.m. There is a knock on our side door. Silence. Another knock. Darn! We are kicked upstairs. All the good places are already taken with reclining bodies. I lay on the floor on my jacket, head pillowed on my knitting bag but the cold of the floor seeps through. Essentially we stay up all night.
In the early morning Tim comes to talk to us. He is a truck driver from the Netherlands but grew up speaking English in Hong Kong. He is smart and interesting. Time flies by as he tells us his story. His mother and sister live in the Netherlands, his father, who was a CEO in an Asian Chase Bank, is still in Hong Kong, though retired. Tim's weekly route is back and forth between the Netherlands and a military base on the Turkey/Syria border. He's fast and follows rules and does a good job. And he probably makes very good money. He encourages us to visit the Turkish Kurd area north of Syria.
We land in Igornenitza.
THOUGHTS and OBSERVATIONS:
> A thought from Frederick Bulchner... "Father, Son and Holy Spirit mean that the mystery beyond us, the mystery among us and the mystery within us are all the same mystery."
> An Italian Treat: Take a slice of fresh warm bread and top with fresh oregano and new olive oil...and...a bit of hot pepper.
> The Best Sicilian Wines...
Red: Nero D'Arola, Sirah, Nerello Mascalese, Cerasuolo.
White: Grillo, Regaleali, Bianco D'Alcano and a sweet Passito
> I am very much in the minority with my grey hair.
> The cutest little work trucks...3 and 4 wheeled Piaggios.
> Old adorable Fiats in beautiful condition.
> A bicycle. Often it is pushed as a carrier for a heap of precious stuff!
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