A visit to Sicily

My father had less and less interest in traveling as he got older. So we were surprised a few years ago when we asked him where he'd like to go if we all took a vacation together, and he replied, "Sicily." He had no Sicilian blood, never studied Italian and had no special craving for Italian food, but my father did love history. 

We never got to take that trip with him, but when my mother came to visit us in Spain for six weeks this spring, it seemed like a fitting destination.

Sicily is about the size of Massachusetts, and the biggest island in the Mediterranean.

The symbol of Sicily is very strange looking, and you see it everywhere on the island:

It dates back to 1252 and is called the triskele, or trinacria, which is the ancient name of the island. The three legs refer to the island's three sides, while the winged head of Medusa is meant to protect it, and the shafts of wheat symbolize the island's fertility. I guess they should have made Medusa more gruesome because,in learning about Sicily's past, we discovered that much of Sicily's past was a succession of foreign despots who siphoned off as much of it's natural abundance as they could.

We landed in Palermo, on the north coast. Matt had rented a van to carry the six of us. I was expecting a European style van similar to the one we have in Madrid, so I was surprised when Avis handed us the keys to a much bigger, banged-up utility van fitted out for eight passengers. 

We called her Baby Beluga, though as Matt threaded its ungainly body through the tiny alleys of Palermo, it seemed more like a great white whale. Miraculously, Matt managed not to add to the plethora of bumps and scratches that the van already had. The Sicilians drive and cross streets as if they have little concern for rules, or for bumping into things. We were amazed that there were not more accidents, and as we witnessed many people and vehicles seemingly occupy the same space without incident, we speculated that the ability to pass through objects is one of the many gifts bestowed on Sicily by the Pantheon of Gods.

The most obvious gift to Sicily is its natural beauty, with dramatic hills and mountains rising from the vivid blue sea, often topped by a village of creamy buildings with red roofs, or splashed with large swaths of wild flowers. It's hard to blame all of those despots for coveting this place.

But so often in Sicily I felt the dissonance between this beauty of the landscape, with its wildflowers, ancient buildings and ruins, interspersed with litter and massive piles of trash. Our part of the Island had the biggest problem with trash pickups.

That first trip from the airport was the worst. Baby Beluga had little suspension, I had not gotten used to the piles of trash, and I did not know that Matt had quickly learned the Sicilian art of occupying the same space with other vehicles and careless pedestrians. So, I was terribly relieved to arrive at the lovely villa facing the sea. I made a vow (quickly broken) to stay there for the duration.

Granna in the door of the villa.

View from the patio.

also from the patio

Our gift to the girls on this, the last of many European trips during our three years in Spain, was to let them hang out at the villa as much as they wanted, while the adults visited historical sites. I think they spent most of their time on this patio.

Patio

One highlight of the trip was exploring the nearby ruins of an ancient Carthaginian city, built in the 4th century BC. It was set high on the hillside overlooking the sea, and included residences, markets, a cistern, an amphitheater and an altar for sacrificing animals. To get up to this site and then walk around it was a physical challenge that few 81 year olds with canes would have taken on, but Mother was intrepid when it came to touring ancient sites.

view from the ancient city

With Matt's help, Joan makes her way down a particularly
treacherous old road while touring the ancient site.

Another highlight was the Villa Romana del Casale. Built in the 3^rd and 4^th centuries AD, it was an extensive residence, which must have seemed more like a large luxury hotel and spa than somebody's house. Whether in the servants' quarters or the main hall, every surface was decorated: the floors with mosaics and the walls with murals. Both the quantity and quality exceeded any Roman murals we had seen in Istanbul, Rome or anywhere else.

From the Roman villa we drove to the Greek temples of Agrigento. The city was built by the Greeks in the 5^th century BC, and soon became a major metropolis on the Mediterranean, but was sacked by the Carthaginians in the 3^rd century.

Matt and Joan going up to see the Temple of Juno

We could see a storm approaching, and I was personally ready to race back to the car, but Mother insisted on continuing from the Temple of Juno to the Temple of Concordia. In fact, we did get quite wet during the brief downpour that ensued, but it was well worth it. The gods were apparently just playing with us.

From the Temple of Juno, you can make out
the Temple of Concordia in the distance.

As historical sights went, though, my favorite was the Palatine Chapel in Palermo. I had no idea that Sicily was once ruled by the Normans. Roger II had this Norman-Byzantine chapel built in 1130 to 1140. I wish I could capture in a photograph the effect of walking into this building. I felt that I was a precious jewel that had been thrust into the most exquisite jewelry box. The mosaics, much of them gold, cover every surface.

The guard offered Mother a seat in the area
that was roped off. I am beginning to think about using a cane myself.

Noah's ark

St. Paul being lowered in a basket
while escaping from the angry mob.

I love the zig zaggy pillar, but the carved one is the most amazing.

At the bottom are four lions eating people and animals. This seems to be a
major theme in ancient art, as is the hunting of animals.

Top of the column. I think this guy has had about enough of
holding the building up, after about 800 years.

Outside in downtown Palermo, the usual Sicilian chaos rules. This incredible archway called "Porta Nuova" ("New Door") is from 1669. It's "new" because it replaced an even older one. 

The statues are wonderful, but difficult to see with all the traffic.

I don't think I have managed to get a photo that conveys the absurdity of passing through this archway as a pedestrian, without a walkway and with cars and motorcycles zooming through. I'm amazed that my mother and I managed to get to the other side and tell the tale.

Of course, we didn't only gawk at old buildings in Sicily; we ate as well. Food just tastes better in there. We feasted on local vegetables, olive oil, pizza, pasta and seafood. Part of the fun was visiting a country where Claire lived for a year. We were often grateful for her fluent Italian, and she enjoyed choosing restaurants.

 This was our fancy night out, or Bumpy’s Memorial Dinner.

I sketched the girls on the other side of the table.

We raised a toast to my father, who inspired us to visit such a wonderful place. He certainly would have loved Sicily's rich historic sites, and he would have laughed at its  the copious displays of human folly as well. The trip was a fitting memorial to him.