Seeing Southern Travel Magazine

Italy gets lost in its shroud of romance. I get that, but there's so much more to this country that pasta and wine.

But for this week, the lessons do include a little bit of romance and discovery.

What one week in Sicily has taught me The lessons of one week in Sicily.

In the midst of this big international wedding happening in Palermo (my daughter told me to be on the lookout for Elton John, the only attendee we might know), we are doing nothing in Castellammare del Golfo - as all Sicilians do.

THE ART OF DOING NOTHING

I first heard that phrase - the art of doing nothing - in “Under the Tuscan Sun” years ago. I rarely think of that most days because nothing is not an option, even in retirement. It’s the “sweetness” that comes from doing nothing. The feeling of freedom, peace, joy in simply being still and well, doing nothing. It has absolutely nothing to do with being lazy, as one might think. Sicilians have it down to a science, and even visitors when they arrive in this town, adapt rather quickly.

Len and I went out last evening around 5:30 p.m. for dinner. The restaurants weren’t open. For hours, the staff set tables with linens and silverware, move chairs to specific outdoor tables, sweep and mop indoor floors but no food until later. We hovered, anxiously hoping one would be open, but no luck.

We walked. We found the tiny bakery - G. Domingo - from which our host purchased our pastries. We got one each of five different almond filled cookies. Through the small cobblestone streets, we heard mass resonating from Chiesa Madre di Santa Maria; we watched waiters still setting up tables and families enjoying their children playing. Our eyes caught each ‘for sale’ sign on every apartment building; could we live there? Fairly soon, we arrived back where we began.

A small bar sits at the end of the bridge - part of hotel Sopra Le Mura located across the small street (which I think is extraordinarily beautiful and perfectly located) - and we sat. The six tables overlook the marina, and quickly, a waiter brings us an appetizer of bread/sauce and olives. For Len, a gin and tonic. For me, an espresso martini. Honestly, one of the best I have ever tasted - I told the girl it was her touch and Illy coffee.

As the breeze from the harbor reminds us where we are, we understand that doing nothing but enjoying our drink and each other is a necessary practice for living well in Sicily. We spy a couple who were on the boat tour with us that afternoon and strike up a conversation. From Sweden, the young couple was enjoying their last night before returning to the cold. They loved this little coastal town, but really enjoyed Palermo.

We lingered for at least an hour, and then walked down the main historic street, Corso Giuseppe Garibaldi. Doors had opened and merchants were selling their wares. We went back to the restaurant that caught our eye at the beginning and sat down. A carafe of white wine and cacio e’ pepe later, we were satisfied. It was going on 9:30 p.m.

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THE DAY I PI**ED OFF NONNA

Never ever let anyone tell you need to know only a few Italian phrases (or in any language for that matter) to open doors. It might get the shopkeeper to raise her eyes, smile and respond in Italian, but then, she expects you to keep going. And when you don’t and can’t understand her, well, everything falls apart.

Take me for example with the little old Sicilian shopkeeper - at the most 4’5” tall - who wanted exact change for my bottle of wine and bottle of detergent. I gave her 50 euros, hoping to break the big bill. Afterall, this was a grocery. This lady was operating a jack-rabbit, revolving door business. She shook her head with distain and her face began contorting. She scribbled a scratchy 11.30 euros on a brown paper bag. I thought she wanted THAT much more. Finally Len walked into the store and tried to understand the issue - he was as confused as me, admit it - I gave her 20 euros more. Offered her my credit card. I would have taken my shirt off if she had asked for it.

She kept speaking louder and louder, hands waving. I’m terrified. She hands me the 50 back, breaks the 20 and dismisses me with her hand. The back of her hand floated from her stocky chest to the the top of her head. “I am through with you.”

I walked out dismayed and disheartened. My first official dismissal by a nonna. She was through with me. How could anyone be through with me? Everyone loves me. I wanted to cry but I was more interested in smacking Len because he was laughing at me. I was done with him for the day, too.

Italy is lovely but hard. I knew Sicily would not be easy, but it’s still discouraging to know exactly how much you don’t know. All the social media influencers who encourage you to know a few words and that’s it, screw you and the camel you rode in on.

You’ve got to have a grasp of the language, and I don’t. I’m in their country and I’ll do the best to pick up as much as I can. Until then, I’ll let my hands do the talking - just like them.

It's almost time to go, and we're hoping you'll come with us.

My goal is to share daily - hope, I said - of photos and words that will inspire you to put Castellammare del Golfo on your travel bucket list. It's a tiny harbor town on the western side of Sicily, south of Palermo. Its charm and history make me giddy with delight to actually live authentically for a while.

We've always said we'd like to live in Italy, if only for a few months out of the year. This will be a test as to whether we can do it. Our pieces of Italian won't get us far, but when in doubt, we'll grab family.

Len's grandparents were born here and family still remains. We can't wait to see Cesare and his family. We're taking documents and letters, as well as certified documents to visit the Commune to make sure Len, as well as I, am listed in the village records. That should be a hoot.

Thank you for following and walking with us on so many of our journeys. You inspire us and we hope we do the same for you!

With gratitude,

L + J



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