A weekend in Sicily

Sicily, an island off the southern tip of Italy, offers an interesting contrast to the Tuscan city of Florence. The weather is warmer and the terrain is a hodgepodge of hills, greenery, beaches and mountains. Sicily has been invaded by everyone from the Romans to the Arabs and the dialect, attitude, food, and architecture all reflect that history.

I traveled with a group on a tour and can’t imagine attempting Sicily alone. There is just too much to see to stay in just one village and public transportation to most of those places doesn’t exist. After an overnight train from Florence (about 11 hours) and a ferry (while still on the train) we finally arrived in Sicily. My favorite sight was Mt. Etna (the volcano) who is always steaming, her belly full but not a threat, a constant ooze of lava pours from her lips. The first stop was Taormina where we had a cannoli (the most delicious Italian pastry/sweet ever) for breakfast and then we hit the beach at Giardini Naxos. Other highlights from the weekend included seeing the Greek archeological sites, catacombs, and a boat ride in Siracusa, fresh seafood, and a visit to the Cyclops coast.

Pastries, beaches, and a hundred other things, but what stuck with me most was our last stop in Noto. The village of Noto is known for its high concentration of Baroque architecture, wine and almonds, but is what I remember as the village of men. The streets were bright and clean, shops were selling postcards, and there was an almond vendor on the steps of the church. Signs of the year 2008 could be detected in the neon yellow outfits worn by the bike racers pedaling up the hill and a television on the wall in the coffee bar. Noto was a perfectly quaint Italian village, but we were all asking the same thing. Where were all the women? Until this point I had taken for granted that most everywhere I have ever traveled, women have many of the same opportunities as we do in the states. My observations have always focused on subtle difference such as food, mannerisms, and dress. Noto reminded me to look deeper. Old men filled the park, relaxing and enjoying the sunny day. Boys chased each other with sticks and rode bikes in circles. Men stood at the coffee bar ordering pastries and espresso. But where were all the women? They were home. The wives were home. The girls were home. The grandmothers were all home because that is the place of a woman. Having spent two years at a women’s college, I admit it took me back a bit to be in a place where just the fact that I was a female identified me as a tourist. It was a healthy/ unsettling reminder that I have it pretty good.

I must note that Noto, still being of strong Arab influence, is not representative of Sicily as a whole. Everywhere else we went had men and women, girls and boys, in equal quantities enjoying beautiful Sicily. Our time in Sicily was brief, but was a unique experience I will never forget.

Observations of a man in the piazza

He must be waiting for someone and they must be late. He looks at the church, at his watch, scans the piazza, back at the church, and then at his watch again. Clearly, they should be here by now. The camera around his neck has already captured every worthwhile image in this corner of Florence so there is nothing to do but wait. He checks his watch again. A minute late anywhere else is annoying. A wasted minute in Florence is a tragedy. The guide book in his lap, jostled by an anxiously bouncing leg, reminds him of all the things he isn’t seeing. The brown leather shoes he wears were packed for walking, not for waiting. His green trousers and kaki polo says he spent too long picking out the perfect outfit for his Italian debut. The watch on his left hand says they are late. He looks like he is ready to cry or explode, I can’t tell which, when he abruptly stands. Maybe he sees them. Maybe he is giving up, but I look again and he is gone.

A book to read

I would recommend the book The Stones of Florence by Mary McCarthy for a concise and relevant history of Florence and of the Florentine people. The book doesn’t romanticize the city, but instead creates a true sense of this historical place, the people who live here, the tourists who come here, and the city’s struggle to become part of the twenty-first century when the outside world who loves it refuses to let it change. McCarthy gives a detailed history of the city from its beginings and in doing so gives the reader a greater sense of the city today. A little outdated but still relevant. Florence is much more than a back drop for tourists on holiday, it is a city of dark secrets and a complicated past. You will enjoy the city more when you understand what you are seeing and this is a preferable alternative to picking up an 800 page history book.

Peace at the Piazzale Michelangelo

Another favorite place thus far is the Piazzale Michelangelo. Cross the Ponte alle Grazie, the bridge before the Ponte Vecchoio and again, you find a vastly different Florence than the touristy, crowded spots in the city center. Don’t get me wrong, I love all the things that make Florence what it is, the Duomo, the Uffizi, and all of the major piazzas, but you can only weave through so many groups being led by guides holding up giant flowers or little flags before you want to scream. I like to cross to the other side (where most Florentines actually live) and not feel like I am in some amusement park where people somehow forget how to walk and stand in the middle of the street until a motorcycle almost hits them or they spot a gelato shop that inspires them to move. An hour or so before the sunsets I like to follow the via del Monte alle Croci until I come to a huge set of steps and start climbing. At the top and on the right is the “Gelato Michelangelo” which is not only delicious but affordable and after that many steps I definitely deserve ice cream. The motivation is the view, nothing else is up there, but the view is enough.

Not only is it beautiful and relaxing, but it offers perspective. When you are so close to everything you only see a piece of it, but the view from the piazzale lets you step back and really see the enormity and brilliance of the structures you took pictures of earlier before being shuffled along to the next museum. You can also see the hills that rise up around Florence and keep it tucked in the valley. Behind you is the road that people take when Florence is something they are ready to escape. You can look down and seen the cars of the people can’t wait to return to misunderstood city they tried leave behind but couldn’t. You see the Duomo, the axis on which the world spins, everything changing except the tightly woven center of Florence which after all these years is mostly the same. And when your eyes can’t hold anymore and the sun has set, it is time to descend back down the stairs, down the hill, cross the bridge, and return to the chaos, noise, and beauty that is Florence.

Mercato San Ambrogio

The Mercato San Ambrogio is located only a short distance from the Piazza Santa Croce and is has quickly risen to my list of favorite places in Florence. Ever since planning my stay in Florence I had been anticipating the experience of shopping at a “real Italian market” with “real Italians.” The Mercato Centrale was a great disappointment as it was a “real Italian market” that has become like any major site in Florence, devoid of the “real Italians.” Every vendor spoke English, the produce was marked up astronomically high and even someone with my lack of food knowledge could see that it was mostly a show for tourists. Hungry and disappointed I had to turn to the good old supermarket for my shopping and there was nothing “Italian” about that.

Mercato San Ambrogio is about 40 minutes closer to our apartment then the other and though significantly smaller, it was also significantly better. Finally, I saw the scene I had been imagining. Old women gossiping and picking out the best tomatoes, tables and tables of seasonal vegetables and fruit, vendors who don’t hassle you because they know what they are selling speaks for its self. I finally found my “real Italians.” Outside are all the vendors with their fresh produce, cheese, honey, and anything else you might need. Inside are the meat markets, fish vendors, and a bakery where you can buy foccia straight out of the oven. Another grand discovery was inside is a ristorante where you can find first and second courses for around 4 euros vs. the 8-14 you are likely to spend anywhere else. Remember, the market closes down at 2 and after that you will find what looks like a deserted parking lot. Bring your phrase book though because those two blocks you walk from the city center make an enormous difference in the amount of English speakers you will find. My “real Italian market” comes only in Italian. This sounds silly, but it is shocking how “English” Florence has become. The almost non-existence of English speakers makes it a challenge at times, but I like that have to speak Italian. After all, we are in Italy.