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.