Even Italian cacti must be superior in quality.
A small bookshelf hangs on the wall in front of me, bearing three fat cookbooks and a few postcards. To the right is a string of photographs of my host's adorable nephew and a standing bookshelf that boasts more cookbooks, travel books and a large number of important looking Italian novels.
I'm about to start my second full day in Palermo. It's a city that deserves many days, but three is all I'm giving it.
Girl's off to Barcelona late, late, late tomorrow.
Twelve days in Barcelona.
Twelve days with Maud (god knows where we'll end up. Probably spooning at Billie's again).
And then back to Colorado for a month and a half.
My first full day in Palermo was full of solo aimless wandering. For the first time in a long time, it felt immensely satisfying to wander alone. To slowly soak up the sights and sounds and smells without being distracted by conversation or feeling obligated to say/do something interesting.
Just to absorb.
Palermo has many sights, sounds and smells to absorb. This 2700 year old city has had a good long while to develop its fascinating, vibrant personality.
It was founded by the Phoneticians in 734. They named the city "Ziz".
Which means flower.
(Catania means "the city where they grow beans", so "flower" is a tad more romantic)
As with many countries/cities in this part of the world, the Greeks conquered and left their monumental footprint. Then the Romans. Then the Vandals. Then the Ostrogoths (sounds like a people group from Lord of the Rings). The Byzantine Empire took its turn, followed by Tunisia (which brought Islam into Sicily). The Normans brought Christianity back in 1072 and kicked out Islam (but kept all the delicious spices the Tunisians had brought with them). The Holy Roman Empire reared its bedazzled, funny hat in 1194 and the remaining Muslims decided it best for their longevity to emigrate elsewhere.
Spain and Austria took their brief turns. Then the Bourbons enjoyed a spin or two.
All this to say that Sicily is a very dynamic place due to being dominated by just about everyone. The cuisine is also very demonstrative on this phenomenon.
After I'd finished wandering, I purchased a chunk of mint ricotta cheese and headed back to my host's apartment. I propped myself up against the plump red couch, happily slipped into my cheese trance, wrote a blog post, napped, and generally savored a few hours of not having to listen to someone whine about the weather.
Giuseppe returned from work a little after six, carrying several bags of produce.
It's going to be a good night.
Giuseppe loves to cook. Giuseppe loves to cook and Giuseppe is a brilliant cook. When I told him that even though I'd been in Sicily for six days, the only seafood I'd eaten had been out of a can, he was absolutely appalled.
Because it's comparable to visiting Italy and only drinking instant coffee.
So we made an exchange. I gave him a thai massage and he made me a spectacular meal.
Massage is a manner of meditation for me.
Cooking is a manner of meditation for Giuseppe.
I sat in the kitchen, guilty-pleasure planned and watched Giuseppe improvise our seafood meal. One of my favorite things in the world is to just be in the same space with someone who is actively pursuing a passion. To witness that focus -- that listening -- to see someone in the act of being completely, entirely present.
When I massage, I am completely present.
When Giuseppe cooks, he is completely present.
And the dinner was evidence of this fact.
"I'm trying to remember a time I've had better pasta," I said as I awkwardly twirled the gluten-free noodles around my fork. "I don't think I can find one."
We spent the evening walking around the port part of the city, discussing the unique appeal of women from Napoli and contemplating how to live a life that is yours and not defined by others. How to throw away society's scripts and discover which words are yours.
Ah. Yes. Back in the game. I suppose it's good to have hosts like that fellow in Avola from time to time, so that I NEVER take people like Luca or Giuseppe for granted.
On living a life that is yours and not defined by others, I remember a quote from C.S. Lewis say that he believed even the greatest Christian Saints had only freed themselves from 30% of their societies beliefs. And I just read a very strange book called "How to Live Safely in a Science Fiction Universe" where the hero stumbled across an a slice of alternate reality where his very human Buddhist mother had achieved enlightenment. Where she was the embodiment of what she could have been. But she was still lonely, she asked him to stay and be her family. But she was so creepy in her perfection he didn't want to stay....afterwards he referred to her as his zombie mother.
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