Home from Italy a few days now, I’ve begun sorting through the hundreds of photographs I took and reading the notes I jotted in my travel journal. And having finished Jamie Mackay’s fine The Invention of Sicily: A Mediterranean History while we were still in Palermo, I downloaded Francine Prose’s A Sicilian Odyssey to read on the flight home.
It’s Prose’s description of Ortigia (the small island which hosts the old, the original, city of Siracusa) that now frames my view of the photographs I took just last month. She says of the city — which Greek conqueror Gelon made his capital in the 5th century BCE — that with “palm-lined boulevards bordering its shores and pink and ochre palaces giving its harbor an almost Venetian appearance, Ortigia is one of the most appealing places in all of Sicily” . . . .and she goes on to say that “when I think about being reborn as a Sicilian, it’s most often in Ortigia that I imagine my new life beginning.”
We haven’t been reborn as Sicilians, nor have we seen nearly as much of the island as had Prose when she wrote her travel memoir. But it was in Siracusa that we stepped onto Sicilian soil for the first time, having blinked our way into the bright sunlight of late afternoon from the darker interiors of the train station, and it was to Ortigia that we crossed a bridge by foot ten minutes later, following our Google-map directions to end up at the Hotel Gutkowski, where we gazed contentedly out the window of our charming room (all white and light wood and beautiful tiled floor) to the sea before heading downstairs for a satisfying meal creatively built on Sicilian culinary traditions. (From my journal: I had a Torta di brocoletti on a bed of Cime di rapa and Paul had a fabulous mixed seafood plate. Then I had poached pears and ricotta cream while he had lemon panna cotta. Elegant, simple, not too much, and very good value for the price. Jazz playing from the next room, well-appointed modern earthy space, minimalist with value added in curated colour and texture. Sicilian artifacts and black-and-white photographs.)
And the next morning, after the requisite couple selfie in the generous mirror of the hotel’s elegant sitting area, we headed off to explore. . .
We walked the circumference first — having lived on a small island ourselves for over two decades, we were happy to stroll another shoreline, feel the expansiveness of another sea, recognize the sounds and rhythms of the water. . .
And just across the street, buildings that testify to centuries of the island’s history as well as its current challenges. Beauty and grandeur are marked — some might even say enhanced — by the rusting of metals, the crumbling of cement and stucco, the peeling of paint. Like wrinkles around the wise eyes and generous smile framed by white hair, the patina of wear and decay testifies to lives lived, to longstanding use and usefulness.
Back in 2003 Prose wrote that “The winding alleys [of the island’s interior] are lined with abandoned baroque palazzi, many of which are in the process of being restored. Since our arrival, we have been looking longingly at the ubiquitous signs that announce A vendersi — For Sale. We fantasize about buying a derelict palace, fixing it up, persuading our friends to move into their own palazzi nearby. The light, the high ceilings, the studio space, the ocean views!”
We’re not immune to the siren calls of those A verndersi signs ourselves. . .
Tempted to dream. . .
But then we’re here a month or so before the sun is at full power. . . and before the hordes of tourists arrive. . . and our experience living on an island in the temperate and rainy climate of the Pacific Northwest might not translate . . .
Although this graffiti has some resonance. . . all islands, really, have an inherent strangeness, I believe. . .
And any islander, anywhere, needs to be prepared to maintain their land-based constructions against the depredations of the sea. . .
However beautiful those depredations might be. . .
We carried on to the tip of the island and then around the other side, passing a large fortified waterfront castle, then the Fountain of Arethusa, the restaurants and cafes lined up along the periphery, the market, all of which I might tell you more about later. But the hustle and bustle of tourists — and those trying to entice tourists to buy — soon pushed us, as I wrote in my journal, into the quiet of the winding alleys. We wandered these vicoli with no destination, happy to wander. Paul in front,
me often stopping to snap a photograph of a doorway, rusty patina on a window grill, the faded colours of shutter against stucco.
And then I looked up and couldn’t see him, hurried ahead only to be confronted by two choices where the alley forked into two — and the wrong choice would probably offer another complication 30 or 50 metres along. I hurried through the vicolo I was on and passed an older man — small, lean, neatly dressed (a bit formally, even). “Lei ha visto un uomo indossando dei pantaloni rossi?” (have you seen a man wearing red pants?)
“Il suo marito?” (your husband?)
“Si, camminavo troppo lentamente e adesso non posso vederlo.” (Yes, I was walking too slowly and now I can’t see him)
And just as we were both looking around, wondering what I could do — “Non preoccuparsi. Posso tornare al albergo se non lo trovo” (Don’t worry. I can go back to the hotel if I don’t find him) — Paul came back, looking for me. He had, indeed, taken the fork away from the path we’d both been on earlier.
The old man gave us some advice: “È importante di stare insieme perchè i vicoli sono come un labirinto.” (It’s important to stay together because the little streets are like a labyrinth.) We agreed and I thanked him for stopping to keep me company while I was temporarily abandoned. It was a sweet moment altogether — he used a few words of English, pleased to do so, and I was able to manage well in Italian. What these last years of classes have been for, really.
Choosing photos for this post and reading my Travel Journal entry for Ortigia again, I remember how full those three days were — and I marvel that they’ve been somewhat eclipsed by our time together in Palermo, my week at a sketching workshop in the northern interior of Sicily.
So while the condo is still quiet (granddaughter and her dog sleeping in our guest room; Paul still dozing in our bed), I add another page to the mini sketchbook I’d hoped to complete while away (and I would have done, too, had the book I’d filled halfway not been stolen our first week in Rome).
But better late than never, and, frankly, I’m not sure how I’d have been able to capture this moment in situ. Trying it at home not only gave me a chance to process and enjoy the memory, but it also afforded me the space to think about perspective and vanishing point and foreshortening. There are many erased pencil lines under the forgiving layer of watercolours here, and now I know how much sharper certain angles need to be and how much more pronounced the foreshortening.
But you can see those red pants. . . . i pantaloni rossi — bought in Paris and sketched there in my travel journal . . .
And I’ve filled another page in the little Sennelier sketchbook I bought in Rome, La Ragazzina alongside me at Ditta Poggi, enthralled at all the art supplies on offer. . . layers of memory on this page. . .
Enough reminiscing for now — I’m off to replace my stolen Driver’s Licence this morning, pushing that theft further into the past with each renewed document. A context which makes me grateful for memory’s blurring effect. . .
As always, I welcome your comments. Have you been to Ortigia? Siracusa? Sicily? Perhaps not physically but in your dreams, in armchair travel, in your reading? Or we could chat about memory and travel and the way we choose (not) to record our days away from home. . . Or about wandering and getting lost, wherever. . .
ciao for now,
xo,
f
What a splendid holiday, Frances! And what special memories your granddaughter will have of the time with you. This is a wonderful account — and there is something about the words pantoloni rossi that just can’t quite be captured in English, right?
Author
Six dancing syllables compared to two flat ones — no contest! Although you and I both know how expressive English can be, we also share a huge appreciation for the music of Italian. xo
Beautifully written Frances . It looks a lovely place . Those picturesque , shady little alleys could be Italian , Spanish , Greek ,Turkish etc – they are just very Southern European . I’ve been lost in alleys like that many times. It’s the perfect way to explore .
Author
Thanks, Wendy! It’s a delightful place to get lost and you’re right, reminiscent of so many other places — especially if the winding shady lanes are surprisingly close to the sea so that one unexpected turning lets one glimpse that expanse of blue.
A truly beautiful post, Frances! Your words and photos evoke such feeling of the place that I can almost imagine that I’ve been there.
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Oh, thanks so much for the encouragement and appreciation, Elaine!
We were in Sicily in May/June 2019 and are returning this October (after a week in Lucca for me to attend Italian language school-like you, I have been plugging away for the past several years although not feeling very fluent, at all) followed by a week plus in Puglia). We adored Sicily and can’t wait to return to the places we loved (Siracusa, Palermo, Agrigento, Piazza Armerina) plus exploring more of Ragusa and environs and for the 1st time, Trapani. We loved just about everything in Sicily- the scenery, the food (the swordfish! Caponata! Arancini!)& wine, the history, the people, the crafts (the ceramics in Caltigirone!)-you name it.
Thanks again for continuing to share your recent Sicilian odyssey with us. You’ve captured some of the magic, particularly the special light of Ortigia. It’s a unique place.
Author
You’ve obviously travelled much more in Sicily than I have, so you know what I mean and more! And what an itinerary you have for October!
Elizabeth, we were in Sicily in 2019 (October) and are returning again this October! It will be our first real travel since the pandemic started, aside from a restful week on an island. We are building an itinerary to include an old favorite, Ortigia, and a couple of nights in Taormina, but will also explore Trapani, Cefalu and several days in the southeast, in Vittoria and Ragusa. Sadly, though, I can only speak the most basic tourist phrases in Italian.
Frances, how wonderful that you speak Italian and can engage in conversation with locals! and your sketch captures the feeling of those alleys and the sense of not knowing what’s around the corner……..
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Thanks, Adele! It’s taken me a few years and I have so much more to learn, but it’s been very satisfying (and sure, often frustrating ;-)) being able to chat with people a bit along the way.
I love that your husband wears red pants. Thank you for sharing your adventures.
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I like him wearing the red pants as well — testament to the possibility of someone changing their sartorial habits! Never would have happened his first six decades 😉
Enjoyed this a lot, Frances, and yes, we loved our two week stay in Sicily. We were looking mostly at Greek ruins and Norman architecture that incorporated Arab and Byzantine culture — we would have loved to stay much longer, and would go back in a heartbeat. I especially loved Palermo, Cefalu, Monreale, Selinunte, Segesta, Piazza Armerina and Catania. Hope you’ll tell us more about your sketching workshop!
Author
Because this trip was organized around a sketching workshop in Sicily and our granddaughter’s school break in Rome — and was a first trip to Sicily — we kept the planning fairly loose otherwise, but we managed to see some of the ruins and the Norman architecture you speak of. But next trip (I hope we might manage one), I’d be more systematic. I especially mind missing Cefalu!
Great stroll. I can imagine the bursts of heat, the scents of blossoms, garlic, the faint sounds of people in their homes…and those rusty railings. You made me remember how, in 1966, on holiday in Sardinia as a nine year old, I first saw similar, mid-century railings and thought: that’s for me. If I come across any like that, I still stop and look, run a hand over them. Perhaps one day I will have my own to lean against and enjoy the sunshine.
Author
Aren’t those great railings?! I wonder how much, if any, thought was given to what fabulous shadows they would make, for decades to come! How lucky you were to holiday in such cool locations at nine!
I have not dreamt of travel to Sicily but I have of other places. Years ago, I dreamt that I was on a beach looking out to a long fishing pier in the distance and behind me was what I thought was a cement block wall. I could see an old city looming behind this “block wall” and knew that I was in “Yugoslavia”. When I woke up I remembered the dream clearly and felt rather disgruntled about the ugly cement block wall! Weeks later, sorting laundry, I turn on a travel show and “recognize” my beach, the shot taken from the fishing pier out in the harbour, so a different perspective from my dream. The “cement block wall” was not cement blocks at all, but a beautiful cut stone wall. The city looming behind it was as I remembered, the narrator called it “Skopje- the pearl of the Adriatic”. I have never travelled to this part of the world but …maybe I did?
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This is a wonderful story little story, Susan! Thank you for sharing it!
Wonderful post Frances, thank you for sharing your little adventure. It brings back some memories of wandering 0ff a main street in Paris, never having been there before, down some small side streets. I was by myself, having lost the rest of the tour near Notre Dame. I was afraid on the one hand I would get lost and not be able to find the agreed upon plaza where we were to meet. And yet filled with the wonder of finally being there. That sketch is especially lovely, seems the workshop was worth it.
Author
And before the days of Google Maps or Suri’s hand-holding, it would have been possible to stay lost for some time in Paris. . . but still, there you were! And there you can still be, in memory. . . xo
Beautiful post, my friend. How wonderful to stroll like that and to be able to converse to that man in Italian … definitely what all those classes were for. Such a wonderful memory to hold of your trip… lost and found again. Love that.
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Thanks Sue! Funny how we can prepare and prepare for travel, but the moments we remember are so often these brief and unpredictable and thus richly saturated ones . . .
My current mending project is a pair of pantoloni rossi for a son – clearly they are worth preserving at any cost! Thank you for sharing the adventure.
ceci
Author
I love it! another pair of pantaloni rossi, now ready for more travels!
Lovely post, Frances – it really captures that sense of wandering that is so much fun in a new (or old) place. And temporarily misplacing a husband – I did it once in Paris, at the Louvre. I love that your Italian has progressed sufficiently for you to have the conversation that you did! After a year of slowly learning Portuguese (I’m currently at restaurant level), it was great fun to be in Galicia for the last 10 days and to discover (for the most part) that my Spanish remains embedded in my brain, and I could make myself understood there. So that part of your story really resonated. Looking forward to catching up on your travels!
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Thanks, Carol! Hmmm, the Louvre’s a pretty big place to lose a husband in, and if it was on one of those crowded days, almost impossible — a red cap would be much more useful than red pants!
Portuguese seemed rather daunting to me — I had a couple of years of university Spanish, and sometimes the similarity helped, but it was much less helpful than I’d assumed — restaurant level was way above me (I did learn a few simple words and phrases, just to show willing, but Paul did just as well simply by using his French!!) I know the pleasure you would have felt to find that your Spanish was once again a key opening doors.
It’s been great following your trail along “the” trail — revved up my dream of walking a portion someday.
What a wonderful post, and beautiful to boot, what with both your photographs and your watercolor. It all captures a place, but more than that, a sense of both place and memory. Your wanderings, and your deft descriptions remind me of that joy of exploration, of my own once-companion in his own pantaloni rossi, and the joys, and frustrations of companionable exploration.
I’ve not been good at keeping up with your wanderings, anyone or anything of late for that matter. But this post has filled me with wonder and joy.
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Thanks, Mardel
The travel memories seem to be more intense, do you think, so that we can revisit them again. I’m glad you have so many memories of the days when you and George (have I remembered correctly) explored the world together.
I’ve never been to Sicily and look forward to going in the future. Thank you for bringing it to life for us.
I know all about living on an island and the impact of humidity on a home. I live part time on Martha’s Vineyard and the damp really does get to our little house. It seems a small price to pay for the smell of the ocean and the sound of the surf in the distance. I have to remind myself of that as I wash mold off the wood inside the house during the most humid days of summer.
It is nice to dream of buying a home in a new place and having an adventure.
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I agree, having lived on a very small island for 20+ years. Bicycles, particularly, seemed to need attentive maintenance against the salty air. And our windows would inevitably develop a veil of spray. 😉
Love this post! I am so intrigued by the charming little alley ways – the colors, the shadows, the light, wash hanging on the balconies. It reminds me of our 2019 trip to Italy where we stayed in Tellaro, a tiny town near the Cinque Terra. Tellaro is more challenging to reach as there is no direct train service so not a lot of tourists. I could spend hours wandering ….. Also love the red pants! Very European! Thank you for the lovely post.
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I love that kind of wandering as well — and you’re very welcome! Thanks for reading.
Hi! We just returned from Ortigia a month ago! This is the magical place that my husband grew up. His father sold fruits at the market. My husband speaks Scilian which is definitely different than Italian. I have been blessed to be able to visit here every year for the past 12 years. I cry when I have to come back to the States. Thanks for a great story!!!!
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Oh, lucky, lucky you! To have such a deep connection with such a wonderful place, a chance to steep in the culture. I hope we will get back some day. . .