Monday, August 11, 2014
Woke up to the sound of a man singing. It sounded traditional to me. Some Sicilian love ballad designed to win him favor with the passers by on the street. I heard the sound of metal on concrete. As if he had dumped out a thousand screws on the sidewalk and was now sorting through them like it was his own personal collection. The singing continued. When Amandine and I finally ventured outside, we saw the entertainer in question: he was loading an antique desk on to the back of a small truck. I marvelled how the truck was the ideal size to fit into the labyrinthine street we found ourselves in. This was years of engineering to arrive at the perfact design for a delivery vehicle. He seemed cheerful. I began to wonder why every delivery guy couldn't maintain this level of enthusiasm.
Amandine and I visited the Duomo. It had been at the top of our list to visit since we had seen all those kids sliding outside it the previous night. The supports of the church are columns adopted from the Greek era. The rest of the construction is Baroque. I feel smart just pointing this out. The style of most of Ortegia is a mish mash of eras you would expect from a port city. It is appropriate for an island with so many invaders. Around the Duomo are government buildings and signs of ancient commerce. Former pallazos with roccocco embelishments. I also learned this word from Amandine who knew far more about Italian architecture than I did. Otherwise, on the interior, there was a concentration of paintings depicting the miracle of Saint Lucy of Syracuse. This was the delightful tale of the poor woman who had her eyes gouged out and her breasts cut off. In the paintings, which will haunt me forever, the woman is seen holding her eye on a plate. It's an image that most horror movies will have to do much to compete with. This nonsense about children being exposed to too much violence these days is obviously hogwash. Try the Roman times.
That afternoon, I reluctantly got in the car and we made our way slowly, languidly to the town of Noto. Along the way were various notices to slow down on the highway which everyone systematically ignored. We arrived in the sleepy, hilly town of Noto around two in the afternoon. Nap time. Of course, I was in no mood to embark on a driving challenge to navigate the various mountainous streets to get closer to the marvels we were intending to visit, and so I parked far away from civilisation which Amandine immediately hated me for. She rightly pointed out that there was no use hiring a car if you did not have the stones to drive it into the unknown. I politely disagreed. Here, I tasted the Arancia for the first time. The treat I was talking up earlier. It is a fried ball with ragu goodness inside. I ate it proudly while walking the streets like an infant.
Noto is one long strip of princely palaces. One has the unnverving sensation that one has not been invited (by the aristocracy). Needless to say we left Noto on a good note. That is on a full stomach. We got back into our sun baked car and I agreed to continue the trek to see one more Greek ampitheatre. This was an archeological site outside Syracuse that Amandine had been to before in her youth. I must state right now that she was the saint for wanting to re tread steps she had already made as a child with me. It is a selfish act to take vacations in countries you have already been to, considering I have already been to so many. For that I am grateful.
I'll give the Greeks credit: they really knew how to build a theatre. Even out of stone, these ancient places sing out with past memories. The romans can't touch the Greeks as far as entertainment. The Greeks produced some of civilization's best playwrights. The Romans mostly preffered gladiators and lions. If the Romans were alive today, they'd be playing "World of Warcraft".
One thing that the Greeks and Romans did have in common was a fondness for slaves carrving out their dirty work. Below the theatre was a cavernous enclave where you could enter and admire the sweat and toil of old. You had to crane your neck upwards to observe the sheer surfaces that had been unnaturally carved out of the hillside. People had been working in the dark for hours in here, carving out the giant stones to build these theatres. It was like seeing the engine room of pain. A German shephard dog had been lead into this place by his master and even he seemed to think the place was bad news. He was scared, whining to be let out into the light.
Later I found myself waiting in line to buy some water. Inevitably there is always a person that cuts in front of me. I do not know why this is. The technique is a fairly tried and true one. The person fakes a conversation with the salesmen in order to gain favor with him. This allows the person to casually work hiw way forward for the sake of continuing their "urgent" conversation. The person wlays seems to ask some fascinating question that the sales person just has to answer. Even at the risk of holding up the entire line. But this is just a ruse! The person then just walks off with whatever they were after, paying for the goods and quietly looking onto everyone else with contempt. Obviously beautiful women have an easier time at this than their male counterparts but everyone is guilty of this in Italy. It was the first time I ever wanted to punch a woman. "She", in her sunglasses eating from a softee ice cream and looking down at her fellow man. The injustice. The inhumanity.
Woke up to the sound of a man singing. It sounded traditional to me. Some Sicilian love ballad designed to win him favor with the passers by on the street. I heard the sound of metal on concrete. As if he had dumped out a thousand screws on the sidewalk and was now sorting through them like it was his own personal collection. The singing continued. When Amandine and I finally ventured outside, we saw the entertainer in question: he was loading an antique desk on to the back of a small truck. I marvelled how the truck was the ideal size to fit into the labyrinthine street we found ourselves in. This was years of engineering to arrive at the perfact design for a delivery vehicle. He seemed cheerful. I began to wonder why every delivery guy couldn't maintain this level of enthusiasm.
Amandine and I visited the Duomo. It had been at the top of our list to visit since we had seen all those kids sliding outside it the previous night. The supports of the church are columns adopted from the Greek era. The rest of the construction is Baroque. I feel smart just pointing this out. The style of most of Ortegia is a mish mash of eras you would expect from a port city. It is appropriate for an island with so many invaders. Around the Duomo are government buildings and signs of ancient commerce. Former pallazos with roccocco embelishments. I also learned this word from Amandine who knew far more about Italian architecture than I did. Otherwise, on the interior, there was a concentration of paintings depicting the miracle of Saint Lucy of Syracuse. This was the delightful tale of the poor woman who had her eyes gouged out and her breasts cut off. In the paintings, which will haunt me forever, the woman is seen holding her eye on a plate. It's an image that most horror movies will have to do much to compete with. This nonsense about children being exposed to too much violence these days is obviously hogwash. Try the Roman times.
That afternoon, I reluctantly got in the car and we made our way slowly, languidly to the town of Noto. Along the way were various notices to slow down on the highway which everyone systematically ignored. We arrived in the sleepy, hilly town of Noto around two in the afternoon. Nap time. Of course, I was in no mood to embark on a driving challenge to navigate the various mountainous streets to get closer to the marvels we were intending to visit, and so I parked far away from civilisation which Amandine immediately hated me for. She rightly pointed out that there was no use hiring a car if you did not have the stones to drive it into the unknown. I politely disagreed. Here, I tasted the Arancia for the first time. The treat I was talking up earlier. It is a fried ball with ragu goodness inside. I ate it proudly while walking the streets like an infant.
Noto is one long strip of princely palaces. One has the unnverving sensation that one has not been invited (by the aristocracy). Needless to say we left Noto on a good note. That is on a full stomach. We got back into our sun baked car and I agreed to continue the trek to see one more Greek ampitheatre. This was an archeological site outside Syracuse that Amandine had been to before in her youth. I must state right now that she was the saint for wanting to re tread steps she had already made as a child with me. It is a selfish act to take vacations in countries you have already been to, considering I have already been to so many. For that I am grateful.
I'll give the Greeks credit: they really knew how to build a theatre. Even out of stone, these ancient places sing out with past memories. The romans can't touch the Greeks as far as entertainment. The Greeks produced some of civilization's best playwrights. The Romans mostly preffered gladiators and lions. If the Romans were alive today, they'd be playing "World of Warcraft".
One thing that the Greeks and Romans did have in common was a fondness for slaves carrving out their dirty work. Below the theatre was a cavernous enclave where you could enter and admire the sweat and toil of old. You had to crane your neck upwards to observe the sheer surfaces that had been unnaturally carved out of the hillside. People had been working in the dark for hours in here, carving out the giant stones to build these theatres. It was like seeing the engine room of pain. A German shephard dog had been lead into this place by his master and even he seemed to think the place was bad news. He was scared, whining to be let out into the light.
Later I found myself waiting in line to buy some water. Inevitably there is always a person that cuts in front of me. I do not know why this is. The technique is a fairly tried and true one. The person fakes a conversation with the salesmen in order to gain favor with him. This allows the person to casually work hiw way forward for the sake of continuing their "urgent" conversation. The person wlays seems to ask some fascinating question that the sales person just has to answer. Even at the risk of holding up the entire line. But this is just a ruse! The person then just walks off with whatever they were after, paying for the goods and quietly looking onto everyone else with contempt. Obviously beautiful women have an easier time at this than their male counterparts but everyone is guilty of this in Italy. It was the first time I ever wanted to punch a woman. "She", in her sunglasses eating from a softee ice cream and looking down at her fellow man. The injustice. The inhumanity.
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