Tuesday, August 12th, 2014
Woke up this time to the cacophony of the elderly Sicilian couple next door. It was sweet arguing. These kind of disputes are developed over decades of co habitation. We were not worried. The couple gave us motivation. It was time to stop sleeping, shower and go out into the sun again. I was happy. This was to be a no driving morning. We made a bee line to the other celebrated Basilica in town to gaze at the Carravagio painting they had stored inside. I thought it marvelous how a church could boast something this humanist. And that they had managed to hang on to it for all this time. The story of how it ended up there was as intersting as the painting. It was linked to Carravagio not being the most upright of citizens, was on the run from the police, and needed to sell the paintings to continue his flight from Johnny Law. The only lead he had was an artist in Ortegia who was willing to fork out some dough for a painting. Carravagio took him up on it and lived secretly on the island to deliver this masterpiece. It is out in the open, displayed pretty modestly. It depicts the star of this town, Saint Lucy being hastily buried into the ground by some pretty tired and haggard looking people. The whole tale behind the painting got me thinking of the way we try and make artists into heros because they're capable of creating works of beauty like this. We want to make them into Gods after the fact, but during their lives they had all the same travails as the rest of us. Carravagio was a criminal on the run from stabbing someone. Nowadays it's a top athlete on the run from the cops after shooting his fiancé. Comparisons are fun but they don't really get us anywhere.
After the Carravagio, we visited a museum near the water where a desperate curator anxious to lecture us in Italian. There were not many people to listen to him. We could feel his enthusiasm but ultimately, the language barrier was too thick. He seemed deflated by this. There was a lot to see. I learned of the Normans in Sicily through depictions in the paintings. I tried to imagine people from Normandy running around Sicily and telling people what to do but just could not picture it. The Normans I know are only into cheese and cider. Later we went for a snack at an outdoor café. Bruschetta was a nice discovery. It is a cheap and effective snack. I felt guilty for considering it a bit of a revelation to eat tomatoes on toast but there we go.
We wanted to find a beach. It seemed like I would have to drive to get to one. I got lost outside the town, driving up some seriously dusty and narrow roads. We stopped outside a resort hotel where I asked at reception "where the locals went to the beach." It felt like I was a spy giving a code name at reception. The woman asked if I was a guest at the hotel. I came clean. I was just a tourist looking for the hook up. She finally took pity on me and announced that there was a small slope back down the road where people could have access to the beaches. It seemed like she was whispering it so I would not reveal precious local secrets. But these were public beaches after all. I thanked her profusely and we followed her instructions. There was indeed a slope we found heading down off the main road to the beach. You could only access it by foot. We packed our sun cream and provisions and headed down. It was a pristine beach filled with locals. We were flanked by gated houses. One homeowner had the misfortune of having his pool crumble into the sea. I wanted to make a snarky comment about Mediterranean workmanship but I let it go. Perhaps there was an earthquake. Amandine had developed a security system to head out into the water with our credit cards and cash. She had purchased a waterproof wallet that she carried on top of a small buoy. She felt more proud of this than anything else she had done on this trip. I was also beaming. We looked toward the shore and witnessed a young father trying to convince his nervous infant son that peeing in the sea was permitted. I suppose it is strange for children to hear all their lives that peeing in designated spaces is a must, and then get to the beach and realize that all bets are off. The boy looked deep into his father's eyes to measure if he was serious.
Later that night I had a beer and thought about a stupid thing I had done during the day. I had accidentally left the headlights on to our car and we had to call the service for a jump. Amandine was furious. I felt like a fool waiting for that guy in the parking lot, but atleast we knew that the road support worked. The guy took longer to shake my head than fix the car. It started up again no problem with the magic wand that was his jumper cables. It made me all the more paranoid. It was that old maxim of wondering whether bad things happened to you because you were prepared for them or whether if I was a more relaxed person, I would not do things like leave the headlights on. It was an unanswerable question. I will say though, in my defense that for some reason, in Sicily, drivers keep their headlights on throughout the day. I had not been used to this custom but wanted to adapt.
Woke up this time to the cacophony of the elderly Sicilian couple next door. It was sweet arguing. These kind of disputes are developed over decades of co habitation. We were not worried. The couple gave us motivation. It was time to stop sleeping, shower and go out into the sun again. I was happy. This was to be a no driving morning. We made a bee line to the other celebrated Basilica in town to gaze at the Carravagio painting they had stored inside. I thought it marvelous how a church could boast something this humanist. And that they had managed to hang on to it for all this time. The story of how it ended up there was as intersting as the painting. It was linked to Carravagio not being the most upright of citizens, was on the run from the police, and needed to sell the paintings to continue his flight from Johnny Law. The only lead he had was an artist in Ortegia who was willing to fork out some dough for a painting. Carravagio took him up on it and lived secretly on the island to deliver this masterpiece. It is out in the open, displayed pretty modestly. It depicts the star of this town, Saint Lucy being hastily buried into the ground by some pretty tired and haggard looking people. The whole tale behind the painting got me thinking of the way we try and make artists into heros because they're capable of creating works of beauty like this. We want to make them into Gods after the fact, but during their lives they had all the same travails as the rest of us. Carravagio was a criminal on the run from stabbing someone. Nowadays it's a top athlete on the run from the cops after shooting his fiancé. Comparisons are fun but they don't really get us anywhere.
After the Carravagio, we visited a museum near the water where a desperate curator anxious to lecture us in Italian. There were not many people to listen to him. We could feel his enthusiasm but ultimately, the language barrier was too thick. He seemed deflated by this. There was a lot to see. I learned of the Normans in Sicily through depictions in the paintings. I tried to imagine people from Normandy running around Sicily and telling people what to do but just could not picture it. The Normans I know are only into cheese and cider. Later we went for a snack at an outdoor café. Bruschetta was a nice discovery. It is a cheap and effective snack. I felt guilty for considering it a bit of a revelation to eat tomatoes on toast but there we go.
We wanted to find a beach. It seemed like I would have to drive to get to one. I got lost outside the town, driving up some seriously dusty and narrow roads. We stopped outside a resort hotel where I asked at reception "where the locals went to the beach." It felt like I was a spy giving a code name at reception. The woman asked if I was a guest at the hotel. I came clean. I was just a tourist looking for the hook up. She finally took pity on me and announced that there was a small slope back down the road where people could have access to the beaches. It seemed like she was whispering it so I would not reveal precious local secrets. But these were public beaches after all. I thanked her profusely and we followed her instructions. There was indeed a slope we found heading down off the main road to the beach. You could only access it by foot. We packed our sun cream and provisions and headed down. It was a pristine beach filled with locals. We were flanked by gated houses. One homeowner had the misfortune of having his pool crumble into the sea. I wanted to make a snarky comment about Mediterranean workmanship but I let it go. Perhaps there was an earthquake. Amandine had developed a security system to head out into the water with our credit cards and cash. She had purchased a waterproof wallet that she carried on top of a small buoy. She felt more proud of this than anything else she had done on this trip. I was also beaming. We looked toward the shore and witnessed a young father trying to convince his nervous infant son that peeing in the sea was permitted. I suppose it is strange for children to hear all their lives that peeing in designated spaces is a must, and then get to the beach and realize that all bets are off. The boy looked deep into his father's eyes to measure if he was serious.
Later that night I had a beer and thought about a stupid thing I had done during the day. I had accidentally left the headlights on to our car and we had to call the service for a jump. Amandine was furious. I felt like a fool waiting for that guy in the parking lot, but atleast we knew that the road support worked. The guy took longer to shake my head than fix the car. It started up again no problem with the magic wand that was his jumper cables. It made me all the more paranoid. It was that old maxim of wondering whether bad things happened to you because you were prepared for them or whether if I was a more relaxed person, I would not do things like leave the headlights on. It was an unanswerable question. I will say though, in my defense that for some reason, in Sicily, drivers keep their headlights on throughout the day. I had not been used to this custom but wanted to adapt.
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