Thursday, August 14th, 2014
Today would be the valley of the temples. This is what the locals called it supposedly but it had a very adventurous ring to it so I am not so sure. Amandine always became giddy at the prospect of walking around old abandoned, temples. Most French people love museums. Perhaps it is a cliché but I have found it to be true. I do not hold it against them. In fact, I believe it to be one of the things I appreciate most about their culture is that they still covet and consider sites like this vital. Amandine took it one step further. She studied Art History and has no qualms about sifting through shelf upon shelf of thousand year old pottery. Bits and pieces. It all gets to seem like the same piece of clay to me but I would never say this to her face. This day would provide her with the chance to explore all of these compulsions. But before I recount our experiences under the hot Sicilian sun, I would like to detail an observation I have made about Italians. I do not know the subject of most Sicilian conversations but whatever it is, it sounds serious! We will often see couples in the midst of their heated debates. The man in the situation has his head down, reeling in some unknown angst as his woman rattles off a litany of what seems like his sins. It seems like they are arguing about life or death things but it could be over which vacuum cleaner they should buy. It is hard to tell. His woman then adopts the arms a kimbo stance.
Ready to counter attack with equal fervor of body language.
I know it is not the most original point in the world to draw out how free Italians seem to be in their willingness to express themselves but let me just add to the voices that believe this stereotype to be true. It is always high drama. Life turned to its highest setting twenty four hours a day. It made me wonder if there is an hour of the day where things settle a little?
In carrying on the tradition of pointing out more things that are obvious: if you visit any outdoor monuments in the middle of August in Sicily, make sure to bring a bottle of water and some sun screen. It seems that the majority of tourists were French. They seemed top most curious and the most motivated to carry on despite the conditions. Chinese tourists seem to sensibly hide under sun umbrellas. We saw one brave Chinese soul walk past a Barbary Fig and fearlessly pluck it from the tree on the path leading to one of the temples. As any one knows who has ever tried to break open a Barbary fig to eat, it can be a tricky and dangerous affair but the man seemed fearless. The problem with eating a prickly pear is it bites back. He took it slowly in his hands, avoiding the barbs and like a walking surgeon, slowly removed its skin and took a bite. It was impressive and gave Amandine the fabulous idea to do the same. We did not have the same result. Amandine's hands become covered in prickles for the rest of the day. It became her secondary activity of the day, besides obsessing over tiny bits of pottery within the air conditioned museum we visited afterwards. The temples outside were offerings to Zeus and Aphrodite. It was extraordinary how entire towns were built around these places of worship complete with an ingenious water system to carry heavy objects when the going got tough. There were traces of former drains, pools and sewer systems. All that commerce surrounding the house of God.
Near a cistern, a father chastised his boy for taking a gulp of water. There was a sign next to it that said “ do not drink”. I prayed that the boy would be okay. We headed down the hill and bought a bottle of water like everyone else or risk getting the dreaded plague! We paid in gold.
Later we went into the air conditioned museum that I had referred to earlier. Here we learned that the temples were once supported by giant statues that served a pillars. Or at least these were the archeological theories. We saw row upon row of tiny pieces of broken pottery. I didn’t dare to break Amandine’s rapture but I just couldn’t understand how all these broken pieces could be so entertaining. At the same time I found it a blessing. If people can get excited about broken ceramics than I suppose there is an interest for everyone out there! The air conditioning was nice and perhaps worth the entrance price alone. We were the only ones in there. It seemed that nobody except us wanted to learn more about the mysteries under the sun outside.
We hit the road again and this time were heading toward the coastal town of Sciacca. The name alone sounded like some kind of pirate’s paradise to me. Driving there required understanding and temperance. What is the point of putting up speed limits if everyone ignores them? All along the way, I was tailed by someone who was on his way to something urgent. Even on single carriage ways, drivers would ease out into the oncoming traffic to pass me. It was a stunt that felt a little like a James Bond film but Sicilians did it on a daily basis. They narrowly missed the oncoming traffic just to pass me and make their way a little faster to their destination. The brief time that they put all our lives in jeopardy was worth it. Needless to say that my opinion of Italians had not improved on the roads.
When we arrived in the town of Sciacca, they seemed to be preparing for some sort of summer festival. A stage had gone up in the town square and all the lamp posts had balloons tied to them. August 15th was a holy day and there would be a band playing in the town square later that night. Amandine and I liked to think that all these preparations were for us! Our hotel was by the small port and it was a series of underhwelming discoveries. We did not have a sea view. It was more a road view. The Saracens had built this city long ago and it still retained that Arab style in parts. It was expecially evident in the cooking. A lot more almonds and spices. And the ground floor position of the room faced on to reception. Thanks to this less than ideal location we could hear the phone ring in the lobby constantly to the point where it felt like we had become the receptionists. I joked with Amandine that it would not take much to open the door and flash everyone in the lobby just out of spite. I did not have the bravery for such a bold move. The shower was cold and we called the guy in but he just shook his head like we were telling tall tales. We figured there was no use fighting over a budget hotel room that was fully booked, so we went out into the town. All around us were revelers deeply into the blues band that that was now performing. Everyone seemed in the mood for ice cream. Crowds filled the streets. Old people dressed in black mingled with families. It was festive but not wild. The perfect mid summer evening played to splendor. Shame about the hotel but you cannot have everything in a post card. Wehn we got back, the new concierge on duty seemed startled that they had rented out the room right next to his desk. Nonetheless, he bid us good night and we did the same.
Today would be the valley of the temples. This is what the locals called it supposedly but it had a very adventurous ring to it so I am not so sure. Amandine always became giddy at the prospect of walking around old abandoned, temples. Most French people love museums. Perhaps it is a cliché but I have found it to be true. I do not hold it against them. In fact, I believe it to be one of the things I appreciate most about their culture is that they still covet and consider sites like this vital. Amandine took it one step further. She studied Art History and has no qualms about sifting through shelf upon shelf of thousand year old pottery. Bits and pieces. It all gets to seem like the same piece of clay to me but I would never say this to her face. This day would provide her with the chance to explore all of these compulsions. But before I recount our experiences under the hot Sicilian sun, I would like to detail an observation I have made about Italians. I do not know the subject of most Sicilian conversations but whatever it is, it sounds serious! We will often see couples in the midst of their heated debates. The man in the situation has his head down, reeling in some unknown angst as his woman rattles off a litany of what seems like his sins. It seems like they are arguing about life or death things but it could be over which vacuum cleaner they should buy. It is hard to tell. His woman then adopts the arms a kimbo stance.
Ready to counter attack with equal fervor of body language.
I know it is not the most original point in the world to draw out how free Italians seem to be in their willingness to express themselves but let me just add to the voices that believe this stereotype to be true. It is always high drama. Life turned to its highest setting twenty four hours a day. It made me wonder if there is an hour of the day where things settle a little?
In carrying on the tradition of pointing out more things that are obvious: if you visit any outdoor monuments in the middle of August in Sicily, make sure to bring a bottle of water and some sun screen. It seems that the majority of tourists were French. They seemed top most curious and the most motivated to carry on despite the conditions. Chinese tourists seem to sensibly hide under sun umbrellas. We saw one brave Chinese soul walk past a Barbary Fig and fearlessly pluck it from the tree on the path leading to one of the temples. As any one knows who has ever tried to break open a Barbary fig to eat, it can be a tricky and dangerous affair but the man seemed fearless. The problem with eating a prickly pear is it bites back. He took it slowly in his hands, avoiding the barbs and like a walking surgeon, slowly removed its skin and took a bite. It was impressive and gave Amandine the fabulous idea to do the same. We did not have the same result. Amandine's hands become covered in prickles for the rest of the day. It became her secondary activity of the day, besides obsessing over tiny bits of pottery within the air conditioned museum we visited afterwards. The temples outside were offerings to Zeus and Aphrodite. It was extraordinary how entire towns were built around these places of worship complete with an ingenious water system to carry heavy objects when the going got tough. There were traces of former drains, pools and sewer systems. All that commerce surrounding the house of God.
Near a cistern, a father chastised his boy for taking a gulp of water. There was a sign next to it that said “ do not drink”. I prayed that the boy would be okay. We headed down the hill and bought a bottle of water like everyone else or risk getting the dreaded plague! We paid in gold.
Later we went into the air conditioned museum that I had referred to earlier. Here we learned that the temples were once supported by giant statues that served a pillars. Or at least these were the archeological theories. We saw row upon row of tiny pieces of broken pottery. I didn’t dare to break Amandine’s rapture but I just couldn’t understand how all these broken pieces could be so entertaining. At the same time I found it a blessing. If people can get excited about broken ceramics than I suppose there is an interest for everyone out there! The air conditioning was nice and perhaps worth the entrance price alone. We were the only ones in there. It seemed that nobody except us wanted to learn more about the mysteries under the sun outside.
We hit the road again and this time were heading toward the coastal town of Sciacca. The name alone sounded like some kind of pirate’s paradise to me. Driving there required understanding and temperance. What is the point of putting up speed limits if everyone ignores them? All along the way, I was tailed by someone who was on his way to something urgent. Even on single carriage ways, drivers would ease out into the oncoming traffic to pass me. It was a stunt that felt a little like a James Bond film but Sicilians did it on a daily basis. They narrowly missed the oncoming traffic just to pass me and make their way a little faster to their destination. The brief time that they put all our lives in jeopardy was worth it. Needless to say that my opinion of Italians had not improved on the roads.
When we arrived in the town of Sciacca, they seemed to be preparing for some sort of summer festival. A stage had gone up in the town square and all the lamp posts had balloons tied to them. August 15th was a holy day and there would be a band playing in the town square later that night. Amandine and I liked to think that all these preparations were for us! Our hotel was by the small port and it was a series of underhwelming discoveries. We did not have a sea view. It was more a road view. The Saracens had built this city long ago and it still retained that Arab style in parts. It was expecially evident in the cooking. A lot more almonds and spices. And the ground floor position of the room faced on to reception. Thanks to this less than ideal location we could hear the phone ring in the lobby constantly to the point where it felt like we had become the receptionists. I joked with Amandine that it would not take much to open the door and flash everyone in the lobby just out of spite. I did not have the bravery for such a bold move. The shower was cold and we called the guy in but he just shook his head like we were telling tall tales. We figured there was no use fighting over a budget hotel room that was fully booked, so we went out into the town. All around us were revelers deeply into the blues band that that was now performing. Everyone seemed in the mood for ice cream. Crowds filled the streets. Old people dressed in black mingled with families. It was festive but not wild. The perfect mid summer evening played to splendor. Shame about the hotel but you cannot have everything in a post card. Wehn we got back, the new concierge on duty seemed startled that they had rented out the room right next to his desk. Nonetheless, he bid us good night and we did the same.
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