On the road to Menfi, Day 4, Tuesday, September 20, 2022

We started our day by putting our bags outside our door for pick-up before going up to the hotel rooftop for breakfast.

“Maintenant,” my French instructor at Ohio State, Mr. McDonald, would say as he started a new topic - or maybe he was just adjusting his thoughts. Sometimes he said instead, “Bon!” or “Alors!” It’s been almost fifty years and I can still hear these utterances in my head, sometimes even saying them to myself.

Francesca, being Italian, mind you, would say instead, “Allora!” Of course, she rolllllled her R, much pleasanter sounding and easier to mimic than the French R, which sounds like you have something caught in your throat that you just can’t seem to get out.

Allora! On the bus ride to Corleone, Francesca told us about her own personal experience with Cosa Nostra. The Mafia, as most Americans know them, started in Sicily during the transition from feudalism to capitalism there. In retaliation for her not ending a friendship when given an ultimatum by another family friend (“it’s him or me”), Francesca was blacklisted to the point that she had to move seven times in search of employment – once all the way to Canada. I read up some on the history in Wikipedia while we rode. Scary weird stuff.

Here's Francesca chatting with a trio of characters as we alighted from the tour bus.

Kathie and I skipped the anti-Mafia museum in Corleone and instead tried to get into the church next door (unsuccessfully). But I did snap a quick photo of a Fiat for Janie, who would give her left pinkie to have one again.

And here is a cool customer waiting for the bus, it looks like:

Lunch was to be at a state-owned farm out from Corleone. Our bus couldn’t get down the drive to the farmhouse where we were to eat, so Giuseppe, our tour bus driver, hiked down about half a mile in the midday sun and heat to get their 20+ year old compact, ferrying us down (and back up) in groups of four. Lunch was buono! Outside as we waited our turn to be ferried back to the bus, Francesca called one of our fellow tourists, a tall and slender white bearded gentleman, Donkey Shotie. Huh?? At least that’s what we all thought she said. We looked at her in bewilderment. She repeated it several times, not understanding why we might be confused. Finally, I realized that she was saying Don Chisciotte, Italian for Don Quixote. A little proud of myself for that one I was, being as deaf as I am.

As we waited for everyone else to arrive back at the bus, I took the photo above for Janie, looking up at the umbrella tree that provided us shade on a hot day.

In the Sunday post, I wrote that there were thirteen of us touristikas on this tour. Apparently, Francesca and Giuseppe had come up with nicknames for us. Why they did this I’m not sure, unless it was easier to remember each of us that way. Obviously, Italian folks are well acquainted with American cartoons and movies:

• Don Chisciotte and his wife, whose nickname I don’t recall. They were both lovely folks who hail from Santa Fe. She’s a retired educator/now realtor, but I imagined them both to be artists or writers. Kind and hippie-ish, artsy. I liked them.
• Tom and Jerry, two of the group’s husbands whose given names were, in fact, Tom and Jerry. Tom and his wife, from Owensboro, KY, and Jerry and his wife, from Naples, FL – why can’t I remember the wives’ nicknames?? I just remember that Tom’s wife was more than a little aloof but quite sickly, and Jerry’s wife had been dealing with his Parkinsonism for a decade. It seemed to cause him a lot of problems on this trip and it was so nice to see the other guys step in and help him walk around the ruins, giving his sweet wife a break.
• Barney (or John-Boy in Kathie’s mind) and Betty of Flintstones fame, nice enough folks from New Orleans.
• Another couple, the husband of which reminded Kathie of Alan Alda, lives in Destin, FL. I can’t remember their nicknames, but they were also such lovely people. At first, I was not impressed by the wife because I thought she talked too much (there’s my introvert perspective showing itself), but she turned out to be extraordinarily kind. And he was a helicopter pilot during the Vietnam War, airlifting troops out of hotspots. I could talk with him for hours. Salt of the earth, he would listen to any veteran talk about their combat experience in an effort to help lessen their emotional trauma. Nowadays he loses sleep due to shingles. Doesn't seem fair.
• Tweety Bird, a retired nurse and solo traveler from Boston, appeared to be on the spectrum and seemed to be upset by her nickname. I couldn’t blame her and wondered if the nicknamers realized how hurtful the nickname was. Granted, this tourist could be a bore, asking too many questions and relating everything to her own experience. And we didn’t always want to sit by her at meals. But her note to me on the group post card said, “Grazie for your friendship.”
• Thelma and Louise. That was Kathie and me. Francesca said they couldn’t come up with another nickname for us. Some of the other tourists called us “the sisters”. Someone else said we reminded them of the Saving Grace show. Never watched it, so not a clue how appropriate or not that was. At least it wasn’t Tweety.

While I was ambling on there about my fellow tourists we must have gotten lost, because it took us forever to get to our lodging. We were supposed to have a three hour hands-on cooking class but didn’t have time. We had an abbreviated session, from which I recall that I didn’t want that chef touching my food because he kept touching his face (gross, dude!) and to just cook the onions in with the tomatoes when making spaghetti sauce. What can I say? I’m not a cook.

I did enjoy their kitchen garden, though, and was intrigued by how they keep the yellow jackets away from the diners. Yes, that’s turkey they’re eating.

Dinner was good, though, and I really liked the sage cheesecake. Must look up that recipe. Hope it’s not hard to make.

Palermo, Day 3, Monday, September 19, 2022

Buffet breakfast on the hotel rooftop. I could get used to this daily cappuccino.

We hopped on our tour bus and headed to the Palazzo dei Normanni. We would come back to this later, so walked over to the Cattedrale (did the cathedral yesterday), went inside (again), and Kathie got answers to her questions about basilicas. She can blog about that if she’d like to, being the church aficionado of the two of us.

Back outside, Francesca took us across the street to a tiny café, where we sat at an outdoor table and had coffee. I had my first espresso – with much sugar, thank you very much! “Un po,” with the universal thumb and index finger gesture for “just a little one, please”. Otherwise, you get a double shot, which has enough caffeine and bitterness to launch a bull to Mars. Honest.

The rest of the day is a blur. I know that we walked to Piazza Bellini via Quattro Canti – been there done all that – but at what point we stopped for lunch, I couldn’t tell you. I think it was after Piazza Bellini that we hit the Vucciria Market for lunch. The tour folks thought we might like to “build our own” from the buffet table.

Kathie took one look at the buffet table's offerings and said, “Um, no.” We ordered from the menu.

Walking back toward the Palazzo, Francesca pointed out the building that had been Mussolini’s party headquarters on Sicily. She also pointed out, not far from Il Duce’s HQ, some buildings that the Allies had bombed. Palermo was apparently hit pretty badly.

I loved the Capella Palatina! These are my favorite photos from there.

That last photo is of a stylized palm tree motif we saw several times throughout the trip. According to Francesca, the palm tree was sacred to the Arabic folks who lived in Sicily long ago - a tree of life, as it provided water to those living in a desert.

Somehow, we still had time to bus over to Monreale, through rush hour traffic. Not a fun experience, and my lack of photos from the place indicates how much I cared about it. Just too tired. Here’s one from Kathie that’s pretty cool though.

Dinner was on our own this evening so Kathie and I trooped over for one last dinner at Spinnato. Our friendly waiter informed us that the kitchen was closed, but there were other items we could get to eat. He recommended the arancini (stuffed rice balls) and we also ordered one of so many desserts we had on this trip that I can’t remember what it was.

He came back to check on us afterward. Thinking I was being very Italian, I smiled and exclaimed, “Mucho gusto!” Obviously, I never learned Spanish or I would have known better than to tell him it was a pleasure to meet him. He was a good sport and chuckled – although I didn’t know why at the time. Oh well. For the rest of the trip, Kathie and I tittered, and sometimes outright guffawed, about that little faux pas. Our waiter is probably still chuckling about it too.

“Crazy Americans!”

Palermo, Day 2, Sunday, September 18, 2022

After a breakfast of cappuccino and pastries in Spinnato’s outdoor dining area on Sunday (oh, there's our server in the background!), we set out to see the Palazzo dei Normanni and Cattedrale di Palermo, and as many other churches as Kathie could find. The hop on hop off bus (or as I kept calling it, the hop and go) dropped us off close to the palace. Knowing that we would go inside to the Cappella Palatina (palace chapel) the next day with our tour group, we just stood and looked/took some photos there.

Photobomber bird.

Then we headed off to the cathedral. Here’s my favorite photo at this location, plus a nice one of the gate:

Here’s what Kathie took.

Showoff.

This being Sunday, the only way we could go inside the cathedral was if we were going to stay for mass. You know Kathie – she likes mass.

We stopped in at San Giovanni degli Eremiti (St. John the Hermit).

And then had lunch at a little street cafe. Food was yum and the people watching was fun. Next: Walk, walk, walk, past Quattro Canti...

...through Piazza Bellini...

...to Santa Maria dell’Ammiraglio (La Martorana), which was closed. Church of St. Catald, across the way, was open, as was Santa Caterina d’Alessandria. Kathie liked Santa Caterina because every square inch was covered with embellishment.

We walked back to our hotel via a popular pedestrian shopping street that was overflowing with people out enjoying a lovely Sunday afternoon. That evening, we met our guide, Francesca, and group – eleven other tourists, and walked over to dinner at Trattoria Biondo. Lots of food and wine. This was the beginning of us being stuffed to the gills for an entire week.

Bonus! As we hiked back from dinner, we passed the opera, where a live performance was happening right out in the open, enjoyed by young folks and old folks, well-dressed people and not so well-dressed people. It was very cool.

Tomorrow, our last day in Palermo and mucho gusto!

Palermo on Saturday, September 17, 2022

Kathie and I flew overnight from Charlotte to Palermo, via Roma. The interior of the Rome airport, Fiumicino Leonardo da Vinci, is like a high-end shopping mall. Prada, Louis Vuitton, Bulgari, Dolce & Gabbana, Bottega Veneta, Salvatore Ferragamo. I felt underdressed.

And then there was the flight to Palermo. I remember flying on Alitalia in 1970. The beautiful dark haired flight attendants wore sleeveless dresses and, well, apparently didn’t own razors. Back then, eighteen-year-olds noticed such things. And remembered them.

Alitalia is now ITA, state-owned since Alitalia filed for bankruptcy a few years back. The state of the plane – maybe 1970 vintage? – was, um, interesting. Think frayed seatbelts. The only thing missing was the razorless flight attendants.

We were picked up by our driver who taught us that Sicily is really See-chee’-lee-a. He delivered us to our hotel before check-in was allowed so we dumped our bags, changed our shoes, and headed out to lunch. The hotel desk clerk recommended Spinnato, a place we liked well enough to visit several more times – waited on each time by the same older (but surely younger than I) and quite dignified server, who spoke English well and recommended items when we were obviously clueless what to order. More about him later.

On the way back to the room, we passed the opera house Teatro Politeama Garibaldi. This and its large square became our landmark for finding our way home over the next few days.