Notes from Sicily.

Day 1, Palazzolo Acreide.

I told myself, when I find the time to write, I need to take it.

So here I am.

I arrived in Sicily last week, on the 15th, and I spent a few days in the mountains acclimating to all the things; good food, welcoming people, and an overwhelming outpouring of love. Ya know, that kind of stuff my body gets used to not having in our hyper-individual, hustle culture. Here I just ate, I slept, I got my hair cut, I danced in a disco that the Municipality of the village that I call home created in the middle of a pine forest — yes a pine forest. So it’s public owned, but supports local businesses with giving them contracts to set up a bar, food, DJs, etc. I also ate pasta at 5am that same morning — a 22 year old made it for us — speck, fresh tomatoes, garlic and truffle oil, spaghettini. I threw in a tiny, tiny pinch of rosemary in — just because it was there — and OMG it caused a serious situation. Why in the world would I ever put rosemary in pasta sauce? Noted.

Now I am in Palazzolo Acreide, far from my mountain home— in the country of this small city— which is in the Siracusa province. Land of the Sicel people. The nymph Aretusa. Santa Lucia. And some pretty amazing black pig sausages.

Today was my first full day here and I wanted to share some notes of the day, just to give you an indicator of my life when I am here before a Radici immersion takes place. And because this is Notes From Wherever We Are. And here I am.

Of course first thing was coffee at my accommodations — two of them. I am staying in a place which is 1300 years old, an old feudal compound turned hotel. While having coffee I wrote out little love notes to all the pilgrims who’ll be arriving here to immerse with me on the 22nd (through the 30th). Then I decided I would drive into the city — which is only 13 minutes away because I had to pick up some supplies for our Botanico immersion (amaro, dried fruit, honey, a bowl for mixing herbs in, 5 cases of water, 2 bars of modica chocolate, creme di pistacchio… the last two for me).

Before I actually went to the market I walked around the historic center of this gorgeous baroque town. Its narrow, winding streets lead to sun-drenched piazzas where locals gather and pull you in. First it was a beer, then it was some pastries filled with figs. I noticed that in the main plaza there was a beautiful church. I realized it was the church of San Sebastiano— he is their patron. Sebastiano is my father, and he always shows up in the world of the dead for me so of course I went in this church which was over the top beautiful with this stunning, semi-Caravaggio in energy painting of San Sebastiano filling an entire wall.

The next place that lured me in was all about the eggplant, lightly fried but not breaded, layered with a light fresh summer sauce, and topped with ricotta salata, and after that some freshly made pistacchio gelato on a plate with crushed pistacchio and flowers on top and drizzled with a pistacchio balsamic. And then this amazing waiter brought me an amaro, unasked for. She must have just known I wanted one. That’s how it works here. With one sip I could name it - I recognized it immediately. Light, orange-like, it was Amara brand, no doubt. And as that amaro hit me— and I was lighting a little pin sized tobacco — the song Sunny came on, in English, over the speaker. Sonny was what everyone called my dad, short for Sebastiano. You can’t make this stuff up. My father shows up everywhere for me. I did really ask him to stay close with me in Sicily this time, just because the world feels so shaky right now. He’s there. He enjoyed that amaro with me.

But I really needed him afterwards — and maybe he was with me and that is why I didn’t drive down an entire flight of village stairs.

So after I ate this meal I had to go to the market for the supplies I needed (above).

The market is on the edge of town and if you have driven in Sicily you know that sometimes you have to like circle the whole village to get out because it’s only ONE WAY up and then ONE WAY down and if you mess up you have to like deal with a bunch of weird tiny streets to cut through to get back on route.

So that is kinda what happened. MY GPS said to turn left at Via Paolino. I looked down Via Paolino and the street was about 4 feet wide. It couldn’t have been more than that. It looked like a walkway not a street and I figured, fuck, no way. I will just keep going straight and be re-routed. The GPS must be wrong. So instead of turning left I continued straight, down a narrow hill, pretty curvy, and then at the bottom of the hill there was nowhere to go — except a staircase which you walk down and I came about 4 inches of driving down the staircase before I stopped.

I pulled on the break and looked around — and there was absolutely no room to turn around and drive back. I also looked at how hard it would be to reverse the whole way up. Nope. Not in my skill set especially with a stick shift. Which I love, but not in this case.

So I am just standing there. Outside my car. A lady below is looking up at me and shaking her head. She says something to me like “non puoi scendere le scale in auto” and I was like “ si, lo so, madame”. And then from above — I heard the yelling, like the yelling and I understood absolutely none of it, because it was in some old-ass dialect of the Sicilian language and it could mean only one thing: A nonna, on the balcony, yelling down at me. She kept making the motion that I needed to back up the car all the way up the hill and I told her “no ho troppa paura!” And she keeps yelling at me and I keep yelling back and then she is yelling toward the part of the street below I can’t see. I see her yelling at someone else and then pointing towards me.

And suddenly this goddess, this mid-life, deliciously Italian smelling, lovely leather purse wearing, gorgeous shoe’d, perfect make-up goddess comes up to me and says “do you need help?” And I said omg, si. “

Nonna had yelled for her. And then she got in my car and said non preoccuparti. And she zipped backwards up a 1000 year old street made of cobble, winding my car around curves, with no issues.

She hugged me and said it’s not easy, but not a problem to help. She smelled so good. I smelled like fear sweat and eggplant.

The one thing I want to say is - this isn’t the first time I almost had a stair disaster in Sicily. I will say I think I am a fantastic driver here. I can take on a stick shift, I can follow the no-rules, I can think like a road pirate. But, the stairs thing has happened before so if you ever come here and drive, pay attention for these fucking stairs. Or, hire a driver. That is what I highly recommend.

Here is a blurry picture of my pistacchio gelato:

And here is a photo of the outside of the Basilica of San Sebastiano:

And as always AVE MARIA!:

AND one last photo — here is the sacred woods of the Hyblean Mountains that some of our Botanico Sacro: Majaria e Piante immersion will be taking place in. Oh my, it’s so beautiful:

XX - will write again soon.

baci, MB.