I booked two nights in the mostly-forgettable-for-me town of Cinisi, to ease into the Italian ways and prepare myself to join an 11-day Rick Steves tour of Sicily. I’m not now able to remember exactly why I chose to take another RS tour (this will be my fifth). For those who like joining tours, I can highly recommend the company; my intro to continental Europe was a wonderful 21-day Best of Europe Tour back in 1993: Holland, Germany, Austria, Italy, Switzerland, France – it was a terrific way to become comfortable with Europe. But I don’t need a tour guide anymore, so I’m flummoxed as to why I did this. Was it all the great history lessons? Not having to search for and book hotels? The reality of dealing with mysterious Italian ways? Whatever, I meet up with the group tomorrow; I’m trying to prepare myself for the thunderous sound a group of Americans makes in a foreign country. Remember that I relish quietude, and wish me luck.
This morning I set off for a walk to the sea. Found it, and did not need to linger. Got very lost, then risked my life getting back to the B&B in a land of speeding, honking drivers on pedestrian unfriendly roads.
I could not find one open restaurant in this town, so I entered a tiny store and bought picnic supplies, including cheese from the owner’s farm (I was incapable of declining a sample and a purchase) and small batch Sicilian wine in a plastic, screwtop bottle; the entire kit and kaboodle cost about $6.
The vending machine photo, alas, does not reveal the top row: condoms, discreetly available in this very Catholic country.
The sign on the yellow building translates literally to “well confiscated from the Mafia”, reminding me exactly where I am.
The photo of the mural of the crying religious person was discovered inside a trashed old church; he may be weeping at the appearance of the mold.
Live all you can. It’s a mistake not to.