Pictures > Words

Mondello

Seeking an escape from the city last weekend, we braved the spotty bus service en route to Mondello. Following a brief ride spent standing pressed against the front window, we were so overwhelmed by the splendor and peace of the community that we spent an hour napping on a sheet in the sand. Save for a few Nordic girls giggling (perhaps at the European male swimwear), the beach was comprised entirely of people sleeping off the previous week's activities. Other than the windsurfing team and a few snorkelers, the water was pristine and surprisingly warm for the end of October. A case of Corona would have put the afternoon over the top.

Learning the language

As the only programming broadcast in English with Italian subtitles, MTV is an appreciated means of developing our language skills. Unfortunately, we are typically relying on Snooky and the Situation  to expand our grammar and vocabulary, so you can imagine why this method has its limits. We were, however, blessed with an episode of 'Hoods featuring Katy Perry returning to her so-called'hood of Santa Barbara to get reconnected with her roots, which oddly began as a Christian singer before she began enthusiastically kissing girls and waking up in Vegas.  

Along the language front, I have come to appreciate the Italian pronunciation of every letter in a word because of the following experience. Following a generous family lunch with Antonella and Marzia in Altavilla, I tried to ask them how old their brother was, “Quante anni ha tuo fratello?” (How many years does your brother have?). However, I failed to pronounce both n's in anni, so I essentially asked them how many anuses (ani) their brother had. I knew something was wrong when they answered 1 in a burst of laughter, then asked me how many ani I had.

Elsewhere, our spartan apartment is without scissors, so Meredith has resorted to cutting classroom materials with a 11 inch chef's knife that probably won't shed it's garlic scent until we depart. “Signora Kohl, this activity smells like stuffed mushrooms.” For the Teach For America crowd, it was reminiscent of week 1 at Institute.

Passagiata : a stroll in the street

In the course of countless hours spent wandering the streets in search of nothing in particular, we have come across some magnificent sights. But what we have enjoyed most is that the city's busiest streets are closed on weekends to allow for families to take a passagiata. 

The city has yet to rebuild structures damaged during World War II, so we expect Spielberg and Tom Hanks to collaborate on something here soon

Quatro Canti 

The Four Corners consist of fountains with statues of the four seasons, the four Spanish kings of Sicily, and of the patronesses of Palermo (Cristina, Ninfa, Olivia, and Agata). At the time the piazza was built 400 years ago, it was one of the first major examples of town planning in Europe.  Now it is considered the finest example of Baroque intersection architecture in the world.  

Palermo's best pictures: Ivy's Benvenuti al Sud.
Scenes from Palermo's nightlife: Francesco's Palermo e Dintorni.

Francesco and Antonella

Introductions

Altavilla, where we had lunch with Marzia and Antonella's family on Friday. 15 minutes outside of Palermo.

We are feeling particularly at home in Palermo because of the incredible generosity and hospitality offered by everyone that we have met. Beginning with the purple-pantsed gentleman on our shuttle from the airport who turned out to be a language professor at the local university, we have been incredibly spoiled by kindness ever since.  

• A teacher at Meredith's school arranged for us to stay with the Jesuits during our overwhelming first week, then she took us to a Sicilian party in the country on our first night. We were fed heavy portions of authentic dishes, all of which were lauded as the region's finest, then we washed it down with 80s pop and choreographed dances corresponding to music from around the world. Given the age range of participants, the dance moves are likely genetic.
• The hours for government offices, banks and post offices are less consistent than Tony Romo, but the customer service is a welcomed respite from the DMV.
• We are regularly invited to family meals, which bare a strong resemblance to Thanksgiving in terms of preparation, quantity, and quality.  
• Trips to summer homes on the coast or in the country have been offered by five different individuals within the two weeks that we have been settled.
• Two recreational soccer teams will allow me to make a fool of myself on the pitch after I purchase cleats and parastinchi (shinguards).
• In addition to his flexibility regarding our 1^st month's rent and security deposit, our landlord sat us down with a map and pointed out the best of everything in the city. He followed up the next week with a flatscreen television and brand new washing machine. No one has dryers, so I'm mastering the clothespin.
• Our roommate Ivy, who deserves much of the credit for the stellar pictures, has brightened our experience by sharing in the incredible highs and mild frustrations associated with getting settled. She fancies dirty martinis, dark beers, and telephoto lenses.  
• Two of Meredith's language partners, Marzia and Antonella, double as our personal shoppers. Upon mentioning that she was looking for shoes, Meredith was taken to several shops, introduced to all the owners, and given generous discounts. When I mentioned in passing that I might need a jacket in the winter, a tour of the best shops was provided, along with style commentary that drifted into social commentary: “We Italians do good food and fashion. You Americans do good music and military.” I guess that settles the guns vs. butter debate.
• Davide, another language partner, has taken us to a soccer game, introduced us to the city's unique flavors, and utilized his expertise in finance to help us get our bank account opened. He was unable, however, to protect us from a brutal exchange rate.  Federico, a friend of Ivy's from the hospital, has provided incredible civics and history lessons regarding the city which will be detailed in subsequent posts.    

All in all, we are feeling incredibly comfortable in our new home. We have a guestroom with a balcony, so start booking your tickets!

Davide on the right, his brother in the middle

Meredith, Ivy, Marzia  

Antonella, Meredith, and Marzia: my Italian teachers.

Yes, they are twins.  Yes, they have boyfriends.

Secondi

We took in our first European League soccer match last week. Palermo plays in Serie A, composed of teams from around Italy, as well as the European League, which is pretty self-explanatory. While Palmero's crowd can be likened to respectful college football fans (co-ed, appreciative of the game, pride in their team, disdain for foes), CKSA Moscow's followers are like Raiders fans: rowdy, shirtless, overweight men with an odd assortment of props that bare no relation to the team. 

One merry fellow had a bright red fireman's helmet that he had taken the time to bedazzle (see above). Their section of the stadium looked like Moscow's steel mill had rewarded its loyalest (heaviest) workers with a topless Mediterranean cruise. They were confined to a steel cage, so with the exception of our eyes we were plenty safe.  

Hips to be thrust soon.

After going up 3-1, the Soviets began chanting, “Ciao! Ciao! Ciao!” at the Italian fans. Naturally, the host fans took umbrage.  The Sicilian dialect masked much of the derogatory language that was volleyed in return, but there is something unmistakably vulgar about an older Italian man retorting, “Ciao! Ciao! Ciao!” while thrusting his hips and gesturing with both hands towards his pelvis. He was either asking the Russians to appreciate the intricacy of his button fly, or offering his procreational services.

Latest food discoveries: the local delicacy here with years of history is the spleen sandwich—panino con la milza. Going back to the earliest days of industrialization, factory workers needed something quick and hearty to eat in the middle of the day. Street vendors fry thin slices of spleen in animal fat before throwing it on a baguette with a bit of parmesan and garlic. I am imagining the texture of a Philly Cheesesteak, the flavor of pate, and the post-consumption remorse of KFC's Double Down. We are working up the courage to give it a try, but I predict that our first taste comes at the end of a long night out where burritos/hamburgers don't exist and pizza is cliché.

 

Another noteworthy favorite that we sampled outside the soccer stadium was panelle crocche. I am understating its culinary genius when I describe it as a tater tot sandwich, but that's essentially what it is. Instead of your soggy lunchroom tots that share the same consistency as an aged pear, these fried potatoes have a golden, crisp outer layer that protects the fluffy, almost mashed potato-y interior. Puts the hot dog to shame.

In the course of our wanderings about town last weekend, we discovered a magnificent place that is literally a hole in a wall, but it turned out to be much more than that. Drilled inconspicuously into one of the city's walls is a bar that doubles as a bookstore. There is an enormous fireplace and vaulted ceilings that rise 30-40 ft. Oddly enough, the bar features an area for kids to read while their parents drink. It is also noteworthy because it is an exception to the 85% of local businesses that pay the pizzo (protection money) to the mafia. More on the movement against the mafia soon...

Cultural appreciations:

• When greeting men: a kiss on each cheek. When greeting women: one kiss on one cheek.
• Fireworks have no discernible reason for being set off, especially from rooftops on random weekdays. And we are not talking about the safe and sane kind that are sold as a fundraiser by Girl Scouts and Little League. We're talking about the ones that can only be found, purchased, and detonated outside of the beef jerky shops on Native American Indian reservations.
• When navigating traffic, horns are honked in lieu of turn signals and brakes. If you are slowing down and I am behind you, I just honk my horn to let you known that you can't slow down anymore. If I want to move into a lane with other vehicles, I just honk my horn and go for it. There are 4 way intersections everywhere, but the ones that don't have a signal are also missing stop signs. When approaching a blind intersection, everyone just lays on the horn to let cross-traffic know that they're not planning on slowing down, let alone stopping. I was astounded that it took us 10 days to see our first accident.
• Forming lines is a bit ambiguous here. I had my cart of items on the counter at a grocery store and two women just walked right in front of me and tried to pay for their goods. The first lady's card was rejected by karmic gods, so she was brushed to the end of the line. The second lady had a tough case to plead when my stack was so far in front of hers. There was the shaking of hands and elevated volumes of speech, so I just shrugged my shoulders and smiled, “No Italiano.”
• Meredith's favorite part of our neighborhood/something I have to put up with:

Il Principio

To initiate the uninformed: Meredith was awarded a Fulbright Scholarship to Italy back in May. Seeking to combine her classroom experience in Las Vegas with her passion for Italian language and culture, she began the strenuous application process in August 2009. 14 months, 3 recommendations, 1 interview, 47 phones calls, and 6,000 miles later, we find ourselves living in Palermo, Sicily. With an average temperature of 65 and annual rainfall near 24 in, Palermo's weather is comparable to that of Santa Barbara. There are beautiful beaches close by and plenty of places to explore throughout Sicily that ought to keep us busy for months. While Meredith exchanges culture in the classroom, I am working with the Center for Teaching Quality via the internet and awkwardly timed conference calls.  

Thus begins the adventure... 

Palermo from our Jesuit dorm.

After a brief stay with the incredibly hospitable Jesuits at one of Meredith's schools, we located a quaint 3 bedroom apartment in a peaceful, residential area of town. Our landlord speaks English, lived in New Jersey for 17 years, and has a villa on olive farm in the country that we are welcome to rent. We are living with another Fulbright Scholar from Encintas, CA by way of Connecticut College. There are plenty of bars, restaurants, markets, and shops in the near vicinity, so we are never far from anything that we could possibly need, including the stadium that houses Serie A's Palermo FC. We can actually hear the fans chanting and cheering!

Mt. Pellegrino from our balcony.

Although everything is close, it is less than convenient. Beyond everything being closed on Sundays, there is a siesta-type break in the day wherein everything closes down so that families can enjoy lunch together. The problem is that each shop, government office, and entity-that-we need-to-be-open-right-now has its own interpretation of lunch time. Some are closed between 11 and 2, others from 1 to 4, and every other combination of random 3 hour intervals throughout the day. Or in the case of schools, banks, hospitals, etc. everyone goes home for lunch before 2pm, they just don't come back afterward.

Cooking at home.

Palermo's distance from Vegas is never more obvious than when we are looking for dinner before 9pm. The ristorantes don't begin seating until 8:30, and even then only for the elderly. Food purgatory seems to last from 4-9pm. One is expected to meet and drink with friends during this time, so we have had little difficulty adjusting to this aspect of culinary culture.

Which brings us to the food. Put simply: we have not had anything to eat that has been less than fantastic. We spent our first 2 weeks in Italy without a kitchen, which required that we eat a steady stream of pizza, pasta, and panini. Meredith's preferred snacks include roasted almonds dipped in Nutella, chocolate filled brioche, croissants, and cannoli, as well as a million little splendors available daily at the pasticceria. I am reconnecting with my inner longing for foods enriched with calories derived from butter and sugar.  

Cous cous and arancini.

Our favorite authentic dishes so far include a magical cous-cous (yes, cous cous can be spruced up) that is mixed with roasted zucchini, eggplant, bell pepper, tomato, peas, carrots, and whatever other vegetables are available. There exists a flavor that we have yet to identify, but we are already striving to recreate it. Our most significantly caloric guilty pleasure is probably arancini – basically rice, cheese, and a blend of Italian meat that is rolled into a ball and then fried. The closest thing that I could imagine in the states would be the best flavors from Thanksgiving rolled into a ball and fried. Better yet, let's put it on a stick and dip it in cranberry sauce.  

A few noteworthy observations and anecdotes that I shared previously are worth repeating:

• of the 3 gentlemen wearing purple pants on our flight from Rome to Palermo, 2 befriended Meredith and 3 ignored me.
• Shorts, top-siders, flip flops, and lighter shades of jeans offend the sensibilities of the locals, so I have pretty much been limited to a single pair of slacks and shoes with a predictable rotation of the 3 collared shirts that I brought.
• The cancer risks of cigarettes have yet to be translated into Italian; trash is thought to enrich soil and asphalt; and the pedestrian right of way does not exist.

Arrivederci!