In Closing: Part 3 of 4

Addaura Reef and the Country Club aided our understanding of why so many Palermitans want to go to Miami. Reef is an outdoor lounge situated on the water with the decor and atmosphere of a swanky party in Malibu (lengthy traffic jam, valet line of Porsches, dudes wearing fedoras with jeans and sport coats). Country Club was like any of Vegas' sensory overload stations (mulitple DJs and dancefloors, expensive drinks, fake tans, heels like stilts). My limited interest in dancing wasn't a problem because anyone can do the one armed fist pump while lightly bending their knees to the bass line.

One and Done
Having heard discussion about the local delicacy the entire time we've been here, I finally tried to enjoy pane con la milza (bread with spleen) from the city's most prolific street vendor--Nino Ballerino. Nino's title comes from the dance he does while constructing your salty heart failure: the bits of innards are cooked in a bubbling pot of lard, smothered with parmesan, and sprinkled with lemon. Despite every effort to mask the metallic taste and spongy texture with as much cheese and lemon as possible, I literally choked down the only unpleasant flavor that I have tasted here (other than raw anchovies). When I learned mid-bite that cow lungs are occasionally mixed in to the recipe for no discernible reason, I was done.

Luckily I avoided the other vaunted favorite babbaluci -- snails. These aren't your smothered in butter, salt, and parsley snails of escargot esteem; these snails are flash fried in oil, sprinkled with garlic and pepper, and served with a beer. I hadn't recovered from spleen/lungs/throat yet, so I stuck to the pleasure of simply saying babbalush (which sounds a lot like Vince Vaughn saying babbaganoush in Wedding Crashers).

Segesta, Poggioreale, and Gibellina with a winery lunch in the middle

Seeking an escape from the city, we took a day trip to Segesta with our friends Davide and Alessandro. We hiked to an ancient temple and amphitheater, toured a winery, then ventured to the intriguing modern ruins left in the wake of an earthquake in the late 1960s. The 6.8 quake struck a series of small villages, the most devastated being Gibellina. Beyond the initial damage, residents suffered tremendously from freezing temperatures because the military and rescue workers were not able to reach the city for 3 days. Just 3 buildings remain from the original town with the rest entombed in an incredibly haunting memorial that is considered a work of art. The city's buildings completely collapsed, so cement conforming to the network of old streets was pored over the ruins. Essentially, the footprint of the city remains intact so that people can walk the old streets, but everything surrounding you is smoothed over with cement. A foreboding stroll.

Next, we stumbled upon the ruins of Poggioreale, which had also been destroyed by the earthquake. While many of the buildings remained standing, there was so much damage that the entire city was abandoned, leaving an eerie scene behind. The whole episode reminded me of a book released a few years ago called The World Without Us, in which the author describes how nature would reassert its dominance if humanity disappeared one day. Plants, small critters, plenty of bugs, and a pack of mysterious, ghostly white dogs are the earliest indications that the town will be overrun by the elements in the coming decades. On a positive note, the school remains standing without a hint of structural damage.



Mrs. Kohl, retired
After being treated to a number of in class celebrations, a handmade apple tort, jewelry, ceramics, multiple invitations to graduation parties, and some very thoughtful, generous notes from appreciative students and teachers, Meredith has hung up her proverbial set of Expo Markers and ended her illustrious 5 years in the classroom. She Taught For America, then for Italy, now she'll seek out a different calling.

In Closing: Part 2 of 4

Right after Seal Team 6 made the world a better place and Pope John Paul II was beatified in Rome, we stormed from Palermo to Dallas for the incredibly memorable wedding of our friends Brennan and Elizabeth. There was much discussion of what we would eat when we first landed on American soil during a layover in Charlotte -- fried chicken from Bojangles, orange chicken from Panda Express, or quesadillas from Airport Mexican Joint?  We settled on bagel sandwiches that fulfilled a previously unsatisfied craving for hand held food items containing something other than salt cured pork.

We were greeted in Dallas by a barefooted best man that has been doing work for the Peace Corps in Malawi. His journey home included a day on the top of the bus with a pile of dried out fish, a rickety flight to South Africa, another to Senegal, and a layover in DC. I'm not sure if any of that explains his missing shoes, but compared to his week long journey, our 24 hours didn't seem so bad. Burritos from Chipotle were enough to make our bodies forget that we should be jet lagged.

Other than the indignity we had to suffer at the hands of Mavericks fans puffing their chests out following a sweep of the Lakers, the weekend was an incredible way to return to the US. Here's a rundown of the highlights:

• Rehearsal dinner with gorgeous views of the Dallas skyline
• Golf before the wedding (had to let the groom win)
• Poignant ceremony (groom cried, bride stayed strong)
• Smashing party of a reception (glow sticks and sparklers, need I say more?)
• Sunday brunch with the requisite bloody marys, Irish coffee, and mimosas that synthesize brilliantly with the body's desire for a nap
• A visit to the Sixth Floor Museum that commemorates JFK's assassination
• The first of many future tangos with cuisine from El Salvador. Mexican food has now been replaced in the pantheon of pallet pleasers. 
• The overall greatness of generous hosts

With the remnants of sangria-margarita slurpees coloring our minds, we boarded a plane back to Palermo.

Stop looking for me; I am not on this jolly trolly

The following weekend brought Mel and Kris Seifert to visit. Beyond the typical sightseeing, we were treated to Palermo's Gay Pride Parade invigorating the streets and shutting down traffic everywhere for hours. The city simply isn't structured to handle the amount of cars on an ordinary day, but adding in a parade that stretched for at least a mile was devastating. There was the added entertainment of the parade crossing paths with a traditional wedding party and the proud Sicilian fathers/uncles/ brothers that didn't want their little angel's big day ruined by a bunch of tomfoolery. There were some tense moments, but the crisis was averted when the parade swarmed the bride and groom in celebration.

The following weekend was special for two reasons: Palermo's soccer team was playing in the Italian Cup Final against Inter Milan in Rome and an aircraft carrier of US Soldiers was parked in the harbor. We spotted the ship first, because it is quite a presence next to the cruise ships and freighters that traditionally dot the harbor, but the 3,000 marines and navy personnel certainly didn't blend in with the locals. They had been out to sea for more than 3 months, so they let loose in as many ways as possible. One soldier was actually impaled on his first night in port when he attempted to jump a fence.

Palermo's team colors are pink and black, so all the military guys were buying bright pink memorabilia of all sorts: jerseys, hats, flags, banners. The vendors could not have been happier.

We were on a particularly rowdy bus returning from the beach when we invited a group over to our place for a drink. We spent the rest of the night in a number of bars cheering for Palermo with a bunch of guys that needed nothing more than a good time. I didn't work up the courage to ask them if they'd had any high profile funerals on their ship in recent weeks, so I'll just assume that Seal Team 6 was somewhere on board.

More to come tomorrow :)

Watching the game with a gaggle of military men, some of Meredith's students were sitting right behind us. 

In Closing: Part 1 of 4

Our departure from Palermo on Saturday and Italy on Sunday has crept up much quicker than anticipated. In an effort to fill in the previous 10 weeks and offer an epitaph to our adventure, I will conclude La Dolce Giusti in 4 parts this week. Picking up where we left off in April...

My parents arrived in Rome for the first leg of a two week jaunt through Italy that saw enough red wine consumption to supply a Catholic Church for at least 3 months of mass. We started off touring the various museums and attractions at the Vatican. While the Pope's Gardens, Sistine Chapel, and St. Peter's Basilica overwhelm the senses, the obnoxious crowds of students and tour groups detract from what is otherwise an incredible experience. There's something off putting about overhearing tales from last night's bender while enjoying the majesty of the Pieta. Another image that I'll never understand/forget is the long line of people waiting to have their picture taken in front of a crucified Jesus statue. Is that something you smile for?

After taking in all of Rome's major sights, we headed up to a villa in Tuscany for a week. Situated in between Siena and Florence, the tiny country village of San Barberino Val d'Elsa was precisely the kind of escape that my parents were looking for -- a medieval, walled city with exactly one cafe, one bar, and one restaurant. Our residence was the quintessential, picturesque setting that Diane Lane/Julia Roberts chick flicks are made of. 

We made day trips to Florence (where I'd love to spend the next 10 years), Siena (where I'd love to live after age 50), San Gimignano (perfect for a long weekend), Volterra (perfect for a day trip on a motorcycle), and Bologna (where going to college would have been incredible). Our days were marked by slow mornings, long breakfasts, lunchless afternoons, and enormous dinners that knocked us into deep food comas (or was that the grappa/limoncello/wine?).

When we returned to Rome for a few days, we were met by Meredith and our long-time friend Courtney. With a solid 10 days of Italian cooking stretching our belts, we found an Eritrean spot right around the corner from our hotel that I have been craving ever since. Fabulously seasoned meats and legumes consumed by hand with the aid of spongy flatbread that soaks up all the flavor -- Eritrean cuisine has entered the Pantheon of preferred flavors that delight my pallet, knocking Mexican food from that number 3 spot.

En route home, no doubt slowed by the complimentary after dinner liqueur likely procured when my dad promised the proprietor a favorable rating on TripAdvisor, we encountered a honeymooning couple from Korea that could not find their bed & breakfast. Finding it unfortunate that the newlyweds were spending their first hours of matrimony wandering the dark streets of Rome in a jet-lagged stupor, we overcame our own stupor of a different sort to ensure that this thing wasn't nullified before consummation. Mission Accomplished!

After traipsing around the chaos of Rome for a few more days and taking in Easter Mass (far away from the flock that inundated the Vatican), we descended upon a rain soaked Palermo, jumped aboard the big, red WE ARE TOURISTS bus and got an overview of the city that was enhanced by the sultry narrator.
Riding a craving for foreign food that our guests indulged, we ended up at Uncle Joe's Cantina for tacos, burritos, and Tequila boom booms (again, complimentary because of Dad's TripAdvising) that involve smashing the glass against a table to induce a fizzing that complicates the required rapid consumption.

Following a few additional days of sightseeing, overeating, and adequately imbibing, we bid our guests farewell and looked forward to returning home quickly for the wedding of the century.


Coming Soon: Visiting Dallas for a wedding/rave before it was America's Most Appreciated City (Lebron, tell me how my Dallas tastes!); the Gay Pride Parade that shut the entire city down for at least 3 days; and 3000 US Navy men wearing pink (cue the Village People).

St. Patrick's Day Sushi/Fried produce/Man-kinis & baby oil

Scopello last weekend.

St. Patrick's Day happened to fall on the 150^th anniversary of Italy's Unification, which is pretty much the opposite of Independence Day. Everyone used to be independent nation-states, but uniting under King Vittorio Emmanuel seemed like a great idea at the time. Historical footnote: one month later, the United States entered the Civil War.

Following unification in 1861, it was famously stated, “We have made Italy, now we must make Italians.” Yet today, just 44% of Italians speak the national language. Regional dialects continue to dominate, despite the march of globalization everywhere else on earth.

Scopello's main piazza 

The Northern League, a political party arguing for northern Italy to secede by establishing the independent nation of Padania, refused to recognize the holiday or even sing the national anthem in parliament. A few weeks ago, representatives from the party burned in effigy Guiseppe Garibaldi, a hero of the unification movement.

But in south, we spent the holiday the same way that independence is celebrated in the US: drinking under the sun in the afternoon as a grill is tended by a group of men.

Post-picnic/anchovy tasting

For dinner that evening, our desire for Asian fusion conflicted with my wish to celebrate the only day of the year when the world is interested in being Irish. Luckily the sushi place serves Guinness, so everyone was satisfied. Note: stout beer settles a belly full of raw fish.

On the same day that we were heralding Italian (dis)unity and leprechauns, our friend Gerry Meier arrived from Dallas for a long weekend in Palermo. Our picnic on the beach felt like the first real day of spring. There was a cool breeze and daunting clouds, but the sun continued shining as we worked our way through spicy salami, a brick of parmesan, a basket of oranges, a bundle of mini-strawberries, and bottles of beer. Meredith and I braved fresh anchovies from the outdoor market, which is just something you do when Gerry implores, “Oh, don't be a wuss... just try one.” Despite being soaked in garlic and red pepper flakes, I thought they tasted like Sea World.

As of this morning, my parents descended on Italy for the first time. Dad arrived wearing a Hawaiian shirt with tiny American flags all over it, so there's no hiding our place of origin as we wander the streets. I'm not sure what they are more impressed by thus far: the abundance of Smart Cars, or the art, architecture, history, and grandeur that is traditionally associated with the Eternal City.

I have neglected to include food discoveries for the past few updates, so I'll try to catch up. We are presently enjoying Lambrusco on a regular (twice daily) basis. It is a sweeter red wine, reminiscent of sangria, with the added excitement of carbonation. When I recall that Michael Jackson used to occasionally serve wine at his slumber parties, Lambrusco comes to mind. It goes great with lunch and right before dinner.

I have also realized the magic behind everything tasting so good. Sicilian cuisine does not leave the option for poor tasting food. If something hints at being mediocre, it is wrapped in bread crumbs and cheese before heading to the fryer. Take vegetables for example -- broccoli: battered and fried, cauliflower: battered/fried; scallions: wrapped in bacon, pan seared. Balls of rice with cheese in the middle? Wrap it in breadcrumbs, deep fry it, and let me know if you are hungry for the next 12-16 hours.

The regional pride in food is also becoming apparent. When we recently had a friend over for dinner, he was a bit offended in a kind way/surprised that we served polenta, a northern Italian dish. He recommended that time I try serving crostini di polenta – deep fried polenta.

My latest lunch obsession is pasta carbonara. Heat some pasta in boiling water. Take a bit of cubed pancetta and sear it with diced onions and garlic, then add peas. Separately, beat one egg in a bowl with a splash of milk and a small handful of parmesan. When the pasta is finished, toss it with the egg and cheese mixture, then pour the pancetta/garlic/onions/peas over the top. You get a creamy sauce that encompasses all of the food groups. Dust it with a healthy dose of black pepper. Delicious.

The last delicacy that I will describe may not sound great, but it is phenomenal. (I realize it is difficult to read the following description in view of picture below, so do your best to separate the two in your mind). Almost all of the meat here is some variation of salt cured pork, but bresaola has a place of its own in the pantheon of pig meat. It is much more tender and nearly purple or maroon in color. A slice of that is rolled up, filled with cream cheese, and sprinkled with pistachios. Its like a savory cannoli.

My birthday is in 3 weeks.

Warm temperatures have arrived for good, offering the locals a two for one deal when it comes to seeking cancer: smoking on the beach while covered in baby oil. You actually have to go to a pharmacy and have lab-coated technician unlock a cabinet if you want something resembling sunscreen.

Also spied on the beach: man-kinis that expose more skin than anyone is interested in seeing, which goes a long way in explaining why Meredith can never bring herself to read on the beach. Too many distractions.

The name of this is actually translated as, mother-in-law's pillow.
Jean, let's be real: son-in-law would be a much more fitting name. 

So beautiful! And the view isn't bad either :)

Planes in the Mud, Carnevale, & Opera

Notice how the logo is disappearing...

Advanced Apologies to those Visiting by Plane

During a day trip to a few picturesque beach towns outside of the city, we found ourselves driving parallel to the runway of Palermo's airport. Ordinarily this would not have provided any sort of intrigue, but we were quickly reminded Sicily is rarely so straightforward. We spotted an airplane that appeared to be stuck in the mud at the end of the runway. Our guide for the day and friend for life, Davide, narrated the true story of a plane that skidded off the runway after a bumpy landing. It sank pretty deep into mud, but rather than tow it out while the dirt was still soft, the airport authorities and airline officials just let it sit there. 

Seeking to avoid the negative publicity and embarrassment associated with one of its fleet literally being stuck in the mud, the carrier decided that a more apt solution was to paint over the logo so that no one would have any idea which airline preferred to leave an anonymous monument to failure rather than spend money to tow it from the mud.

The plane at rest currently has no markings indicating who was responsible, but those booking flights into Palermo should be advised that WindJet cuts corners.


The Opera at Teatro Massimo

Meredith attended her first opera at Teatro Massimo a few weeks ago. A colleague had just one extra ticket, so I had to sit this one out. “I know, there will be other times...”

"Senso" was classic melodramatic Italian theater celebrating 150 years of unification. Having previously only viewed it from the outside, Meredith was overwhelmed by the theater's phenomenal décor indoors.

Godfather III had a few scenes filmed at the theater. 

Carnevale in Sciacca

We spent the beginning of this week in Sciacca (pronounced shock-a) for Carnevale festivities. The town is much smaller than Palermo, but there is a rich tradition of celebration in the days leading up to Fat Tuesday. Beginning on Saturday night, the streets are blocked off at sundown to make way for colorful floats and spirited revelers.

This year's theme was The Search For Black Gold, which is ironic considering the direction that oil prices are headed. The floats, constructed of paper mache and towed by Lamborghini tractors (seriously), were preceded by what can best be described as party wagons. Trailers stacked as many speakers, dancers, fog machines, and strobe lights as possible to create a mobile club experience. The space in between the club truck and Lamborghini float tractors was about 50 yards of Spring Break in Cabo.

While the younger kids dress up like its Halloween, the older kids take the opportunity to subtly offend as many parents as possible with their costumes.  Those familiar with Halloween in Isla Vista will have a good idea of what I'm talking about. America's Queen, on the right, was more tame than the men wearing short kilts that exposed a stuffed tube sock. But the atmosphere is closer to merry and jovial than it is to ridiculous and out of control.

The last night is punctuated by burning the main character and re-enacting the Allied raid on Sicily, or maybe those were just really loud fireworks.

Peppe Nappa went up in flames on the last night

What would a Monica Lewinsky include?

We have surpassed the half way point of our time in Italy, the past 5 months having been a blur of getting settled, making friends, enjoying visitors, and falling into routines. Meredith finishes teaching in mid-June, at which point we hope to travel for a month or so before returning home.

As the local beaches and Aeolian Islands beckon, winter's turn towards spring is taking a bit longer than we would like. Future adventures are more likely to be by boat than by car, which is great news for our vitamin D deficiency and sun starved legs.

Lamborghini tractors: fueled by 2 buck Chuck.

In case you had forgotten about the largesse of 90s rock and pop, rejoice in the hot jams that I have heard in the past week alone:

• Toto “Africa” might be stretching back to the 80s, but its hard not to sing along.  
• Michael Bolton, the greatest hits collection is on a constant loop at one of the cafes. The video appears to have been shot at Lake Mead and it deserves to be parodied.  
• Baywatch theme - to be fair, it was a dance remix at the gym and it was awesome.
• Queen, "The Show Must Go On" - once at the gym, and a few times at the Michael Bolton cafe. 
• A Jon Secada track would be over the top. 

Here's a short clip of the floats in motion.