Travel Musings

SICILY 2009: Preface

It's been a rough year.

Highs. Followed by lows. 2009 is treating me like a punching bag.

I canceled my April trip to Tunisia. I tried but failed to tap into my usual pre-trip enthusiasm: I just couldn't conjure it. And I felt vulnerable. Tunisia isn't necessarily a 'dangerous' country but foreign travel always carries some risk to women -- at least more so than staying at home. And I wasn't exuding the confidence that keeps prey at bay. I just wasn't feeling it. God, if there's one thing I've learned the hard way it's to listen to my intuition. In retrospect, my gut feelings on upcoming voyages have always been on-the-money: both the good and the bad.

My Sicily vacation is approaching and I've not picked-up any bad trip vibes, I've not read any foreboding Italy foreshadowing into the events of my everyday life.

In fact the timing is perfect. I need to lick my wounds, introspect, and escape from Here for awhile.

 

SICILY: Why Sicily?

My choice of destination -- Sicily -- met with little resistance this time. Unlike some other trips (Oman, Dubai, Laos) no one regarded me with a suspicious eye, as if something sinister were afoot, when I mentioned my upcoming journey. Americans greet travel to Italy with a Texas-sized A-ok thumbs-up high-five seal of approval. Even if the exact relationship of the region to the rest of Italy is a bit sketchy in their minds. For the record, it's The Thing Being Kicked by The Boot. Birthplace of The Mafia.

But...why Sicily? Because of the prolific Rick Steves: writer, tour operator, podcaster, videographer, web entrepreneur. I'm a Big Fan of this guy: he's passionate about travel, a savvy businessman, down-to-Earth, no prude, open-minded, and sports a good sense of humor. I trust him. So when I lost myself this past winter (actually forgetting that I was busting my butt on the Stairstepper) while listening to two of his podcasts lauding Sicily, I resolved to go there. Rick labeled the island "Italy in the extreme" and "one of the liveliest and intense places in Europe". How could I resist?

SICILY: Around the Island in Eight Days

Sicily deserves greater than seven days. But back when I planned my trip -- back when my position at work had not yet been eliminated -- I was all about conserving vacation days. Now every day's a vacation day.

Deterimining how to divide my week proved difficult. Sicily's geography is amazingly diverse (beaches, islands, volcanos, mountains) for so compact an area and it's an amalgam of archeology: pretty much everyone except Canada invaded it at one time or another, leaving behind some sort of cultural stamp.

Internet posters agree that Palermo is a city that I'll either love or hate, which I interpreted as a challenge. I booked my arrival into Palermo. Atelier Sul Mare, an art hotel (I'm a sucker for bizarre properties) lies just East along the coast: I booked one night. Rick Steves et al claim that Taormina retains some charm despite oozing Touristy, so I added it to my list of Must Sees. The city of Siracusa -- recommended by many a travelblogger - is an easy coast south from Taormina. I booked my final stay at ts historical center, Ortigia.

Ta Da: a perfect week in The Mother Country. 

CHICAGO: Ohsh.........

Umpteen international trips and my stomach still flutters when the flight attendant announces that the doors are closing and we're on our way to Paris, Tokyo, Ulaanbaatar...I hope that I never lose my sense of amazement that one moment I'm inching my way along I-294 in blizzard conditions and six hours later I'm lying half-naked on a beach sipping something potent and coconut-ty. I enter the tin canister in the midwestern United States and I exit the tin canister in Du-OMG-bai and I'm surrounded by swarthy, chic men in turbans! I never take the miracle of air travel for granted.

The doors close. I check my seatbelt, raise my chair, turn-off my phone.

Crap! My phone! The keyboard lights fade and I'm struck with that I-just-mistakenly-sent-a-scathing-reply-to-all-instead-of-reply-message feeling: I didn't leave an out-of-office message. I ALWAYS program out-of-office on my voicemail and email as I don't have international coverage (and I like it that way): it's only professional. But this whole out-of-work-business (I've worked steadily since age 13) has thown me: I'm not on top of things. If a potential employer calls me on Monday, and I don't return the call for a week, I may blow the opportunity.

But it's too late. We're moving.

PALERMO: Welcome to Palermo

Back in July I booked an airport transfer to my hotel, BB22, through the property, for the sum of 50 Euro. I canceled my ride last week: I just can't justify the expenditure right now. This unemployment business puts a goddamn crimp in my style.

I catch the Prestia e Comandè bus 29, fork over 5 Euro, and -- 55 ninutes later -- arrive at Central Station. Job or no job, I'm glad that I saved the 60 bucks: the public transport was quick, painless.

Only...not a taxi in sight. I stack my carry-on atop 'Lil 'Zillo (I've mastered warm weather packing down one whole luggage size: hefty Bagzillo sits forlornly in a closet at home) and trudge up Via Roma's uneven sidewalk dragging my baggage behind me. I'm hot, I'm tired, and my feet have swollen a shoe size. And nobody will move out of the way for me. Not budgin' a centimeter. Rather, they look right through me. I was prepared for sexual harrassment (like when I visited Rome in my 20's) -- in fact a teeny, tiny bit is good for this newly-middle-aged-ego -- but I don't seem to even exist in this city.