Yuri in Sicily
The Whole Truth and the Only Truth about My Trip to Sicily in October 2002
By: Yuri Tuvin - Nov 18, 2006
One day my dear wife said to me: I see you are bored with nothing to do. Stop wasting your time on organizing your old photos and raking leaves! Go somewhere, travel for goodness sake, you deserve this. Go to Sicily! This is the best time of the year; not very many tourists. Imagine the food and wine, fragrant coffee, great pictures you can take with your new camera.
I thought that was not a bad idea, but to travel alone did not seem right. I asked a few friends but nobody was available and I departed alone being reassured that this trip would give me lots of fun, pleasure, knowledge and entertainment.
The fun started immediately upon landing in Palermo. I waited at the carousel for my luggage until the last valise was taken off the belt but my piece did not appear at all. I tried to ask questions but at that moment the lights went off and the whole cavernous building plunged into almost total darkness only slightly lightened by red emergency signs.. Nobody around me spoke English but some gentle soul took me by hand and walked me to another part of the building repeating the word "Internationale." At that moment the lights came back and I saw my luggage standing near the unmovable carousel. My guide explained that this is the international carousel. I still don't know why my flight from Turin where I had a connection from the flight from Boston was considered international. Anyhow, I was greatly relived and went straight to the Budget rental office where a very attractive English speaking young lady immediately retrieved my reservation from the computer. I filled out all the forms (they where in English!), signed the credit card slip, and was told that the car was waiting for me right outside the building.
"However," said the lady, "you cannot go to Palermo because the highway is closed." Why is it closed? "We have a strike in a factory and workers blocked the road." When will it open? "We don't know." How can I go to Palermo? "Oh, this is easy. The electric train station is right under us."
So, I took the escalator down. The railroad ticket vending machine needed euros or liras which I did not have. No problem! Bankomat is right there! I inserted my debit card but received it back with the message: Not valid. I tried again - the same result. Luckily some American family was nearby, they bought a ticket for me and I paid them in dollars. Bankomat on the platform of the station in Palermo spit out my card with the same curt explanation. What to do? I had only a few dollars and kiosk Cambio was of no use to me. Nevertheless I explained the situation to a not so attractive old lady and she told me that I could get money on my VISA card with the surcharge of twenty percent. Did I have any choice? No! So, I pocketed several hundred euros and went out to get a taxi to hitch a ride to a hotel where a room was booked for me. That hotel happened to be on the outskirts of the city amidst some industrial enterprises which was rather disappointing because I anticipated with pleasure a good dinner in some centrally located top notch restaurant. OK, I said to myself, this is only for one night; tomorrow I hit the road around the island and there will be many interesting things to see and eat.
But to drive I need a car. I asked a receptionist how to get to the nearest Budget office. It turned out that the office was not very far away, taxi was called and in ten minutes I was pulling the handle of the glass door on which a familiar name was inscribed in big slanted bold letters. The door did not budge. People from neighboring offices told me that this office was closed for several days. I returned to the taxi and asked the cabbie how much the ride to the airport would cost.
Sixty euro. That was something like seventy five dollars but did I have another choice? So we went I have to tell you that it was already late afternoon and Palermo is a quite a convoluted city. I immediately understood that I would never find my hotel in darkness, that I will be lost forever in the maze of crooked street. So, upon arrival to the airport I told the cabbie to wait for me and guide me back to my hotel. Sixty euro was the answer. After fierce bargaining and humble pleading the price was lowered to forty. I followed the taxi back to my hotel through the dark southern night. The cabbie took good care of me. He was not speeding and he showed turn signals well in advance. In darkness of night we arrived at my hotel. I gave the cabbie 100 euros and shook his hand. He took off and at that moment I realized that he brought me to the wrong hotel! I ran after him beating all world records and screaming something like a Mussolini eb tvoyu mat!!! Stop, ebanii v rot!!! Duche! Suka sranaya!!!...- all the Russian swears were automatically coming out like the last scream of survival. It worked. He stopped and guided me to my hotel which was nearby.
With this hectic day beyond me I needed a very stiff drink and a good meal. I did not want to go to the hotel's restaurant, so I asked the receptionist to recommend a good eating place not far from the hotel and he eagerly suggested one around the corner. This was a little room with several tables along one wall. A few men were sitting around one table loudly arguing about something.
I sat and waited. Arguing subsided. Everybody was looking at me. The waiter was nowhere in sight. After several minutes I got up, went to the end of the room and said "mangiare-mangiare" pointing to my stomach. This changed the whole atmosphere in the room. Arguing resumed with new vigor, nobody was looking at me anymore, the waiter brought a carafe of wine and I finally ate my first meal of the day. Back to my room I turned the TV on but it was useless as all the channels were Italian, so I found some semi-porno show and fell asleep without knowing who got whom and how.
Early in the morning I took my car and went to the city. It was absolutely impossible to find a place to park the car. Every square meter was ether taken or displayed some threatening sign. After desperately wandering through the city I almost ran into a police car. Two very nice looking police women understood my despair and agreed to show me where to park. I followed them until they stopped and pointed to a gap between two buildings. I drove through it and was met by an attendant who took my key and waived me out on the street from this labyrinth of small yards filled with cars. What a relief!!! I took my camera and left feeling free and eager to explore this city under the warm morning sun. The first photo I took was of a friendly dog shit collector on a scooter which was equipped with a vacuum pump, water tank and spray nozzle. He showed me how it worked slurp, spray, suck, fast and clean.
Walking through the city I spotted a barbershop. My wife when I wanted to cut my hair in Gloucester disadvised me saying that in Italy barbers are real masters of the trade. I entered the shop and asked: "Quanta costa?" Mucho Euros. That seemed to me like a lot of money (remember, I paid 20% on my VISA withdrawal plus the euro is heavier than the dollar) also there were several people waiting so I decided to resume my walk. I took pictures of Palermo's cathedral, theater, and street scene. With that kind of traffic it is not surprising to have several different branches of police.
In any case I felt pretty safe until an intelligent looking old couple approached me at the street market and advised me to hide my camera. That was impossible and I briskly walked to the parking where I left my car. The attendant asked me to find my car, took a piece of paper from under the windshield wiper, looked at it and said: "Cinque oras" I answered with the only known to me Italian phrase: "Quanta costa?". The attendant said something which I could not make out, some long string of numbers. Something like: "e costsa due quarto trenta dechi mechi mille" I understood nothing. He walked me to his booth and pointed to the plywood sign with hourly rates. The light went out of my eyes. Five digit numbers were covering the board. I feverishly translated liras into dollars and arrived at something like two thousand plus. "Impossible! Impossible!" screamed I, pointing at the numbers with many digits. The attendant laughed and applied a coma before the two last digits. They simply did not bother with intricacies of mathematics but I nearly fainted or got a heart attack. So I paid something like twenty euros and happily went to my hotel.
Early in the morning, I set out to drive around Sicily. The Airoporto's Budget office gave me two maps of the island and the city of Palermo so I felt pretty confident. I was lost in the first five minutes. Evidently, map makers did not bother to show all the streets of the city. I stopped, waved down a passing truck and pointed to the city of Monreale. "Si, si, firsta diretta, seconda dritta, fifta destra. Capishe?"
I understood nothing. He drove away and I drove too, hoping to find some major street which would be listed on the map. After a while I hit a large boulevard but could not find the name of it. Suddenly I spotted a squat white building with lots of antennas on the roof and a couple of police cars in front. I quickly made a right turn, killed the engine and got out. Several policemen armed with heavy rifles poured out of the building yelling at me. I was standing with the map in my hands trying to ask directions but they did not want to hear anything, they just screamed and waived me out pointing rifles at me. I obeyed and left not knowing where to go. I stopped several cars, listened to directions understanding absolutely nothing. Finally one driver, an intelligent looking old man, answered in English. While giving directions, he figured out that my mental state of total despair blocked any information, so he gave up and asked me just to follow him to the highway.
Finally I was the master of my destiny. Life started to look better! My car was flying like a bird and purring like a cat, scenery around was magnificent and the weather was great! I stopped, took a few pictures which I am not going to show because of a lot of garbage in the foreground and proceeded to Monreale, where I visited the famous cathedral built by William II and took pictures of this Arab-Norman art creation.
From Monreale I drove to Erice - a medieval walled town on the top of a mountain. This town is called "the science city" not because some great discoveries were made here but because contemporary scientific societies love to hold their conferences in this immensely picturesque place.
I left the car at the town's gate and settled in a small hotel. It was too early for dinner, so I went for a walk. I took some pictures of this beautiful city- towers and the front of a church- the streets of Erice which are paved beautifully
In the center of the city I ran into a barbershop. I remembered my wife's order to get a haircut in Italy, so I entered and asked the master: Quanto costa? "Otto euro." Multo many! Costosa! In Palermo e sei. "Erice otto, no costosi." A heck with money! I decided and sat in the armchair. The old master wrapped me in a starched sheet and proceeded carefully with scissors and comb to cut my wetted hair.
He worked very slowly and his shop looked provincial, even antiquated. Being in a very relaxed mood I asked him if he had electrical instruments of the trade. He did not understand me. So I said something like that: "Haben Sie electrik mashinas? Zzzzzz?" and made an arching gesture with my right hand. "Si, si, Seniore!" he exclaimed, pulled out of nowhere an electric haircutter and with lightening speed ran it right through the middle of my head. "What are you doing?!" I screamed raising my arms. "Scuzi, Seniore, molto pardone, no capiche." It took him quite a time to fix an almost irreparable trench. When everything was over I gave him eight euro and received back two with more "scuzi, pardone and gracia."
Now was the time to go for a dinner. I found a restaurant and ate in total solitude because it was too early for the Sicilians. I ordered some fish and a bottle of wine. Through the half of fish and wine and being in better shape than before dinner, I decided to take a picture of the interior of the restaurant. When reaching for my camera which was on the table I knocked the bottle, it fell on the plate with fish and broke it. Another little disaster. Not much fun l tell you. After dinner I went for an evening photo walk.
Light rain and strong wind forced me off the streets and I returned to the hotel which was empty except for me and an old woman who opened the door after several minutes of pressing the bellâ button. Grave silence inside was accompanied by horrible howling outside my window. This was created by the wind playing with the latticework of the gigantic communication tower standing on the slope of the hill not farther than a hundred yards from the hotel. I turned the TV on, did not find anything interesting; even that semi-porno channel was not there. A very dreary end of the day, indeed. After emptying half of my flask I managed to fall asleep on my uncomfortable bed.
Upon awakening I realized that I could not take it anymore. All this loneliness and solitude were doing a good job on me. Enough! Basta! Khvatit! With this decision life started to look much, much better. I said goodbye to Erice and hit the road to the airport. I took some pictures including: View from the wall of Erice. On the street of Castellammare del Golfo where I had lunch and damaged the fender of the car hitting the toll curb stone.
Airport is close!!!
At the airport I returned the car to the rental office and was very much relieved when I learned that the insurance would cover the damage. The first possible flight out was in two hours. That made me very happy but the reality turned not to be so good. First, I had to stay in line to the office of some manager who was not there; when he appeared he was busy and could not see people waiting in line. After seeing one person he left again and, finally, when my desired flight was already gone, he told me that the next possible flight would depart the day after tomorrow at 5:45 in the morning. And by the way, this change of flights cost two hundred dollars plus. I was happy to finish my suffering and the price did not seem too high. Only after I got the new ticket I realized that in order to be in the airport so early in the morning I needed to stay in the airport hotel for two nights. That was the blow! I hoped to spend time in Palermo and take the train to the airport and now I had to hole up in the middle of nowhere! I decided to take a chance. If I took the very first train from Palermo at 4:20 AM that would give me 45 minutes to catch the flight. And if I missed, so be it, I would worry later.
At the Palermo station platform I asked a carabinaro to recommend the nearest hotel. He pointed across the square. That was very good I wouldn't need a taxi. The hotel was seedy but that did not bother me. I left my case in the room and went out. Freedom!!! No need to look for parking, no need to find the highway, no need for anything! Palermo is the city built by and for pedestrians.
For the rest of that day and the whole next one I was canvassing it far and wide, drinking good coffee, having no desire to talk to anyone and taking pictures. Because money was in short supply I felt permanently slightly hungry. Strong coffee on an empty stomach created a very nice elation which I would recommend everybody to try. Returning to the hotel I discovered that the bed was awful, the springs under mattress where so weak that my rear end was almost touching the floor. So, I put the mattress on the floor and slept like in paradise. I dreamed of the day's events.
In a trattoria I had a meal. When the waiter came I pointed to the name of the highly praised local dish in the tour guide (I forget it now). "Â Si, si!" was his answer. After waiting for forty minutes I received my order. It was horrible. I asked for the second carafe of wine but still had trouble swallowing. You can imagine how bad was it if I could not eat that concoction being very hungry.
Back at the hotel I told the attendant that I must take the very first train at 4:20 AM in order to go to the airport. "Si, si, certante, dormire good, computore arbaite" Something was not right. I did not trust the guy. I decided to stay awake. I had nothing to read. There was no TV. In order not to fall asleep I was taking a shower every hour.
At 3:45 in the morning when the promise to be awoken did not materialized, I collected my things and went down. The door was locked and nobody manned the desk. I desperately ran along empty corridors of the ground floor. All the doors were locked. Silence, dead silence. I would miss my train!!! I returned to the front door and tried to force it open. As seedy as it was the hotel flaunted a modern metal door with heavy glass panels. You would need a tank to break it. But even if I would be able to open the door I could not leave without my passport. I ran through the corridors again. This time I heard faint music. At the corridor end was a staircase down. In a small room the attendant was sleeping in front of a TV. @#$%^&*Blya! Tvoya mat! Suka!.@#$%^&. Etc. If he would understand Russian he would be very upset. We walked to the front desk. I had to pay 80 euros. I gave him 100, he did not have change. More @#$%^&*Blya! Tvoya mat! Suka!. He emptied his pockets. Not 20 euros but at least some. I ran to the station through the dark square. My suitcase clanked on the cobblestones. A couple of vagabonds tried to strike a conversation. I shifted to overdrive. The train station was an oasis of civilization with bright lights and several carabinaries. The train had not yet departed but all the doors were closed. I ran to the locomotive. Doors of one car in the middle of the train were open. I climbed in. I took my last photo of the trip. Four more minutes of hassling in the hotel and I would not have made it.
The train departed and I fell asleep. The train stopped, I woke up, looked through the window, saw nothing in the darkness and fell asleep again. In my mind this was the stop in-between Palermo and the airport where the short stretch of double track permits trains to pass each other. But it was not! This train was first of the day and it passed the short stretch without stopping. The stop was the airport!!!
I was on the way back to Palermo!!! The adrenalin propelled me with the speed of light to the stop- cran (emergency break). I pulled the red handle. A blast of compressed air, grinding, hissing and a jolt of a stop. The conductor swung the door between the cars open and rushed in. I tried to explain. He did not need my excuses and explanations; he opened the door and helped me out. I made the flight!!!
In Boston I went to the North Station hoping to take the train home. Another misfortune! For the train to Gloucester I had to wait almost three hours. So, I took the train to Beverly and from there I called home and asked my wife for a ride. This was the optimal solution: Beverly was only 30 minutes from Gloucester while the trip to Logan would take the whole hour. The conversation was something like this: "Hi Mank! How are you doing? Is everything OK?" She replied "Yes, yes, we are fine. And how are you? Are you enjoying Sicily? Where are you calling from?" I said "I'll tell you later, everything is fine, no problems. But now I am in Beverly, can you give me a ride home? I am in a restaurant on the platform?" She was concerned. "What happened??? Are you OK??? Are you sick???" I replied "No, no, no! I am fine, really fine, don"t worry I'll explain to you later, just give me a ride."
I was waiting for her much longer than 30 minutes. I called home again. Sarah said that Mama left a long time ago. Now it was my turn to worry. What could happen? Where is she? What to do? Finally she appeared, white as a ghost, eyes wide and mouth open too. "Are you sick? What happened? You are so thin and your hair? What did you do?" I replied "Why did it take you so long to come? Did you have an accident? Are you OK?" It turned out that Beverly had two railroad stations and she was looking for me at the other one.
Happy end to a horrible story.