Nigra sum sed Formosa – I am black and I am beautiful.
[Bible quotation in Latin, from the Song of Songs, inscribed at the altar below the Black Madonna]
Better than I can describe it, is this excerpt about the Black Madonna, written by Eleonora Ruzzenenti on the website www.itinari.com:
“Legends surround the cedar [which turns black over time] wood-carved Black Madonna and how she ended up in Tindari.
Local tradition claims that the Byzantine statue was smuggled out of Constantinople in the eighth and ninth centuries and when a storm blew up, the sailors offloaded the Black Madonna into the port of Tindari.
There are also legends linked to her role in the creation of the tongue of sand and lagoon which lies in the shadow of the church.
Another beautiful legend tells about a woman pilgrim coming from a small village to ask for a grace for her daughter seriously ill. When she arrived in front of the Madonna she refused to pray because she was black. The woman accidentally dropped her baby in the sea but the Black Madonna raised the sand in order to save the baby and demonstrate her compassion. Some fishermen saw a girl playing happily on the beach, safe and sound; the fishermen took her and they reported to the mother, who at that point realized the miracle that had happened and went to the church to thank the Madonna.
The Marinello lakes are located right at the foot of the promontory where the Sanctuary of the Black Madonna stands, and almost as a testimony to this miracle, the shape of this beach tongue is curious, a shape that seems to depict a woman with arms outstretched for the fallen baby.”
The raised sand that saved the baby was where Joe convinced me to skinny dip yesterday, since no one was on that side of the sand bar. “Who will see us?,” he says, not taking into account the bus loads of pilgrims paying a visit to this hilltop sanctuary, then perhaps stepping out to the spectacular view below. We may have been a pox upon yesterday’s pilgrimage, although we were submerged all but a few seconds.
Original Black Madonna
Altar
Black Madonna stories in mosaics
Tindari: a church, a bar, and a thirsty man
Altar
View of sand peninsula and laghetti from the sanctuary
Discarded cover ups—I was asked to wear one, even though it came to my knees. My legs were showing.
Old chapel
Stations of the cross all the way up the 2km hill to the top
Peninsula and gate
My favorite kind of railing,
with a beautiful view; or vice versa.
Black Madonna sand that saved the little girl
The descent was easier
The earlier formation looked more like outstretched arms. But now…. Ahem.
I began the day desperate for caffeine—it’s been a while since I had my requisite back-to-back hot caffe, and the B&B had several capsules and a Nespresso. By several, I mean three. Two for me, one for Joe. I snapped the machine shut, the light went on, but it wouldn’t start. Hmmm. Let’s open it and try again. While doing so, my precious pod of caffe flipped into some hidden back chamber! Nooooo! And akin to the infamous reactive second when Jackie K reached for JFK’s airborne remains, I flew into the tiny coffee maker abyss with my hand to try to rescue the pod. And. My. Hand. Got. Stuck. Like, STUCK. A Jackie Gleason Honeymooner’s bowling ball episode (there’s a Jackie theme here). I started freaking out. I know, I know—hard to believe. I twisted and pulled with all my might; checkout was 10 am, I still needed a shower, and it was already 9:00. I finally twisted and pulled with all my might, and freed my hand, but had blood spurting out everywhere from a big gash that looks like nothing in the photo, but is the size of a fifty-cent piece. AND I still didn’t have the caffe capsule.
But Fabio, smoking a cig in the B&B courtyard, said to take my time on checkout. He’s sweet. And the aforementioned Tindari trek and a couple of Advil set the day straight.The morning was hot, and Joe wanted a swim. I didn’t want to—literally—add salt to the wound, but said I’d go in the water but want a shower afterward (i.e., public cold beach rinse-off) if we were sea swimming. Joe booked us into a lido at last night’s restaurant, which was nice. He swam, I water-walked with my hand in the air, and we had a small lunch on the beach. Wanting to get back to the vigne when Ettore awoke, our lido time was a short one.
The two-plus hour drive in an un-air-conditioned car gave me an idea how it must feel to be a beef roast. I thought I was being cooked alive. My brain was swelling. Joe loves this weather, so he’s fine. He’s probably a warlock.
Ettore was happy to see us, as were the girls. We had a simple supper of mozzarella in carrozza, a large mixed salad with veggies and hard boiled eggs, crostini, and fresh apricots for dessert. Alessandro brought out the wine we gave him; it was quite good.
Rachele wanted to watch the 9 (short) episodes of Mr. Bean and the Bee, so we all piled onto the sofas to watch. The last episode finished a few minutes ago; it was a nice way to end the night with “our” family.
Tomorrow, back to work!
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