Palermo, Sunday
We enjoyed a lovely, leisurely breakfast after sleeping in a comfy bed. However; these thin hotel blankets are made for tourist seasons, which are hot, not the winter, which is not freezing, but damn--getting down to the 50sF outside at night is a bit too brisk for me. Once I put my jacket on, I fell into a deep sleep.
Our first stop, and the main event for the weekend, was the immersive Impressionist exhibit featuring Monet, at the Palazzo Trinacria.
Originally a palace, then a hotel, and now apartments for the fortunate, this palazzo hosts the Pietro Barbaro Foundation. Its primary objective is the promotion of Mediterranean culture, discovering cultural identities from the mix of ancient influences and traditions.
Sidebar, just because there are SO MANY naval artifacts in the palazzo:
In 1868, Marcello Barbaro registered the Brigantino Silenzio with the Italian Naval Register, bearing the number 2. From that moment, generation after generation, the Barbaro family has become a dynamic, internationally leading group in the shipping and maritime transport sector.
The sea and the deep connection with the Mediterranean inspired the creation of the Pietro Barbaro Foundation in 2008, an organization with solidarity aims aimed at enhancing contemporary arts, the identity of places, and innovation.
The foundation owes its name to Pietro Barbaro, the great-grandfather of Gianni and Alfredo, the brothers who have played a prominent role in the last forty years in the growth of the international shipping sector as a whole.
Leaving this breathtaking experience, we re-entered the outside world to experience the Palermo mercato dei pulci; the flea market. I'd appoint our pied-a-terre with some of the finds here! Sure; there's crap, but there are also exquisite stone tables, oversized gilded frames, antique dishware and cookware, paintings, vases, and more. It was hard not to say, yeah; let's throw this in the Pullman.
Despite the empty shopping trip, it was another beautiful and sunny day. We took a walk around other parts of town, including the Muro dei Cattivi.
To backtrack, on the way into the impressionist exhibit today, I was talking about the style, but admitting I have more of a passion for the post-Impressionists, such as Van Gogh and Seurat, because they heightened the drama. Impressionists themselves did not use the color black in their palette.
Do you study everything before you visit? Marisa asked, not especially politely, although not rudely. She's great on that balance beam. No, no, I assured her, jokingly; there's just a lot of shit that I know.
So now, as we're walking down the lungomare, I said to her (and Mariella), I know that somewhere around here, there's a wall dedicated to really bad people; for example, if you were an adulterer or something? I hope we walk by it; maybe names are listed! She asked me again if I study such things.
We followed Pippo up a wide set of stone stairs, when I saw the engraved sign: Muro dei Cattivi! The Wall of the Really Bad People!
Marisa looked at me as if I were a toddler, saying "No! Ve-do-va!!! Il muro della Vedova! In Sicilia le Vedova loro chiamano Cattivi!"
Wait. WTF? I'm running through translations in my head. Vedova. Widow. This wall is dedicated to evil widows??!!
She then explained that in antiquity, in the Sicilian language, widows were called Cattivi. But... why? No, this did not mean bad person, but that's a very old Sicilian expression for them; it's no longer used.
I then put two and two together, to understand that this wall, with its close proximity to the port, is what we'd call a Widow's Walk!
We finished our Kalsa stroll, and gathered together for a ride back to our hotel (with luggage already in the Pullman) to have their lunch.
Red wine today, and Pasta Alla Norma, followed by slices of pork and piselli (peas). I ate the pasta, but the pork dish looked suspicious on the butter front, and with my body's adverse reaction to it, I only nibbled enough to taste it. The last thing I wanted was a gut-wrenching bathroom emergency on the autobus.
During lunch, Maria's husband Alfredo further explained the etymology of Cattivi to Widows. Prisoners were (and perhaps still are) generally called Cattivi. Widows, in ancient times, were like prisoners. Their lives were closed off for three years of mourning, alone in their homes, in a way, imprisoned. Now I feel bad for those women of yore. Three years!
We said goodbye to our pretty hotel and its neighborhood before climbing back into the bus to ascend up up and up to San Martino delle Scale, the Abbey where the monks are herbal pharmacists and beer makers.
Our ride up the mountains was a pretty one!
Finally, we arrived at the Abbey. We got a tour of the place; really lovely. How on earth did they get all those construction materials up there, on what are to this day, although larger and much improved , still muddy roads? It's brisk up here. The altitude is palpable.
Now, a walk through the interior courtyard to the dining hall. Mariella noticed the hidden posts for video cameras. The monks give really great cooking lessons, which are televised on channel 33, she explained.
We moved from the dining hall, descending to another courtyard, which led us to the old pharmacy site. Note all the natural ingredients listed on these beautiful ceramic apothecary jars. Sicilians really do the ceramic art well.
Back up the stairs, we're checking out some of the inner chambers. It looks to me like the office and living room of the head Abbott, with some rooms of religious artifacts thrown in. Since I'm totally zoned out on the religious stuff, I took pictures out the windows. The monks have some sweet vistas.
I was ready for that beer.
Finally, we were brought to a room with chairs equipped with airplane trays. We got to sample two styles of beer, each quite different in taste and color, but both very good (I like that bitter hit in European beers). We all faced a humongous crucifix while imbibing.
The monks also make an artisan cheese. If I were to best describe it, I'd say it falls somewhere between a pecorino and an Emmental. We were also served a torta that was so heavenly, I stopped the guide to ask if the monastery sold them. Sadly, no.
We had little time to get to the awaiting bus; Mariella and I had no time for a much-needed bathroom stop!
We piled into the bus for the three-hour return journey, which had zero stops. That was brutal.
Finally arriving to our car near Marisa's house, she beckoned me inside, saying I must have to use the bathroom! We all do! As Mariella exited, I went it. Whew.
Marisa's place is huge, open, bright, clean, beautiful. It's "her".
We kissed and hugged goodbye, and once in the car, Mariella said thank God we made it to Marisa's --she was ready to make like Matteo -- go pee pee anywhere!!
And then we were home. That bed looks good.
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