Feast(s) Day
First course, pasta with red sauce; second, chunks of vitello and pork sausage with grilled zucchine. There was technically a third course; rabbit, slow-cooked with vegetables, which Joe ate, but I was too full. Ficodindia and panettone for dessert. I brought a bottle of Nerello Cappuccio to accompany the meal. What a feast!
Since we didn't get to Geox to exchange my jacket earlier, and today marks the 30th day of their 30-day return policy, Vincenzo and Mariella offered to go to Catania (yes, again!) early, before meeting the friend group, so I could make the exchange at the Geox on Corso Italia. I was secretly thrilled, since that is a flagship store, and it is beautiful.
I took a short nap after lunch, then started clearing things out of the pantry. We can try to use up as much as possible these last few days.
Then back downstairs, to freshen up and get ready.... Ugh; to go out to eat. I'm still full from that wonderful lunch!
Mariella, looking fresh and cute, met us at the door, as Vincenzo pulled the car around. The ride into Catania was filled with Christmas songs from an Irish radio station that does Make-A-Wish fundraising.
"Holly Jolly Christmas" was playing. Vincenzo said he knew "jolly" meant felice, but what is "Holly Jolly"? I explained that it's the type of felice (happy) it is. Just as there is Christmas, then there is Blue Christmas (or Pain and Sympathy Pain, Anger and Hangry, etc), Holly Jolly is Christmas Happy, since the holly is a symbol of Christmas. The songwriter used "Holly" because it rhymes with "Jolly".
"No; it doesn't mean anything," Joe said. "It's just a nonsense thing".
Who's right? Eh; who cares.
We pulled into Catania, super busy due to the Mercatini and general holiday weekend craziness in the city. We parked right in front of Geox, where the coat exchange did not go well, as we learned the tax-free paperwork is attached to the point of purchase. We must return to the store where it was bought, to make the return. Well... crap.
Back to the car, looking for somewhere to park, and ending up in front of my friend Orazio's place, The San Placido Inn. From there we walked a few minutes toward Centro to eventually meet up with everyone.
Mariella stopped at the Duomo, asking if we wanted to go inside. I said sure. At that moment, we saw the procession of the statue of Mary entering the church. Today, December 8th, is a holiday in Italy; Feast of the Immaculate Conception.
Procession approaching
Presepe
Manger scene
Mary statue carried in
We watched the procession, and went inside to look at the huge presepe. I saw a coin stamper as we walked out, and really wanted to get one for my friend Tom, who collects them, but I could sense the guys weren't having any of it. They were already outside.
In the Piazza del Duomo, the lights were lit up, and a nativity mural illuminated the side of a building. Carmelo's brother, who was with us on our Tuscany travel group, lives on the top floor of a palazzo overlooking the Duomo.
The tree in Piazza della Università Is visible in the background
Market vendors
Markets at Piazza della Università
Carmelo's brother's place, with the row of lamps, on the left (not the domed building)
We wandered through the magic that is Catania at night in Christmastime.
Cotton candy vendor
Babbo Natale
Balloons and markets
Waiting for Babbo Natale
More balloons and lighted shapes
The guys
Someone actually buying the candied apples. Mariella and I tried the candied pistachios.
A tree beckons from the end of a street
Lights over a tourist trap
After our passeggiata through the markets (different vendors than daytime, btw), during which Marisa had a running commentary with the vendors ("Dici è corallo, vero? Non è corallo,"🤌🤌), we relieved the guys of shopping and walked toward our pizzolo place.
Pizzolo is not to be confused with pizza. It's the ravioli of the pizza world. Two very thin crusts, the top one crispy, and a variety of fillings to be had inside
As usual with this group, the guys stay on one half of the table; the women on the other.
"Allora," Marisa began. This is the word Italians use, the way Obama uses the word "Look".
She started to take command of what was to be ordered; we'll all share.
"Allora, i pizzoli sono tagliati in otto. Quattro Pizzoli per noi, quattro per voi, di questi. Bietole e salsiccia, broccoli e acciughe ---"
"NO! Possiamo ordinare com'è vogliamo!" I think it was Nello who said it. The guys wanted to do their own ordering of pizzolo di Daniele and caponata.
"Vabbè," Marisa smirked. Go ahead then.
The pizzas arrived, and so did the usual accompanying beer (I'll never understand the carb on carb thing; I had water). Sure enough; the guys wanted to eat our pizzas instead of what they ordered. Marisa made very good choices for the women.
Pizzolo
There was much eating and laughter, and a little bit of something Mariella is never in the habit of doing -- discussing the ways others. But they all have a friend, someone I know, who has a daughter that's married, but spends almost all of her time with her mom. She travels with her mom and her mom's friends. She's barely forty, but hangs out with these older women, not her husband or friends. All Mariella said was, something isn't right, while pointing to her head. I admitted to her that Joe knows a mother/daughter situation like that, except the 40-something has three divorces already! So we can't use the argument that staying with her mom more than with her husband is what's saving the marriage!
Pina weighed in, saying, your children are arrows in your quiver (faretra -- I had to look that one up). Once they're grown, a mother must know when to use her bow and let them fly out to their own destiny. They are not meant to stay forever in the quiver.
God, I love Italians. So many poetic ways to say things. Pina's was more elegant than the one I heard at the market: 'He always has one sleeve rolled up with that one'. It hints at the prep for wiping up someone in the lavatory; it's the equivalent of our "he kisses his a$$".
There was a long table full of family, including a newborn, behind us. The baby looked so much like my son John as a baby, I had to dab my eyes. Those were achingly precious days.
Sweet baby John
Since the guys were still into asserting their menu power, they ordered a sweet pizzolo, one stuffed with ricotta and honey. It was pretty good! That and the bietole were my favorite.
After eating all that, we slowly meandered toward our cars (or homes, for Elise and Nello, and Pina and Francesco, who live in Catania). Mariella looped her elbow through mine most any time we were walking this evening, which I loved.
Festive balcony
We got lots of hugs and come back soons, and Buon Natales, as we won't see these folks again before we leave. Finally, we all let go and started our separate paths, Marisa giving me a long last hug.
"Ho bisogno una foto della principessa," I commanded, wanting her picture. I've nicknamed her Principessa, much to her constant amusement.
Principessa Marisa
We rode home, talking about Catania's underground city; of Etna, of all the lore and Greek influence, of scuderi (armor shields), and of course, of food and today's importance in the world of music.
We remember this day, John Lennon. Vincenzo played Happy Christmas (War is Over) on the starlit, twinkle-light-y, cape-of-wonder ride home.
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