Catania Chaos
Again, I woke up tired; Mariella's first words to me today, were "Sei stanca?" You are tired? So I guess it shows. I double-checked with her about taking the car to Catania today and got the all clear.
My goodness; I love Catania. I love the beauty and the chaos. Yes, there's a bit of litter here and there, as with most big cities, but no piles of garbage. And though it's a big city, there are fruit cart vendors on the street, with hand-written prices on torn squares of cardboard, just blocks away from luxury brand stores.
Driving there isn't hard, but finding a place to park? That's a different story.
We finally wedged into a spot, which I noticed was next to a parrucchiere on the passenger side. I figured out how to drop a pin on Google Maps, and shared the location with Joe. I felt so tech savvy.
We navigated to Wine & Charme, my favorite enoteca. As i walked through the door, Umberto looked up and said, "Ciao, Karen!" and flashed his sweet smile. I'm like Norm on "Cheers!"
He said the tariffs with tRump are killing shipments from here. He suggested I buy fewer bottles and send them by Servizio Poste. Things must be really bad if they see me coming and implore me to buy less!
Umberto packed everything, safe and secure, with a new environmentally-friendly German-engineered packaging. He offered to leave it there until after we dine for lunch.
Last year, in Tuscany, Vincenzo had lots of success with The Fork app for Italy dining choices. I have it installed on my phone, and pulled up a Catania list. I like that the average price shows up right away. No surprises. We decided on Pasta Bistrot, near the top of the list.
A cute place, one flight down from street level, with a cheery server and yummy food. Joe had carne miste — polpette di cavallo, salsiccia, involtini, of which I had several bites and gave the thumbs up. I had the Pasta Catanese with anchovies, mollica, wild fennel, raisins, and pine nuts; also delicious. Our server (Giuseppe, of course) and I talked about a dish that's prepared for Festa di San Giuseppe. We washed down our lunch with a shared half litre of the house wine.
Now back to get our wine and the car. Joe generously lugged the boxed bottles.... all over the place. My handy dandy Google pin gave excellent directions to follow, but to somebody else's blue Cleo, and on the wrong street. But what is the right street?
"I remember it was right about here somewhere," Joe said, pointing to cars lined up along a wall topped with shrubbery.
"No; I definitely remember getting out of the car and seeing businesses on the passenger side, not bushes," was my response.
After wandering around, and having, at one point, a very nice young man offer to help carry our box as we searched, I suggested Joe stay where he was and I'll circle a block or two and try to remember the business I saw when we parked.
"I feel as if it's the next block over," I added, with hopefulness.
Someone was looking over my shoulder, because I searched the next block with no luck, on impulse, I took a right to head toward where I left Joe. I saw a sign for a parrucchiere. The light bulb went on, I looked down, and there was our Cleo! I got my phone out to call Joe, and saw him on the corner a block away. I waved. He gets points for patience.
Earlier, I had wanted to stop at Centro Sicilia to pick up something for Mariella, but neither of us had the energy for going there today. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day.
More scenes from our Catanese on-foot navigation:
"Let's stop at Centro Poste, as long as we have the heavy box in the car," I suggested, driving back to Biancavilla. Joe parked in a dubious zone, saying he'd wait to make sure they took the box.
Inside, it was like Telesys — long lines. But unlike Telesys, they move swiftly. A guy in a Yankees cap weighed my box and asked where it was going. Ah; United States..... what's inside? Again, dismay. He turned to his associate, "Un caffè," upon which she stepped into the back room, then handed him an espresso on the way out.
He had me write down my address, and handed it to his associate, who looked it up on the computer.
"Dov'è?" Where is it?
"Meen - ah - soh - ta," she said, as he looked over her shoulder at the computer.
"Belllllo," he nodded toward the monitor; and "Bello!" as he nodded at me. They were looking up photos to see where the hell it is. After all, it's not New York, Hollywood, Las Vegas, or Florida, the commonly recognized American spots.
"Ti piace l'isola?" He wanted to know if I like the island of Sicily, and now it was I who nodded.
With expert efficiency, they got my package weighed, marked, and assigned a tracking number. Joe's still waiting outside.
We squeezed the Cleo into the garage. After seeing Teresa in the foyer and chatting with her, we got upstairs and dozed off. Me, in a chair; Joe, on the sofa. I'm still full. Tonight might be wine and aperitivi somewhere.
Just now, I received this via WhatsApp, and thanked them for their professionalism. The mailing service sent a photo of my wrapped and labeled box:
We decided to stay in. We snacked and had wine, watching Lori's tagged SNL video and Seth Meyers' take on the Trump-Mamdani meeting at the White House (incidentally, is Trump continuing the exterior aberration and adding black trim to the white House?). Both pretty funny. Joe and I talked our own version of politics, mostly "what ifs".
And it took a minute to notice, but the little Christmas elf named Mariella was up here decorating while we were gone. She's the sweetest.
And to all, a good night!
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