Samantha Brown’s Passport to Europe, it ain’t. We like it this way.
Traveling tools laid out for another jaunt, I repose for five seconds on our crack-in-the-back bed. In Europe, don’t be surprised when your request for a two-person bed is provided by two singles jammed together.
Giorgio laughed when I told him our room was large enough for practicing
my Flamenco dance. We enjoyed the eclectic collection of antiques he has
placed throughout his B&B.
A mere hint at the jaw-dropping opulence that greets you upon entry to
Monreale’s fabulous Duomo. King William II began construction of this
legendary cathedral in 1174, uniquely blending Arabic, Romanesque, and
Byzantine architectural styles. But what still draws millions of visitors over
800 years later is the magnificently-decorated interior. A local saying rings
true: “Anyone who comes to Palermo without seeing Monreale arrives as a
donkey and leaves as an ass.” We were thankful to remain donkeys.
After the eeriness of the corpses of Convento dei Cappuccini, we decided to elevate the mood with a visit up to Monreale (Royal Mountain). But first, we had to make a side trip back to where we had purchased tickets earlier that morning for the Capella Palatina.
Gino couldn’t find his coin purse and, although we searched everywhere and mentally retraced every moment, we could not figure out where it may have disappeared. He did not remember leaving it anywhere, nor could he think of any suspicious encounters during which it may have been pinched.
The only likely place was the window at the entrance of Capella Palatina, but no, the ticket vendor had not seen it. Gino prides himself on keeping control of his things while traveling, carefully securing his items away from the sticky fingers of petty thieves. In seven trips to Europe, nothing has ever been stolen. Perplexed, we gave up the search and Gino resigned himself to his first loss, which was really nothing more than a few coins and a bit of pride.
Dead bodies and misplaced coin purses set aside, we walked to nearby Piazza Indipendenza and bought tickets for the bus up to Monreale. Gino’s camera bag had developed a lump and he paused to adjust it. Tucked up inside a little hidden pocket of the video case was the missing coin purse! I thought he would kiss it. Instead, he grinned sheepishly, elated at not having lost his edge…or his mind…after all.
Bus tickets in hand, we gingerly navigated the swirling traffic to the bus stop across the street. We waited for the appointed arrival time. And we waited. And waited. Commiserating with an Italian family from Faenza (in the region of Emilia Romagna on the mainland), they rolled their eyes and shook their heads at their perceived inefficiency of Sicilian public transportation. They were on a vacation from their busy ceramic shop at home and their cruise only allowed limited time for their one day in Palermo. Frustration mounted.
Finally the bus with the designated number lumbered towards us, arriving 45 minutes in ritardo. The restless crowd, now grown considerably large, boarded in a rush. We had to squish in the center aisle, hanging on to poles or hand straps. Crawling through the traffic-choked streets, we laughed as we tried to keep our balance against the spastic starts and stops. Slowly we snaked our way out of the city and eventually headed up onto the hill leading to the little town of Monreale. The bus deposited us a short way down from the quiet center.
Inside Monreale’s Duomo: Glimpse a mere fraction of the gilded
walls and magnificent mosaics created by Greek and Byzantine
artisans. Covering 7,583 square yards, these glittering mosaics
depict religious scenes and stories throughout the cathedral.
Leaving the rest behind, we swiftly walked up the hill and found the Duomo without any trouble (a local resident pointed the way). An imposing hulk from the outside, the inside of this cathedral is overflowing with glittering gold and multi-colored mosaics depicting scenes from the New and Old Testament. Founded in 1172 by King William II, it is considered one of the most important and impressive cathedrals in the world. The dazzling golden mosaics and intricate designs of the marble floor will keep you gasping and gaping.
I could barely bring myself to walk on this incredible floor.
From the vantage point of the Duomo terraces, the Chiostro dei Benedettini
(cloister) exhibits the Arab influence on Sicilian art and architecture.
A strange corridor reached by stairs leading up from the terraces
on the upper reaches of the Duomo. This particular narrow hallway
was chained off, but I so wanted to explore here.
Struck by the overpowering enormousness of this cathedral, Gino and I wandered separately, digesting the beauty at our own pace. A loud grinding noise kept interrupting the reverent silence and I searched around until I found its source. Mesmerized, I stood motionless, watching a man seated on a small stool painstakingly cut and grind tiny bits of tile to replace missing pieces.
At the front of the church near the altar, a woman steam cleaned the balustrades of the railing — a bizarre contrast under the watchful eyes of the Madonna. It must have been cleaning day.
Towards the back of the Duomo, I noticed a sign indicating “Terrazzi” next to a set of stairs leading upward. Always ready for an opportunity to climb, we paid the small fee and headed up. An air-borne corridor led us outside for a bird’s-eye view of the monastery cloisters below lined with delicate, Islamic-influenced arches. Continuing up several more flights of stairs and through narrow internal corridors, we eventually came to the very top of the cathedral, offering a spectacular view of the Conca d’Ora valley below. The “Shell of Gold” was aptly named.
A closer look at the formal garden of the cloister, part of
King William II’s original Benedictine monastery.
Aside from the unbelievably dazzling interior of the Duomo, this corner
of the exterior features graceful interlacing marble arches and multicolored
motifs in limestone and lava. The slender columns, points and arches conjure a fantastical Middle Eastern palace.
Our visit to the Duomo complete, we were starved and began searching for a restaurant. We found one that seemed good, but Gino was having a hankering for chicken which the menu did not offer. Lucky for us we didn’t eat there since ultimately we found another place which ended up being one of the best meals of the trip.
Ornate and colorful, this typically-Sicilian horse cart was displayed in the
outdoor courtyard of our chosen restaurant. Once ubiquitous throughout Sicily,
these historic works of art are now only brought out for parades and festivals.
To our chagrin, shortly after we sat down, the tables filled up with German tourists, freshly spewed from a large tour bus parked below. However, we have learned on previous trips that the presence of a tour group does not necessarily mean a bad meal will ensue. We kept telling ourselves this as we internally cringed.
I ordered caponata to start, a traditional Sicilian appetizer made mostly of eggplant, but also containing tomato, celery, onion, and olives. Today was my opportunity to order my whole calamaro and it arrived stuffed and grilled. I was swooning, and it wasn’t from the wine. Gino enjoyed mixed antipasto, Pasta di Norma, sausage, salad, and beer. We topped the meal off with the best cannoli, and I mean the best, we have ever tasted. It remains unsurpassed.
Slowly picking our way back to the bus stop for our return to Palermo,
this sweet Monreale street offered a sweeping view of the golden valley below.
Giddy from our sumptuous lunch, we attempted to locate one of the parts of town where Giorgio had led us the very first night: the plant-filled labyrinthian area of pathways and alleys called the Ciambra. Disappointed, we did not succeed in locating it. Had I remembered the name, I would have asked someone and undoubtedly would have found it.
Still, we were satisfied with the sights we did find, and we arrived at the bus stop miraculously just as the bus did. A quick ride down and we were back in Palermo.
Before leaving the bus station, we tracked down the office for the bus company that would take us to Selinunte, the site of several Greek temples and ruins on the southern side of Sicily. We bought tickets for the next day and made sure we knew where to pick up the bus.
On the walk back to Giorgio’s, we found an internet cafe. Conveniently located, it ultimately did me no good since for some inexplicable reason, I could read my email but not send anything out. I tried three separate times, on various computers, but even with the help of the attendant, was unsuccessful. I gave up and hoped the next town would provide better luck.
Back at Giorgio’s, the gang reconvened for the evening outing. As the sun slipped away, Giorgio led us on foot back to into the heart of the city. We edged towards Piazza Verdi where, rising between old and new Palermo, is the massive Teatro Massimo. Although this famous venue for opera and ballet had been closed for years for restoration, it has recently reopened. Next to the Paris Opera, it boasts the largest stage in Europe; it was also the location of the infamous opera scene in the movie Godfather III. Gino and I did not have a chance to visit inside during our time in Palermo, but this evening we were content to stand outside, goggling in awe at its glowing spectacle.
Next we followed Giorgio to what he called a snackery, which I think is the most perfect word. It was nothing more than a casual outdoor restaurant where one could order snacks: a snackery. Gino wolfed down a panino kabob, while I (still full from that calamaro and cannoli at lunch), had a chocolate crepe. Fabulous!
New guests were arriving at Giorgio’s B&B and he had to cut the evening short in order to meet them at the train station. Knowing we had a very early morning ahead of us, we decided to return with Giorgio while the others (Lief, Natasha, and Bill) stayed behind in search of a drink. Back at our room, we said our final goodbyes to Giorgio and packed up.
My all-time favorite car, this Fiat 500 (Cinque Cento) sits across the entrance from Selinunte. Intricately painted in the manner of the old Sicilian horse carts, this one is a jewel. Built between 1957 and 1975, these iconic Italian small cars are swiftly becoming a classic. Although seen less and less throughout Italy, in Sicily — and especially Palermo — these little cuties are still ubiquitous.
The alarm bolted us awake at 4:45 a.m. Such Virgos (Gino is Virgo-by-marriage), we wanted to make sure we had plenty of time to walk to the bus station encumbered by our growing packs. The sky was still dark, the streets mostly empty, and we arrived at the designated bus stop with several minutes to spare.
A café was open and we, along with a few other pack-bearing early birders, hovered inside sipping espresso. Reassured by the arrival of our bus, we watched the driver get out to have a smoke and visit with the other drivers. Dutifully, we waited on the sidewalk in front of the door until gathering clouds overhead burst into a downpour. Hastily slinging our bags onto our backs, we dashed to a nearby narrow overhang and waited for the deluge to subside.
It was too far to dash back into the café without getting drenched. But the rain burst quickly petered out to a light drizzle then soon completely disappeared. The bus driver stepped back onto the bus and opened the door. Along with one other rider, we stowed our packs in the compartment below and eagerly jumped on.
The bus departed on the minute, and we rumbled easily through the streets of Palermo; there was not much traffic to dodge at this 6:30 a.m. hour. Stopping here and there throughout the city, the bus slowly filled with workers or other travellers. Then we hit the highway in earnest and cruised comfortably all the way to the small town of Castelvetrano in the south.
Gino and I sat right in the front — the view was like a wide screen theater, the world racing towards us, then flashing by at full speed. Generally, I feel more vulnerable in a bus because the chances of crashing are far greater than in a train (at least that’s the feeling), but at some point you must simply give yourself over to fate and sit back to enjoy the ride. And so we did.
Recognizing names of towns as we passed exits, less than two hours from Palermo we saw the sign for Castelvetrano. This, I knew, was where we had to disembark and board another bus for a short jaunt to Selinunte. We passed a sign indicating a road to Selinunte and as we drove by without turning, I got a little nervous. But shortly, the driver pulled into town and told us this was our stop. We got out, gathered our bags from the hatch below, and watched as the bus pulled away.
Castelvetrano — the hour was so early that very few people were about. One man was sweeping the streets, a few other people wandered here and there, but all stores were closed tight.
Nipping into a café to ask where we might board the bus to Selinunte, we were directed to a door not too much further down the street. It was locked. But a few doors down, we found a travel agency miraculously open! I wasted no time in walking in to ask the man behind the counter about our next bus. He told us one would be by in about 30 minutes to pick us up right outside his door. I had several other transportation-related questions and went back inside three different times to apologetically ask. He was eternally patient.
As we waited at the appointed spot, an older Italian couple ambled up, the man walking with a cane and both carrying shopping bags. The woman said something, but at first I didn’t realize she was speaking to me. She spoke again and I understood her to ask where we were from. We struck up a conversation and I soon learned that she has a brother in Brazil. The minutes flew by as we shared stories of our daily lives and before we knew it, the bus arrived and we all got on.
A short ride brought us to the entrance of Selinunte. We walked through the very empty parking lot and up to the ticket counter. Entering through the gift shop, we were thankful it was still early. Since we were the only ones there, we had an opportunity to inquire very politely if we could possibly leave our packs somewhere while we explored the temples. The very kind clerk deposited our packs in a store room to sit safely behind a locked door until we returned.
Temple E of Selinunte. Dedicated to the goddess Hera, this 2600 year old temple
is a shining example of the Doric style. The four metopes we saw at Palermo’s
archaeological museum were excavated from this sacred spot.
Located on the southern coast, the Selinunte area was founded by Greek settlers around 650 B.C. Then known as Selinus, the name derives from the Greek word for wild celery (selinon), the symbol of the city which still grows on the plains. In 409 B.C., Selinunte was sacked by Hannibal and the Carthaginians. Further leveled by later earthquakes, this magnificent city eventually fell into decline and decay.
There are several temples to see at this stunning site, but only a few with columns still standing. Regardless, this space has a powerful energy to it, palpable and invigorating. The stones are massive and we passed areas heaped with gigantic columns and blocks strewn about like giant petrified Lincoln Logs.
The setting is perfect. We could easily imagine how this city must have appeared so long ago, regally set on high bluffs overlooking the glittering turquoise sea, swaying palm trees and pink flowers dotting the rocky ground. Scrambling down a vale through a tiny forest with picnic tables, we followed a path upwards to the distant acropolis, where Temple A beckoned from the distance.
Feeling like ants wandering beneath a gigantic table,
we reverently ascended the steps of Temple E.
A view of the Mediterranean Sea through the majestic Doric columns of Temple E.
Inside Temple E, even without walls and roof, the ancient energy was unmistakable as we contemplated who may have stood in this very spot over 2000 years ago.
Gino paying his respects to the goddess Hera.
The time-ravaged floor of Temple E.
Looking out through the columns of Temple E
onto the jumble of other nearby temples.
Melinda takes you to Medieval hilltowns and guides you through the canals of Venice, wearing out her parents, her husband, herself and her shoes in the process. Beautiful photos of Italy and interesting travelogue at Melinda Trips 2006: Italy.
