Alone

Fluffed al dente by his two nights in Ostia, Freddy tensed his buttocks and entered Sicily con gusto. First order of business was to begin a mission to eat all the food in Sicily, and he found just the place – a little osteria thronged with tourists who knew how to avoid the touristy places. His first real Sicilian meal was just as he hoped – fresh, balanced, tasty. Tomatoes in Sicily always tasted so much like tomatoes – a novelty for someone coming from America!

Freddy anticipated, relished and feared the upcoming merging. Soon his own consciousness would be dissolved into the solute that was Stan, the changer and the changed, and all would be as one. However temporary the merging would be, its totality was to be awed.

Freddy was fascinated by the idea of the Sicilian pani ca meusa. “It is a dish typical of Palermo and it consists of a soft bread (locally called vastedda or vastella) topped with sesame, stuffed with chopped veal lung and spleen that have been boiled and then fried in lard,” the lilting poetry of Wikipedia still sang in his ears. He knew, though that Stan would scoff at this food, lording his superiority over offal-eaters. Freddy quickened his step to the coast to the stop where truckers filled their bellies with guts before navigating Sicily’s twisting mountain roads.

The sandwich was even better than it sounded, meaty and filling, made zesty with a squeeze of lemon and and a smattering of caciovella cheese. His belly full, Freddy sauntered onto his next stop – the Palermo archeological museum. A place to be experienced in quiet and solitude. And to try to stay away from the loud, elderly American tourist who would yell to his wife – “Hey honey! A statue of Zeus!” and utterings of that nature.

Every city and town in Italy, it seemed, boasted grand churches, and Freddy found one. Outside, a harpist and a guitarist played for specie tossed to them by the passing gentry. Inside, it was full of brightly painted murals. Freddy laid down on a bench to see some of the grandest, painted onto the vaulted ceiling.

Freddy whiled away the remainder of the day exploring Palermo’s network of picturesque alleyways, exploring the market and admiring how much time Italians spent putting pretty designs on their buildings.

Together

Freddy licked his lips, paddled his feet, crossed and uncrossed his legs, wiggled his thumbs, and checked the time again – all for the third time that minute. Stan was coming! The hole in Freddy’s heart-lock throbbed for Stan’s key to be in it.

At last he heard the doorbell. After leaning hard on the entry button, Freddy stepped out to the landing by his second-story bed and breakfast. “Come upstairs!” he yelled, as Freddy’s shiny grin showed itself downstairs. “Quickly now! They shan’t wait for us!”

Stan quickly ascended the staircase, travel bag in hand. “Come now! Wash your bottom! Mine’s already clean as whistle, and twice as noisome!” said Freddy in a perhaps-intentional perhaps-pun.

Shortly after Freddy and Stan were skipping along to the theater, Stan agog at the crumbling sandstone buildings to which Freddy had long become accustomed. Soon they arrived at one of Palermo’s finest theaters to hear works from the German masters – the Italian masters, apparently, being given a bit of a break.

After the concert, Freddy and Stan went off to find their special Michelin-star dinner. Freddy had made the reservation weeks in advance. Arriving at the address, they saw no greeter, no sign to indicate restaurant – only a strong, warm, red light from a nearby building, seeming to signify a brothel if anything. Freddy rang the callbox, and a voice responded “Buona sera?” “Si,” stammered Freddy, “abbiamo una prenotazione.” “ENTER!!!” thundered back the box, and, hearts thudding in their chest, Freddy and Stan walked through the door, and up into the red.

Upstairs was, naturally, a computer museum and a restaurant. After a brief, quizzical look at the antiquated added machines, Freddy and Stan sat down and were treated to a dizzying array of foams, mousses, and carpaccios, all while savoring some of the best inexpensive Sicilian wine.

The next day, the pair went to a market, full of produce and places to eat. They eventually settled on a stand serving what looked to be common meatballs – upon inquiry, they were in fact made of sardine. Freddy asked if they were served with pasta, thinking perhaps of his favorite Chef Boyardee. “Non,” replied the counterlady, a look of utter disdain on her face. (Well one time later Freddy did find a Sicilian restaurant which served balls of meat alongside pasta, so there!)

One day, they also explored a grand park full of sad caged birds. Sicily, it turns out, is full of cacti. A few flips of history and Sicily might well today be part of the Orient and not the Occident.

They walked as well to a capuchin crypt, full of dead, mummified bodies. Pictures were, alas, not aloud, but that didn’t stop Freddy from taking pictures of some of the nearby sensations – starting with the exciting line into the crypt!

Freddy and Stan continued to find churches to explore. One had a tall tower giving views across the city. Many of them contained simply outstanding mosaics. They marveled at the fine craftsmanship, elbowing each other to excitedly point out particularly striking collections of stone fragments.

Freddy and Stan decided one day to go to see one of Palermo’s palazzos, or palazzi. Happening upon one of the more well-reputed tours as per Google, they found their host to be a tall, blonde man who claimed to be the count or earl or whatever it was that gave him title to hold the Palazzo. His family, apparently, was of German and northern Italian descent, but was now 100% Sicilian.

This noble guide was a great tour leader, giving all sorts of insights and making jokes. There were rooms full of his mother’s swimming trophies and his father’s Formula 1 racing trophies, from the days when the nobility could devote themselves to hobbies instead of tours to maintain the palazzo. The kitchen was kept in medieval style. Upon Freddy’s prompting, the host assured the tour group that, indeed, being noble and owning a palazzo did result in frequent sexual intercourse.

More sights and tastes: