Thousands of years ago, a very popular Jewish man was executed by the Roman authorities. With no way to confirm what he might have said or done to cause this to happen, an increasing number of people invented narratives around his life and beliefs and used him as the deceased figurehead of a new religion and used this religion to provide the moral justification for their consolidation of power.

Today, festivals around the world celebrate this man on the days of forgotten pagan festivals. One of these is held in Scicli on Easter Sunday. Thousands of people from Sicily and well beyond flock to the city to see a wooden statue of the Jewish man being paraded about town.

Freddy and Stan set out to Scicli to see this statue and to see the people seeing the statue. The bike ride this time was, in fact, easy, just a few miles and mostly downhill – except for one little surprise. Nature – or, in the eyes of some, the aforementioned Jewish man – had peppered this route with flying insects. Freddy and Stan tore through them, killing them by the scores and hundreds as they hit their helmets, faces and bodies like little, gross, but definitely less than lethal bullets. Still, they persevered – eye of the tiger.

They eventually arrived in Scicli, safe, sound, and goo-covered, a bit too early to check into their Airbnb. The boys went out to see the town, bikes laden with victuals and supplies.

“Let’s see the sights! We can’t check into the Airbnb utnil 4:00.” exclaimed Freddy as he led Stan through the square to the garment museum. “This is a garment museum!.” “OK,” muttered Stan as he continued on, walking his bike beside him. “It’s right here!” said Freddy. “OK,” said Stan, looking back in confusion. “Oh! You want to go in there!” said Stan, his face brightening in enlightment. Freddy beamed back, and so began the time of visiting the garment museum.

Scicli had much to offer. The boys then saw a Palazzo filled with artwork, and had the best pizza (it seemed!) on the island of Sicily

One more thrill awaited the pair before they could check into the Airbnb. They would bike a few miles down the road to an herb farm. “OK, but let’s drop our bags in the Airbnb first,” asked Sam, as he lovingly massaged his aching buttocks. “We can’t check into the Airbnb until 4!” reminded Freddy, smiling graciously.

The herb farm was on a beautiful mountside location (Sicily is mostly composed of these). The bilingual owner and tour guide led the pair around along with a large group of Italian tourists and some extremely poorly Italian behaved children (the kind you just know are going to grow up to be child molesters – never one around when you need them though!), explaining everything in English and Italian. At one point, he referenced the Eclogues and asked the lone Americans if they knew who Virgil was. Freddy could only stare in stunned disbelief. Ummm, the author of the Aeneid, court poet (of a sort) of Emperor Augustus and Dante’s guide through Hell and Purgatory? Yeah, he fucking knew Virgil, he wasn’t a backcountry dirt farmer like some people he was looking right at in that moment.

The tour concluded with an adequate meal of local produce and wine. And then it was finally on to the Airbnb! The boys checked in then went out to dinner.

After thisFreddy plucked and preened himself for the Saturday night pre-Easter festivities while Stan bedded down for a night of rest and relaxation. There was a midnight mass that night, when all could celebrate Jesus while darkness shrouded his shamefully naked body.

Freddy headed out and followed the street lights to the church where wooden Jesus slept. The streets thronged with tens of thousands of people, packed shoulder to shoulder and genital to buttocks; Freddy carved out a spot up on a sidewalk with his will of iron kept other people from encroahching with his shoulders of more iron.

And while everyone waited for the mass to begin – did cars try to drive down through this crowd? Yes, they did! The Sicilians never daunted to show the superiority of machine over man, and man over woman, and woman over a less attractive woman.

Eventually, the moment came, with a fireworks show, Jesus was came on – a bright spotlight on his nude, sculpted body, not to be hidden by darkness after all. People made impassioned speeches in their unintelligble gibberish language, and the crowd cheered. Eventually, the mass began, and the crowd dissipated, allowing Freddy to get very close ineed to the church-front for the boring part of the ceremony.

Freddy got back to bed in the wee hours of the morn, and slept until the Easter morning sun eased its first rays between the curtain and the windowsill. Stan had slept as well, and they tried to keep their anticipation under control for the main festivities.

There was some time, though, before the ceremony would begin, so Freddy guided Stan through Scicli’s steep and winding alleyways to find Sicily’s top salesman. He showed the old cave apartment where his family lived, the various wares he crafted and, of course, that which made him the top salesman.

Back in the center of town, the crowd was swollen to an even greater size. Freddy and Stan pushed forward to the church, to the teeming interior, to see the Jesus in his home habitat, before going outside to eat a can of Pringles with a European couple. Eventually Jesus was carried out, a few skinny men (burly by Italian standards) struggling to keep it aloft. They sometimes spun wildly with the Jesus, leaning it to and fro, a hive mind dervish. The Jesus went through the crowd, and then it was gone, to be carried and celebrated throughout the town.

Stan was tired after that, and again decided to lay his weary head to rest while Freddy went out to hit the town. He found a new restaurant, the wait staff chatting outside awaiting their first customer. They welcomed him warmly, fed him a fabulous meal, and showed him some of the tips and tricks in the kitchen. It was a great show of Sicilian hospitality.