La Dolce Vita in Sicilia

            I honestly thought that with the lack of exams and trips, I’d be able to finish all late blog posts before I left Italy. Clearly, as I am sitting at my kitchen table in Virginia Beach, that is not the case. However, I refuse to let this blog go unfinished. So while the title of this page says Postcards from Bologna, you’ll just have to stretch your imagination a bit and pretend it says Postcards about Bologna, seeing as now, I am no longer in my red and orange-hued city.

            In my Italian Cinema course, we studied the directors Fellini and Pasolini and it wouldn’t have been a true cinema course without at least two weeks spent on La Dolce Vita. A lot of people hear about La Dolce Vita or see the occasional clip from it (Silvia’s nighttime swim in the Trevi Fountain, for example), but they’ve never actually seen the film in its entirety. I hadn’t seen it either until this class and I really enjoyed it, but having had no experience with Fellini in the past, I did not get what I was expecting. I expected a flashy portrayal Italy in the 1950’s, but I was pleased to learn about how the film was actually a critique of this shallow society and how it was too idealistic and self-indulgent.

            Well, “flashy”, and “self-indulgent” pretty much sums up my trip to Taormina, Sicily this May. We spent four days in the coast-side village—me, Rebecca, Lydia, and Kyra. We rented an apartment with AirBnb and for the price, it was amazingly situated right in the center of town. The city itself is a blaze of pastel-colored houses, whitewashed churches, and trellises of vines and purple flowers. There is a piazza called Piazza IX Agosto that is out of a picture-book, with its cliff-side views, tall white church, and violins and guitars playing stereotypical Italian music late at night. And, inevitably, we were inclined to look around us and yell out that cliché, “This is la dolce vita!” And it really, really was.

            We also explored the crumbling Greek amphitheatre—built in the 3^rd Century B.C.—that is on the hill above the city, looking out over both Taormina and the waters below it. It is the second-largest Greek amphitheatre in Sicily and is considered to be the most dramatically situated Greek theatre in the world. And there are no other words to describe it other than stunning. We went late in the afternoon and it’s those little moments—or maybe they’re actually the big ones—when you’re overlooking turquoise waters from the eroding steps of an ancient Greek theatre that life becomes a little unreal. La Dolce Vita indeed.

            We later managed to make it down to those turquoise waters, which was one of the best beach days I’ve ever had. We reached the beach by taking the funivia—a tram connected by wires that led us down the mountain. We had a few difficulties finding the public beach, since most Italian beaches are dominated by a thing called a lido, which is essentially a beach cabana. Usually, local Italians will rent an umbrella and the two chairs that go with it for an entire summer, so that they always have a place to come to. Luckily, us peasants were allowed to rent one for just a day. I originally was all for trying to hunt down that public beach, but Rebecca and Lydia have fair Scottish and British skin, so they advocated splurging the 15 euro for a spot on the lido so that they could use an umbrella. The water was so clear. Other than the jellyfish sting that kept me out of the water for twenty minutes, we spent the day relaxing in the sunshine, reading the Italian equivalent of Cosmo, and slept. It was wonderful.

            Obviously, an essential component to any vacation throughout Europe: food. Luckily, I was traveling with girls who had their priorities in order. We made sure to go to a tiny hole-in-the-wall that made “artisan” arancini. The place was run by a family with three generations of women who had a tendency to yell at the men in the kitchen while juggling three trays of arancini and a platter of pasta. Arancini, for those who aren’t as obsessed with Sicilian food as we are, are these fried orange-shaped rice balls, filled with rice, cheese, and any number of different fillings. My personal favorite was melanzane: mozzarella, tomatoes and eggplant; or sugo: ragu’ sauce, mozzarella and peas; or spinaci: spinach, ricotta and mozzarella. Well, let’s be honest…it’s almost impossible to pick a favorite. We ate about two a day, which is not the healthiest way to go through life, but when you’re vacationing in Sicily, healthy is not really an option.

            We also discovered cannoli. I’ve never liked this particular dessert before now; while in Taormina, I ate my weight in them. We found a bakery that used to be frequented by Bill. Clinton. and it was delicious. We also found a famous granita place, which we frequented…quite often. And by quite often I mean every day. One of my best decisions that trip was getting an orange and strawberry granita to go (with fresh cream on top) and bringing it to the gardens that overlook the cliffs of the town to read my Medieval History textbook in preparation for my exam.

            Taormina was not, in my opinion, a complete and true representation of Sicily. The island just off the tip of Italy’s boot is known for its rustic and sometimes rough-around-the-edges population, but Taormina is a tourist breeding ground. Its streets, lined with ceramics shops and little restaurants, are made for the average, middle-aged American couple. I loved it, though. For four days, we lived in a gilded world of extravagance and arancini. At night, the sounds of the restaurant below our apartment would drift up to our windows: the clinking of silverware on plates, soft laughter, and a man’s voice accompanied by a guitar, his singing made somewhat indistinguishable by his thick Sicilian accent. But it sounded familiar, somehow, like a lullaby you hadn’t heard in a while. It was all so incredibly perfect that it obviously had to end…after four short days, we returned to Bologna with tan lines and probably ten pounds each in ceramics. And maybe about a half a pound of mozzarella, since Lydia and I decided it would be a good idea/not messy at all to attempt to eat a ball of mozzarella in Catania’s airport (false: we ended up making a huge mess and there were at least ten nicely-dressed, normal Italians judging us as we split the mozzarella, dripping over the trash can). 

            Once we got back to Bologna, I had one day. One day to study for my exams before I left the next day for London. The dreamland of Taormina came crashing down around me as I scrambled to cram as much history and Italian literature into my head as quickly as possible. I was kicking myself for those twenty-four hours, wondering why I had ever thought this rigorous travel schedule was a good idea.

            But regardless of my rising stress levels, the next day I was on a flight to London and that trip cemented what I had started to realize on my first weekend out of Italy in Paris: that this “traveling thing”, jetting off to different places and experiencing different cultures and food and people…it wasn’t just an entertaining way to fill a weekend. It wasn’t just a cool status to post on Facebook. Traveling, as I realized when in London, was something that I couldn’t just let go of. It’s something that is starting to shape what I’m planning to do after graduation and everything that will follow after.  

© Copyright Danielle DeSimone. 2013.