By Gloria Negri, Boston Globe Staff, 07/23/00
TAORMINA, Sicily - In early April, sirocco winds sprinkle desert
dust from North Africa onto the red-tiled roofs of this
breathtakingly beautiful resort high in the cliffs overlooking
Sicily's Ionian coast. Snow still lingers on the northern side of
Mount Etna, Europe's tallest and most active volcano; but ash
from a lava-spewing crater on the mountain's south side smudges
tiled terraces and the hoods of small cars parked along
Taormina's narrow, cobbled streets.
At night, Etna draws spectators to the Piazza IX Aprile to watch
its fire against the black sky. "Mount Etna is definitely a
girl,'' says our tour guide, Rosa Rizza, formerly of Plainville,
Conn., and a resident of Sicily for 23 years. "She has to be.
She has character and a heart and mind of her own. She does what
she wants when she wants.'' Vulcanologists monitoring the
situation describe it as "normal volcanic activity,'' which
doesn't deter tourists from going in droves to walk along the
craters of the 11,000-foot volcano or take a gondola ride to get
even closer to the top.
On the volcano, souvenir shops sell carvings of small animals and
jewelry made from the lava, but I am content with a chunk I pick
up from congealed piles that make a black pockmarked moonscape of
Etna's lower reaches.
I have been to Italy twice before, but never to Sicily, an island
about the size of New Hampshire, across the mainland from Reggio
di Calabria in the toe of Italy's boot. I was not prepared for
the beauty of the landscape - its skyscraping cliffs, its hairpin-curve
mountain roads with their precipitous drops and spectacular
panoramic views - its awesome Greek-Roman ruins dating before
Christ at places such as Siracusa, Agrigento, and Morgantina, the
warmth of its sun and of its people.
Often, Sicily's beauty - the blue-green waters of the
Mediterranean, the cypress trees standing like sentinels on the
cliffs, the wisteria, the prickly pear cactus, and tropical
flowers growing everywhere out of rock - overwhelms the senses.
Its clear mountain air bubbles like champagne. Its year-round
temperature is moderate, and Taormina's trade board boasts,
"We have only two seasons, spring and summer.''
Now, I am here with a tour group organized by Durgan Travel
Service of Stoneham, among them repeat visitors to Sicily and
some who have come to find their roots. For me, a longtime lone
traveler, this trip would be different and I am happy to let
someone else worry about travel logistics, for a change.
We are staying at the Hotel Ariston, a charming 176-room, three-star
hotel high on a cliff, at the foot of the ancient Greek theater
of Taormina and overlooking the sea. Built by the Greeks during
the third century BC, the theater was rebuilt by the Romans
several centuries later and, because of its outstanding
acoustical properties, it is still used for musical performances
and film festivals.
The Ariston meets all our needs. All three meals, included in the
package tour, are served in the hotel's dining room, buffet-style
for large groups, and are so delicious few care about eating out.
Chef Carmelo Catania oversees a staff in preparing all the in-season
vegetables and fruits, the locally-caught fish, the meat and
poultry, and the freshly baked breads. The fruited panetonne with
powdered sugar is especially delicious. Maitre d' Angelo LaRosa,
whose English wife is on the waitstaff, keeps the dining room
running smoothly.
From the Ariston, we have a short walk to the bus terminal where
our tours begin. Our guides tell us not only about the historic
sites of Sicily but about the Sicilian psyche. Sicily is a land
that has been inhabited since the Ice Age. Founded by the Sicels,
from whom it got its name, it was, at various times, colonized by
the Phoenicians, who sailed into a Sicilian harbor in the eighth
century BC, the Carthaginians, the Greeks, the Byzantines, the
Arabs, the Saracens, the Normans, the French, and the Spaniards
before it became part of Italy. Sicilians, however, remain
defiantly "Sicilian,'' speaking a Sicilian dialect while
being fiercely proud of their heritage.
"We are Sicilians first, then Italians,'' says Rosa Rizza,
one of the local guides engaged by Durgan Travel. Rosa's parents
are Sicilian-born. Rosa was born in the States, but returned to
Sicily with her grandfather 23 years ago and enrolled in the
University of Catania to study archeology. She married a Sicilian
and now, at 41, has two teenage sons and dual citizenship.
So, it didn't surprise me when another tour guide confirmed a
story I had heard back home that during World War II, Sicilians
wanted to become America's 49th state. "That is true but,
through no fault of their own, it couldn't happen,'' said
Salvatore Puglisi, our guide to Messina on a day so clear one
could almost reach out across the Strait of Messina and touch
Italy's mainland two miles away.
We've been trying to get a bridge built across the strait for 30
years,'' Salvatore said, shrugging. Now, ferry or hydrofoil make
the journey. Then, as our bus squeezed through a narrow passage
where cars were parked at all different angles, he chuckled and
said, "In Sicily, our rule is to have no rules.''
In Messina, with a population of 250,000, our driver skillfully
got our bus through to the Piazza del Duomo where Salvatore told
us about the history of the Cathedral of Messina and its famous
bell tower with its bronze, life-size figures that move when the
clock strikes on the quarter hour.
"This is the biggest mechanical clock in the world,'' he
says, and the figures describe four periods of a man's life -
infancy, boyhood, as soldier, and as old man. At noon, the lion
figure roars, the cock crows, and the bells play Shubert's "Ave
Maria.''
Sicily's beauty surprises and awes the senses at every turn, just
as its blood oranges, its olive, fig, and almond trees, and its
homegrown vegetables tantalize the palate.
One day I left our tour to take an optional trip to Agrigento,
more than three hours southwest from Taormina, set on seeing the
Greek ruins, dating to the fifth century BC, at Agrigento's
Valley of the Temples. I was prepared to read during the long
trip, but the scenery along the superhighway made me put down my
book. Outside the bus window were miles and miles of fields of
emerald green, undulating in the breeze. At first, I thought,
"What well-kept lawns!'' until someone pointed out they were
wheat fields. We were passing through Sicily's breadbasket. Then
came groves and groves of orange and lemon trees, olive trees
with their silvery-gray leaves, fig, and almond trees, all
thriving under the Mediterranean sun. Agriculture, we were told,
is the key factor in Sicily's economy, ahead of tourism.
In Agrigento, the Valley of the Temples and the Archeological
Museum proved worth a 5 a.m. wake-up call I needed to catch the
bus and the $34 the daylong trip cost. The site is an
archeologist's dream and draws people from around the world. Once
there, I understood why. It is to journey back to ancient times
to stand before the ruins of the Temple of Castor and Pollux,
built in the 5th century BC, the Temple of Zeus and the agora,
the eight remaining columns of the Temple of Hercules and the
Temple of Concordia, also built around the 5th century BC with
its Doric columns, but still in excellent condition. At night,
the ruins are spotlighted and even more spectacular. We learn,
also, that the Sicilian writer and playwright Luigi Pirandello
was born in Agrigento in 1867.
For some on the trip, the visit was a sentimental journey. As
many have done before them, they came to find their roots and the
relatives they had never met. Our guide, Rosa, has made hundreds
of calls trying to connect American visitors with their Sicilian
kin, often successfully, such as she did for two families among
our group of 38.
One night, in a touching scene in the lobby of the Hotel Ariston,
Joseph Stavolta, 54, of Burlington, and his wife, Sally, met
members of his father's family from Messina for the first time.
"It's something I wanted to do for a long time,'' Stavolta
said. "I had a need to see where my roots are.'' Stavolta, a
credit collection man, said he tracked down his Messina relatives
through a year-long search on the Internet. He found a cousin,
Angela Stavolta, in Messina and, when he arrived in Taormina,
asked Rosa to call her.
Rosa did and found that Angela had died four years ago, but that
she had a son and daughter in Messina. Within a day, brother and
sister, Rose DeDominico, who retained her maiden name after
marriage, and her brother, Antonio DeDominico, 46 and 50, and
Rose's daughter, Josie, 24, were exchanging hugs with the
Stavoltas, with Rosa serving as interpreter.
Another reunion Rosa made possible was equally emotional. Nellie
Russo and her son Paul, both of Burlington, Nellie's sister,
Sylvia Amenta of Medford, and sister-in-law, Frannie Amenta, also
of Burlington, knew they had relatives in Canicattini Bagni, 10
miles from Siracusa, but weren't sure who.
On her day off, the intrepid Rosa drove the American family to
Canicattini Bagni and, outside a grocery store there, Nellie said
later, "There was a woman who looked just like us.'' It
turned out to be a relative. Rosa, who had lived in that very
town for 15 years, knew the locals and did all the translating.
Within minutes, the Massachusetts family was in the home where
Nellie's and Sylvia's mother, Lucia, had grown up.
Rosa is always dedicated to her charges. She tells one story when
on a tour to Siracusa: A woman on her tour fell and broke her arm.
"I didn't want to send her off alone in a cab,'' Rosa said,
"and I didn't want to leave the other people on the bus. So
we all went to the hospital and had a great tour there.''
Our group provided other memorable moments.
After it was learned that Pat Mangone, a retired postal worker
from Somerville, has a superb singing voice, he was often
recruited to entertain in the pub at the Hotel Ariston.
When we visited the Archeological Park in Siracusa, once a
vibrant city of ancient Greece, we saw the fifth-century Greek
theater, designed by the architect Damocopos and built into the
rocky sides of the Temenite Hills, and a huge cavern called the
Orecchio di Dionisio, or the Ear of Dionysius. The limestone cave
resembles the shape of the outer ear and has high-fidelity
acoustical qualities. Legend says that Dionysius, the tyrant of
Siracusa, used to shut his enemies in the cave and eavesdrop on
their conversations from outside. At our urging, Rosa led Pat
into the cave and had him sing. The organ tones of his "Lord's
Prayer'' gave us goose bumps.
When I told people in the States I was going to Sicily, many
said, only half in jest, "Stay clear of the Mafia,''
referring to the notoriety the Mafia has given Sicily. Our guides
spoke of the Mafia's influence in Sicily, but they didn't dwell
on it. The only thoughts any of us gave the Mafia occurred on the
day Rosa took us on a tour to Forza d'Agro, (Strength of
Agriculture), near in miles to Taormina, but eons higher and a
world apart. It was here, Rosa said, that Sicily scenes of
``Godfather I'' were filmed. "This 'Godfather' tour,'' Rosa
tells us, "is not your usual tour. No shopping here, ladies.''
On the pitched, winding road up, people on the bus started
humming the "Godfather'' theme, but not Angelo Valastro, 29,
our driver. He was too busy navigating our Mercedes bus around
hairpin curves along a narrow two-lane road as we ascended the 1,184
feet to Forza. Once there, in the thin mountain air, one is
immediately struck by its other-worldliness, a Shangri-la of
cobbled streets and steps to yet even greater heights and more
spectacular views of sea and villages below.
The silence in Forza was almost eerie. While there, I saw only
two people, both ancient, and two cats. Forza's population of 800,
Rosa said, is "old and dying off.'' It would be a difficult
commute for younger people who had to get to work.
When we left Forza, we traveled on to Castelmola, three miles
from Taormina, which also has a story. Rosa brought us to the Bar
Turrisi, where we were given tastes of the almond wine made there
and the chance to buy some. She told us why the bar had so many
fertility symbols on display even though parents brought their
children there for gelati or granita after Sunday Mass at St.
George's Church next door. "Back in the 1800s,'' she said,
"Castelmola was considered a part of Taormina but didn't
want to be. Over the years, people went to the mayor of Taormina
and asked to be separated, but the mayor told them they had to
have a population of at least 1,000 to be independent. They
weren't anywhere near that, then. They kept trying and, guess
what? In the '60s and '70s, the birth rate started going up and
by 1974, there were 1,008 Castelmolans. That's when they became
independent and when Bar Turrisi opened.''
As far as anyone knows, the ruling still stands and no way are
Castelmolans about to give up their independence. The fertility
symbols are there to remind them of their duty.
Another day, we had a memorable tour to Tindari, formerly the
ancient city of Tyndaris, built by Dionysius in 396 BC, and to
Patti, a ceramics center. At Tindari, we climbed more steep hills
after getting off the bus, fighting sudden high winds that forced
us to hold on to the church rails or each other, to reach the
Sanctuary of the Madonna di Tindari, also known as the Black
Madonna Church.
The legend of the Black Madonna is that the statue was tarnished
in the sea where it was found by a fisherman and brought to the
sanctuary where it is said to have healing powers for people who
ask the Madonna's help. At Patti, we were taken to the Calderone
ceramic factory where an old gent who has been a potter since
boyhood showed us on his potter's wheel how Sicily's famous
ceramics are made.
On my last night in Taormina, I went with Sicilian friends to a
colorful performance by a group of young musicians and actors,
depicting through music, words, and dance moments of Sicilian
life through history. They call themselves, "Sikilia,'' the
name the Arabs called Sicily when they settled there. Recently,
the group performed in Australia and, now, would like to perform
in America. ``We feel it is very important to spread Sicilian
culture,'' said Cettina Sciacca, a teacher of English and art
director for Sikilia.
I left Sicily the next day for Malta, returning a week later to
fly home. For 15 minutes, flying from Catania north to Milan,
Mount Etna was still visible from the window of the Alitalia
plane and still belching smoke. As our guide Rosa Rizza would say
of Etna: "She was just doing what she wanted when she wanted.''