This one might be long but I have a lot to say for these two days!
On Thursday I had the pleasure of meeting my grandmother's sister! I was brought to her house by a cousin of mine (who I just met). There I enjoyed some fresh brewed coffee as my great aunt told me how happy she was to meet me and how well I spoke Italian. She invited me to dinner Saturday night and of course I obliged (I will get to that story later!).
Afterwards I met back up with my aunt, cousins, and my cousin's girlfriend. We climbed in the family car and were off in the direction of Palermo to visit a famous church of one of the patron saints of Palermo, the Church of Santa Rosalia. This particular church sat on top of a large mountain in Palermo. As we rode up we could see from the road just how massive the city of Palermo was. There were numerous apartment complexes, more than I could count. We arrived at the church and I was surprised to see a strangely square building, one unlike any other church I had seen before. My aunt explained to me the story of Santa Rosalia and why her church is way up on this mountain. A young man has fallen deeply in love with Rosalia, a noble born woman, and he pursued her greatly. In order to assuage his advances and stay faithful to her religious vows, she fled to the top of the mountain and lived in a cave for 10 years. We walked into the church and subsequently into the cave, and an utterly strange event transpired.
The cave was... downright creepy. I did not enjoy the sight of it. It was dark and very strangely lighted, with yards of metal plates tacked onto the cave ceiling to try and prevent water from dripping onto the pious visitors. There was a particularly creepy bust of a woman sitting in a lonely niche with pale white skin, deeply red painted lips, and blue staring eyes. I took my photos and though I should say a prayer or two to try and clear my mind. I sat in a pew and closed my eyes. All I could think about was how I didn't feel God in this place. The walls were dark and ominous, giving no feeling of comfort. I felt no divine presence, no inner peace. I opened my eyes and contemplated this mismatched feeling. A single large drop of water landed square on my right shoulder. I was startled and looked upwards to find the source but found nothing except the plates of metal designed to keep the water at bay. Was that God's way of telling me he was in that place? I was reminded of the bible verse Matthew 18:20 - "For where two or three gather in my name, there I am with them."
We left the mountain and headed to the beautiful beach town of Mondello. I was told Mondello was a very rich neighborhood of Palermo where most soccer players and politicians lived. The beach was a soft white sand not unlike the sand of the Del Coronado's beach (for any non-San Diegan, the Del Coronado is a famous beach side hotel on Coronado Island; when the President comes to San Diego, they stay there.). We walked down the boardwalk and got gelato, stopping at the small tabletop vendors selling cheap jewelry and scarves. I saw a very out-of-place building and asked what it was. My aunt explained that it was a relic of the war, an old scouting tower, as this was a perfect place to see all of the beach and surrounding area. We left after sunset to be back in Aspra by dinner time.
My trip in Sicily was coming to a swift end and I had a thought that wouldn't go away: I have not seen Mazara del Vallo, the city of my maternal family. I knew that I could not leave the island without seeing it. I asked my aunt if we could see it the next day, which was Friday. She told me the car had to be taken to the mechanic and if I truly wanted to go I would have to take the long ride by train alone. I called my grandmother on my mother's side and told her I was thinking of visiting Mazara, the city where her mother and father were born. I was thousands of miles away from her and yet I could see her smiling through the telephone. I explained it would be difficult but I thought I would give it a try. My grandmother told me that she had never even seen photos of the place, and that if it were possible I should try and find the church where her parents were married. That night my dreams were utterly filled with conflict. Should I go? It would be a grand total of 8 hours of traveling for 4 hours walking aimlessly in a city that I had no idea about. The alarm I tentatively set the night before called an armistice, ending the feuding thoughts. "I'm going to go on an adventure," I thought.
I looked up train schedules, made sure I had a map on my phone, and grabbed the next possible train out of Bagheria. I would have paid 50 euro for that train ride (in total I paid 16 euro for travel). The morning was clear and beautiful. I decided I rather enjoyed the southern part of the island, as it was filled with rolling hills of farms and quaint coastal towns. I arrived in Mazara and headed in the direction of the duomo, the tallest thing I could see. Thus began my 4 hours of randomly walking the streets, camera in hand, taking a photo of everything I could (especially every church I could see). Mazara was gorgeuous. Almost every building was made of a pale yellow limestone similar to Palermo Cathedral. I found numerous small tile paintings plastered to walls, presumably made by children, displaying Mazara as a city of peace and art. I visited many churches and buildings. However my favorite, was a structure which literally made my jaw drop. I arrived at a seemingly normal old church to find its doors completely open, with the light of the sun shining brightly through. I was curious so I walked up to the doors and was surprised to see the church was completely without a roof (after further research, I found out that the roof collapsed in 1933). I walked in and fell silent, watching birds fly in and out of the top of the building. I could have taken a thousand photos of that church, instead I stuck to five or six. For my last hour in Mazara I walked up and down the boardwalk, smelling the salty sea breeze and feeling... at home. I thought, "any minute now I will see the top the the Star of India, sails tucked away, nestled neatly next to Anthony's Fish Grotto." As I returned to the Mazara train station I thought about how I was surprised to not find the name Asaro or Giacalone (my grandmother's family names) on any buildings since I was told they were popular surnames in Mazara. As I walked I looked closely at the names printed on the doorbells of the buildings on the road to the train station. Sure enough, the third building I looked at, there it was, Asaro. I snapped a quick photo and was on my way. I sat back on the train and returned to Aspra, tired from a long day's journey.
To my grandmother: Nana! let me know if any of the churches look familiar!!
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