On an Island in the Sun...

Well, here I am. Lying in bed, curtains drawn, covers up, watching Friends and waiting for some medicine to be delivered to me to fulfill my last dying wish- to get sick and drink Pepto Bismal in every country on God’s great earth.

Italy: Check

Unable to sleep anymore, I actually decided to move my lazy ass out of bed and grab my laptop so I could post something new for my poor, starving fans. (Not that we have internet here, I’m just throwing down a Word document and I’ll hunt down some of that wifi nonsense later) Now I’ll move mountains as I strive to conquer the flu the old fashioned way- reflecting on the last month of my life via internet blogging.

A lot of things have happened since my last post about Taormina, which still remains to this day as my favorite place in Sicily. The weekend after that glory, we jetted off to Fontana Bianca (I’ve heard it pronounced it so many different ways; we’ll stick to that one), a beach in Siracusa. The game plan was to camp on the beach and hit up some touristy things the next day. Like usual, every plan takes a 90-180 degree turn for the different every hour on the hour, so needless to say we didn’t end up camping. Technically.

As it turns out, there’s a massively popular discoteca right on the beach 10ft from where we initially tried to set up shop. But then we got kicked off the beach and onto private property next to the beach. And then we got kicked off the private property and back onto the beach. We went swimming that night in the pitch black Mediterranean Sea, and went out to the discoteca at around midnight, meaning it was pretty empty. By 1am though, it was out of control. And by out of control, I mean we were all being mobbed & molested by an increasingly grabby circle of well-dressed Sicilians. (On a side note, men’s fashion here will never cease to amaze me. No guy wears shorts like in America, for a quick example. It’s capris/tight tight designer jeans or bust. Metrosexual is an understatement; intensely flamboyant is getting closer to describing it) One of the more persistent Sicilians I was trying to ignore decided to introduce himself by flat out kissing me. Not in the European way. I can only dream about what my face looked like as I turned to my friends screaming, “What the HELL.”

As the Italians grew their army in number and intensity, the four girls I was with needed the guys we came with more than ever. The Italian troops did not take kindly to the American Navy guys making a barrier between them and the foreign meat, so they maturely went and got some sand and threw it at them? (Please please someone pick up on an It’s Always Sunny reference here when the Gang Wrestles for the Troops) And well naturally young American sailors don’t take kindly to that, a fight broke out, and our gentlemen friends got kicked out. We were too scared to try to ward off the Italians by ourselves, so we left too. It was fun while it lasted?

Long, long story short, no one ended up sleeping more than 30 minutes that night, and it was just so reminiscent of a game day in Corvallis, up all night drinking and then waking up and drinking again. (Not that I was doing the drinking, I’ll save my binge drinking for home) A Sicilian sun rising over the Mediterranean was a great treat though. We laid on the beach until we couldn’t take the heat anymore (10am, no joke) jumped off some cliffs, smaller than the ones in Taormina, and drove home. It took a rank on the Top Five Saltiest Days of my life. I love the beaches here, I love the crystal clear waters, that the water is so blue it hurts, and I love how the salt content is so high in the water that you really don’t have to tread water at all, you just kind of stay afloat. But the taste, the after feel, the dried sheets of white peeling off your skin? No thanks.

[Nap Intermission]

Nap status: taken, but not satisfying.
Moving forward, last weekend we went out to this massive popular club, Banachers. It was wonderful. Free drinks all night (8 euro a drink- my BALLS) and stayed out till the early hours (which shall not be named due to CampA rules). The next day was a trip to the Catania market, which proved as always to be stressful, exhausting, and hardly worth it.

The Market… Flea/fish/fruit, take your pick. They’re all equally smelly, loud and stressful. I love the fresh produce and the ridiculous prices, but I can’t take everyone screaming in Italian at the top of their raspy, been-a-smoker-since-I-was-10-years-old voices. They love shouting random words in English to get the blatantly American girls’ attention and then grab you and start trying to sell stuff. It’s crowded, everyone smells awful because there is a deodorant shortage here, and it’s exhausting due to the boiling heat. I won’t deny my love for the culture. It’s so rich, in its own dirty Catania-Sicilian, slightly passionate, mostly creepy way. Plus, going to the market means hitting up the pastry shop in the Elephant Square at the center of the city with the best, flakiest, most melt in your mouth wonderful carbs in the world. The traditional Sicilian breakfast is this flakey sweet bun with an amazing iced sorbet in between the two buns that you dip it into. Mango sorbet for the win. Ahhhhhh.

This weekend? I probably won’t go out tonight because let’s face it, the flu+staying out all night again isn’t one of my better plans, but then tomorrow morning we’re heading out to the capital, Palermo all Sunday, and then Monday (since we work Tuesday-Saturday which yes can s my d) we’re heading to Agrigento, with all the amazing Greek ruins. Fingers crossed?

Taormina, Bar di Turrisi, and Too Hot for FB

If I could spend every weekend of my stay here in Taormina, I would be one happy cookie. Shoot, every weekend of my life? Done. Unfortunately, I still have much more of this island to see, so we'll keep on keepin' on. But Taormina was a breath of fresh air to the somewhat monotonous and exhausting weeks teaching 4 year olds to swim (Swimming, one might be wondering, is NOT screaming bloody murder, sobbing without end, sleeping on the side of the pool, or asking me relentlessly if we can go to the kiddie pool yet).

Taormina is renowned for being most beautiful place in Sicily, and I second that decision without question. Considering the breadth of my travel only reaches from the East Coast to Victoria, Canada, it is the most beautiful place I've ever laid eyes upon. Generally cities are strategically placed on hills in Sicily, since Sicily was used as a key battle location from the Byzantine empire to the Greeks, Arabs and Romans (and now the Mafia). Let it also be known that most often Sicily has better and more intact Greek ruins than the Greeks, and is breathing with more rich and diverse culture than any country you'll find. But don't take my word for it... (Reading Rainbow reference?)

An overview of our luck with public transportation: Took a taxi from Base to the train station. A train from Catania to Giuardi (or something), took a bus from Giuardi Noxes to Taormina middle level (There is a highest peak with the best stuff, a middle level and a bottom level because it is on an enormous hill). Another bus from the middle level to the top. A bus back from the top to the middle. A tram from the middle to the bottom (where the beaches are). The tram back up to the middle. A bus down to Giuardi again. Train to Catania, taxi to base. Solid.

(WARNING: too hot for public consumption. Virgin eyes be wary.)

When we first got to the middle level of Taormina we wandered around seeing all the beauty and asking people if they knew of a "Bar di Turrisi," pointing frantically at our crotches and following blank looks with "sexuale!" Hoping something would catch on. That's right, we were on the hunt for the Penis Bar and wouldn't stop until our quest had been reached. The rumors of penis everything in this Bar di Turrisi (Bars are cafes here, PS) had us too intrigued, so we were lead up to the Castlemore (a gorgeous castle overlooking all of Taormina) and wandered around the town. Once we got up there everyone knew what we were talking about and were directed to our prize, the Penis Bar. It was a little cafe/ristorante cramped with penises, tiny winding staircases, kama sutra-related artwork.

Going up one set of staircases the walls/ceiling were coated in graffiti. Carved into the red paint were names and messages in Italian, giant penis carvings; everyone has to leave their mark.

And this is the part for my boys Brian Westby and Michael Kiso

For every dick drawn on my schoolwork in the last 6 years, for every penis ref

erence, sticky note penis left on my desk while I was away at training, every wonderfully perverted conversation, for every too much information moment and so much more:

I provide you with the knowledge that if you come to Sicily, Italy, go to a city called Taormina, go to the highest peak and find a tiny penis-based restaurant, on the third floor both of your initials are carved into history. Because what better way to preserve your adolescence forever and ever? (Also it was carved with a spoon, so don't judge my dick drawing abilities.)

After the penis bar, we had lunch at my new favorite ristorante: cheap prices, good food, amazing view, music, nice and patient waiters who work really hard to understand what the hell you're talking about when you try to ask if something is toasted (How does one charade toasted? I came close to asking if you could order it en fuego, but who knows how that would've turned out), and one more time for emphasis, the most amazing, beautiful, breathtaking, awe-striking view. Absolute serenity. We hiked around the Castlemore (Cast-a-la-more-ay) and tried without success to take it all in: the beauty of the world laced with how lucky I am.

Annnnnnnd then we bus-ed it down to the middle level, figured out the tram (Which looked similar to what I imagine the love babies of Portland's OHSU tram and the Disneyland teacups ride being). We went to the beach, went cliff jumping (My nose will never forgive me for how much salt water went up it), tramed it back up to the middle level and you know the rest.

Overall day rating: Success.
The Top 5 Top 5 lists started throughout the day-

1. Top 5 Muffin Tops of the day

2. Top 5 Nerdiest Conversations to have

My love for this island, country and experience? Reignited. Bring it on.

Mas y Mas

Some pictures of the wine tour and tour of the city that The Godfather was said to be filmed at and take place in, but the producers found a prettier city later and filmed the Sicilian scenes there instead. [Note: I didn't take any of these pictures, or the ones at snorkel trip, I was a jerk and forgot my camera for the former and forgot the card for the latter. I know, I know, get off my nuts Jordan/Lindsay]

Mas

A couple more pictures from the snorkel trip. I haven't found any good ones of just the Greek ruins, so I'll post those when I find them.

The Final Chapter: My Aching Green Heart

Oregon grown, liberally raised, and spending countless hours taking out the compost bins at my house (:-|) through the years has led me to what I considera rather green disposition. I'm not the girl wearing burlap, promoting veganism and being lulled to sleep every night by the sultry narration of Al Gore in "An Inconvenient Truth," (despite it being a goodslashdepressing movie), but not being environmentally conscious and trying to do my part everyday makes me squeamish. At the mere notion of not recycling at every opportunity (and in the Northwest there are many) my stomach turns and my conscience shakes an angry finger. My inner monologue turns to scenarios about how if I don't recycle this ONE bottle my children will spend their lives in a world without trees or oxygen, breathing out of tanks, and taking residence on another planet because I screwed up this one so much with how selfish I was. So yeah, I do what I can.

Annnnd then I came to a U.S. Military base.

I feel like the level of wastefulness that goes on here is equal to what the States were like in the 1940's. It's not just Sicily, I can forgive Sicily, they do much better than the base and also consistently operate in a time about 15 years behind the present year, that's just how things are here, but really America(ish)? Really? They get filtered water here on base but no one will touch it, everyone cracks open a new huge 1.5 Liter bottle of water every time they think they might be halfway thirsty. These bottles are everywhere, they outnumber the people here 20fold on a daily basis. No one bothers with reusable bottles, no one even reuses their giant bottles just once. By all means, don't disgrace your precious lips with something you've already had a sip from.

Then I guess we can talk about the recycling. There are 2 little places on base where you can throw your recycling. But why bother? Where does that recycling go when it's being collected? The dump, with everything else.

That's not to mention food waste (but I guess anything that is left out will be had by ants, so not real wasting?), general disregards for the environment, no one caring about anything. It makes me nauseated. I've been here a month and I still can't take the ache out of my heart every time I have to throw away someone's half full plastic water bottle. Every colored on piece of paper a child starts at the youth center: trash. I've been informed it's like this on every military base, and it breaks my heart. There's nothing I can really do about it, or even say about it because low and behold, attitudes on an American Naval Airstation aren't all that liberal. I just needed to vent. And ask that in my honor please be really not-wasteful because I'm going crazy here!

Long Islands, Snorkeling, and My Aching Green Heart

Well, you can see it, one Italian Long Island Iced Tea in and it's time to start dancing in front of the whole bar. Anyone who has ever had drinks with me know that I'm a dancing machine once my lips hit the glass, and I think there is enough Halloween webcam video to back up THAT assumption. Annnywayyys, I think it's important to outline some differences I've noticed between drinking in Italy and drinking in the States. For one, the rumors are true: generally wine is cheaper than or the same price as water. A large handful of Sicilians make their own wine, so most restaurants have their own stash of fresh Sicilian local wine (I still don't like wine but I'm entering a grin and bear it phase). Alongside that stands the fact that drinks of all sorts are stronger here, (see: the cappuccino). A Long Island is a notable challenge anywhere you go; I'll proudly accept the name "One and Done Vicky" when it comes to them, but then you get here and all the sugar packets in the world couldn't wipe the grimace off your face every time you take a swig. Every drink that we've ordered at the bars across the street stronger than all get out, and I'm not one to point fingers, but I feel like they get exponentially stronger as a huge group of well-dressed American girls enter the bar. Just sayin'. Without going on a rant about my feelings on the 21-year-old drinking age in the States, I'll just say that I love going out to bars, pools, and bars that are located in pools here. Across the street from the base, most people waste their weekends away at 4 classy locations: la discoteca, the bar, the hotel that has a swim-up bar, or the aptly named Studio 69 strip club. Choose your poison.

[A shout out to Mama and Papa Braun: Please take solace in the fact that I leave every drink unattended and begging for roofies, I go out alone and looking desperate, I make it a point to black out every night, and am involved in many a-orgy]

On the wine tasting we went to last weekend, after dessert they gave out shots of espresso (see: tar) with Grasso (see: fire water). With a higher alcohol content than Everclear, complimented by an extremely high rubbing-alcohol-flavor, it's used to promote digestion and/or burn the walls of your stomach and esophagus. They told us not to smoke or be around fire right after drinking it. Whether or not that was serious I'll never know, the only gist of Italian humor I can grasp is when they're laughing at me, not with.

Snorkeling

We went to Marzamemi on a boat and snorkel trip on the Fourth of July. It was beautiful, it was hot, not a cloud graced the sky and Mt. Etna kept her constant stream of smoke to herself. We took an hour or so ride out there with I think maybe 10 people total on the trip, loaded on a little boat and hit up some islands about 15 mins of the coast of Sicily. They were gorgeous huge Mafia owned houses and castles (like everything else). Most of them

were actually vacant, seeing as Sicily is a very poor, poverty-stricken region of Italy. It's not awful by any means, but you can see the evidence of it everywhere: the unemployment rate is about 50%, trash litters the streets in huge piles some places between cities, graffiti on beautiful historical monuments because they can't afford to be kept up. Everything is run by the Mafia, let me say that again: Everything is run by the mafia. When the US came to Sicily and asked to put a military base here, they had to get permission from the Mob, a fun fact to munch on.

Alas, there are more pressing issues than the poverty of Sicilia, like my absolute inability to snorkel without having a panic attack, my absolute hatred of seaweed, and my lack of smarts.

I freaked out the second I jumped in the water, I love the water, I love the beach, I love going out boating, but as my friend B-West can agree, the black deep part of the ocean, the ocean floor, and mostly every sea creature is absolutely frightening to me. My condolences, Brian, on your Hawaii snorkel mishap, much like mine. It took me about 20 minutes to get adjusted to everything and not freak out. Mainly I was just confused at the emotion of being frightened at a new, adventurous experience. This wasn’t the “I don’t know it so I’m afraid” type of nerves, this was me literally petrified, and that’s just something I don’t experience. I’m not afraid of heights, roller coasters etc, so this in itself was a new experience.

Once I got used to the snorkeling it was alright, there wasn’t a ton to see in the water, but we stopped a couple times and then went to the place where there were Greek ruins in the water and explored those for a little while. They were massive Greek columns on the ocean floor, about maybe 7 or 8 meters down? For some reason I had this picture in my head of glistening, white, Greek glory, and was a little let down by the grayed, sea-moss covered mess, but nonetheless it was breathtaking.

Since you’re wondering- yes, I fell asleep while lying out on the boat. Yes, I got massively sunburned all over my body. Yes, I’m in immense amounts of constant pain, and every part of my body where I once had awful tanlines from our one-piece guarding suits, is now soaked in blistering red madness. No, I didn’t learn my lesson the first time. No, I don’t think God is planning on ceasing his punishment on me for my undying stupidity any time soon.

Later on in the day we threw down the anchor (a giant brick?) and the crazy Italian men busted out a barbeque and 45 minutes later (Sigh… Italians) started making a traditional Sicilian BBQ for us. Olives, cheese, salami, bruscetta, and then grilled sausage and beef slices. The traditional part being the food, the Sicilian factor- the freshness. Bought at the market that morning, like in 90% of the meals one will find here.

We snorkeled some more, took a lot of underwater pictures, got up really close to this natural preserve island that we weren’t allowed to actually walk on, saw a hole in the ground that looked like something scary would live in, turned around screaming and swimming as fast as I could all the way to the boat, stopped panicking 5 minutes later. They also had some GIANT ASS clams here. Clams? Oysters? I don’t know what the difference is, nor do I particularly care seeing as seafood is awful, but hey, it was cool to see.

Annnnnnd without finishing my final segment entitled, “My Aching Green Heart,” I will wrap up. That is a story for another day.