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?
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