The first time I saw Sicily some 25 years ago, I thought, “Now I get why the San Francisco Bay area has always resonated for me.” Because the island of Sicily so reminded me of the place I live. Golden hills, mountains, ocean. Ag land. Green belts. Heat and sun. It’s very much the same, at least for me.
I love Sicily. I am hardwired for this island. I hear the whispers of my ancestors around every corner and in every vista. My Mazzola family was in the business of transporting goods by donkey and other animals. They knew the hills and paths above the coastline at Cefalu intimately and their ghosts must still wander, tapping me gently on the shoulder so I don’t miss anything important. My Cassará family were stonemasons. I feel their work in every footfall on every stone path. They were simple people without a pretentious bone in their bodies, and I like to think I carry that DNA somewhere in me, too.
As our trip drew to a close I was ready to come home, but at the same time, sad to say goodbye to this beautiful place that speaks to me in ways no other place has. My almost 800 photos–far fewer than I would have taken had I felt better–serve as reminder of that beautiful place, until my return. And I will return. Join me in a final look at some of the sights in Sicily.
A common sight in Sicily: hilly street made of stone, hanging laundry, satellite dish, mountain.
Simple but exquisite courtyards and piazze.
Old doors everywhere.
Unique little buildings and apartments.Ancient edifices still in use. Or not.
The hangings in the doorway reminded me of the 1960s.
So many narrow streets.
Cities on every hill.
Closer view of a citta (city).
Zooming in closer still.
Hidden away, holding secrets I couldn’t even imagine.
Car parked in front of old building. Old and new.
Don’t forget to look up.
You might see a castle on a hill.
In these old walls, an aperture for weapons, maybe?
A loving couple memorialized for–eternity?– in mosaic.
Until we meet again