Palermo with a local and his friends

January 2,3

When people used to ask me where I would sleep in Italy, I always used to say that people I met on the walk would have me hopefully have me stay with their relatives further on. This had happened very few times, and with friends, not relatives, but after my ten day stint in Reggio Calabria, I finally had a family lead. Antonio's Aunt and Uncle live in Palermo, but as they were out, there was only his 18-year old cousin, Salvatore. Still, Salvo (short for Salvatore) promised at least to show me around, and I was happy to have a guide.

After the long return back to Palermo, I met up with Salvo and his lifelong friend, conveniently also named Salvo, and within minutes I received the invitation to stay for two nights. Happy to have passed the smell test, I gratefully accepted, and we got right down to business, with a stop for an arancino. This fried ball of rice has a clump of tender minced meat in the middle that simply melts as it glides down your throat, and I resisted the temptation to get a second one, as we were going back to Salvo's for dinner.

The following day was jampacked with activity. After picking up another one of Salvo's friends, we went off to Mondello, judged to be one of Italy's 5 most beautiful beaches, and just outside the center of Palermo. I wasn't blown away, but it was nice, and I got a lemon granita, or what we know as an Italian ice but far superior, to commemorate the visit. After a stroll and a few pictures, it was up to Monte San Pellegrino for some stellar views of Palermo, the surrounding mountains, the coastline, and expanse of sea. Another arancino was in order, this one as big as a softball and even tastier than the one from the day before. When that was destroyed, we made a stop for lunch with Salvo's Dad, and then Salvo dropped me off with the other Salvo and some other mutual friends, who were thrilled to have an American guest interested in seeing the real Palermo.

So, together with four tour guides, i saw the main sites: the duomo, the fountain in front of the Comune, various structures from the Normans, Arabs, and Spaniards, old neighborhoods, Martorana shops (named after the marzipan-based food sculptures imitating fruit and other objects), and on and on. There is something very ticklish about a group of high school students just bursting with newly-learned information, so ready to discuss any topic at length. Everyone had an area of expertise, lots of dates were questioned and corrected, and I benefited from the zeal of my young guides.

After an evening mass at the "brotherhood" church, a mixture of new age Catholicism and Southern Baptism with a surprisingly large and loyal following, we all went out for kebabs. These kebabs were a step above the ordinary run-of-the-mill stuff peddled throughout Italy, and further confirmation that Palermitani take their food very very seriously. Finally, we made a stop at a fancy beer joint, a stop I suspect was in my honor, and I savored a Belgian brown ale while Salvo the Second had a 9% Norwegian lager, and two others split a Becks. Boy was I shocked when my suggestion for round 2 was shot down, despite the fact that everyone was 17-19, prime drinkin' days for the average American lad. In a way, I was happy to have my offer denied: I had been an Augustus Gloop for too long, and needed to get back to the lean n' mean mentality of a long-distance walker.