Why I Could Live in Sicily (A reason besides the food)

I have done the impossible. I have found a group of people who is colder and less tolerant of the cold than me. Colder in the sense of bodily temperature, not lack of friendliness. Sicilians are the some of warmest people I have met insofar as personality is concerned, but are not adjusted or adapted or willing to do so to the cold and will not tolerate being cold for any amount of time. This fact I found out because I am here in Sicily in November, a "cold" month for the island oasis of the best food on Earth. It's been raining all of Italy, and there's a bit more nip in the air here, and there was especially last night after leaving a movie theater around 10:30pm. We returned home and prepared to meet a cousin's friend for a birthday champagne toast at midnight. It was decided that we'd take the motorino to the piazza, and I was warned to bundle up. I put on my light scarf; I was promptly told this was not enough and was wrapped with a (super cute) wool scarf. Bene, I thought - I had previously had a very cold experience on a motorino in Padova that I was eager not to repeat. After being warned again to dress warmly, we went downstairs, put on our helmets, and climbed onto the motorino. We drove literally two blocks, parked the motorino, and met the friends. All of that worrying about being cold on a 5 second motorino ride? I didn't even have time to properly judge the temperature, much less die of the cold. And I, for the first time in my life, made fun of someone else for being cold. It was at this moment that I finally felt justified...to all of the people that have made fun of me for being cold all my life, there is a people who is colder than me. There is a people who is colder than me and I think I might just join them.

Sometimes trust is a good thing

Place that we stopped where they make gondolas

The last time I was in Venice I met a gondoliere. I knew a lot of the Venetian history that he was telling us and I guess since I spoke Italian, he took a liking to me. At the end of the gondola ride, he gave me his number and told me to call the next time I came to Venice. I thought at the time that I was going to be doing two other tours of Venice, but both were canceled and I was without a reason to go. This week my friend came to visit from Rome. She works six days a week for the English edition of the Vatican newspaper, but it was All Saint's Day and the Day of the Dead, and for the holiday she had two days in a row off. We went to Venice on Wednesday and I thought, why not call my gondoliere friend? The worst that could happen is he not respond. I texted him on Monday. He immediately called and told me that he wouldn't be in Venice Wednesday but would get busy finding another gondoliere (one I had met on the same ride) to take us around. He gave the other gondoliere my number and we arranged to meet at 11:00 at the Ferrovia. The entire time I was thinking we'd have a gondola ride - and since I didn't know these people well, I was worried it might be that they'd take us for a ride and then charge us. But sometimes you have to risk it; in the world when people tell you not to trust, sometimes you have to trust. We met the man at the Ferrovia at 11:00 like planned. In his own private red boat. And for the next four hours, he took us through all of the canals and back channels, showing us Venice through the eyes of  a Venetian. We never once stopped at San Marco or Palazzo Ducale, and we only glanced at Ponte Rialto, yet this was the most beautiful Venice I ave seen. He had brought us both identical books about Venice in English, and after getting scolded for not dressing heavy enough, he covered us with fleece blankets that he brought for the cold. We first went through his old neighborhood near the Jewish ghetto and stopped at the church of San Nicola, one of the oldest church and the namesake of the famous feuding family Nicoletti (who fought against the Castellani family). The church was ornate and decorated with gold - it reminded me of the Pala d'Oro in San Marco, but small and quaint at the same time. Apparently it was a hot spot for Venetian weddings, but does not do them any more. After the church, we stopped at a place where they make the gondolas. He showed us the wood and told us about where it comes from in Northern Italy, and then proceeded to explain how each piece was carefully placed and how this shop is better than the shop down the canal that used to make the Ferraris of gondolas until the man died and now his son is a good-for-nothing lazy craftsman. We then drove out to the Rialot, where he pointed out his neighborhood near the Pescaria, as well as the house of the last doge and the former (skinny) residence of Doge Dandolo, my favorite (look up the history for why - he is the MASTER of vendetta and I admire a person who can stick it to 'em). We then went back up to the Jewish ghetto and lunched at a small trattoria where only Italian workmen were eating - we each got a primo (pasta with cream/asparagus, penne al pomodoro, o pasta con ragu') and a secondo (brasiola aka pork, sarde fritte aka fried sardines) and a heaping plate of spinach. When I picked up my sardines and bit the head off, I was told that that is NOT the way ladies eat fried sardines. This was followed by a lesson of how to delicately eat around the bones corn-on-the-cob style. Vino was obviously also a part of the lunch. We followed the meal with a visit to the kitchen and another giro di Venezia in the boat. All the while, our gondoliere was pointing out facts and saluting every person on a boat or a bridge that we passed (he was obviously the popular type). We finished speechless, saluted our friend, and proceeded to Piazza San Marco, which was strangely dull and less enticing. After a day of the living, breathing Venice - a Venice that is not longer seen by anyone but Venetians, I finally think I can say I have been to the city and that I have fallen in love with it. Lesson of the day - sometimes you can trust people.