Pocketing a Piece of Sicily
- Joanna
- 5 days ago
- 8 min read
After a full week, I finally left Palermo… and I really did leave a piece of my heart there. I was absolutely mesmerized by that city… and if I ever return to Sicily… it will be the first place on my list to visit.
On one of the days I was there, I took the train to Cefalù… a seaside town only an hour away. It was charming… and I enjoyed it, but I felt myself beginning to wear thin. Cefalù was lovely… smaller... and much quieter than Palermo. It was a Sunday, so more things were closed than usual. I kept wondering what the place must be like in summer... probably heaving with people.
I’d actually considered staying there when planning my trip, but decided against hopping around too much. Sometimes being constantly on the move is more hassle than it’s worth. Especially when you're stuck with a roly-poly. I used to think that jumping from town to town meant seeing more... being a “better” traveller. You know, the whole FOMO effect: fear of missing out.
But I think I’m finally learning to slow down—or at least trying my best to. Hauling my luggage around every single day isn’t nearly as fun in your 50s as it was in my 20s & 30s.
My head hasn’t always been fully in this trip, but Palermo snapped me out of that for a while. I fell for it utterly, wholeheartedly, and completely. A beautiful place can remind you so easily that life offers more than what your mind insists on telling you. I think that’s why I love to travel so much... it allows me to break free from routine and those pesky, little, repetitive thought loops that can plague us all from time to time. My brain responds well to new experiences... and there’s not much I love more than discovering a new place to fall in love with.
And Palermo was one of them 💙
I know I’ve already mentioned the brilliant street art more than once... but I was genuinely obsessed. Almost as obsessed as I was with spinach arancini. Or... arancina. And Aperol Spritzes. On my last day, I threw my luggage into storage and headed off on a "street art" hunt. I found so much more of it tucked away in quieter neighbourhoods, which gave me the perfect excuse to explore a different side of the city before I left. I made sure to stay away from the touristy areas for fear I might buy something else... and I cannot fit one more single thing in my bag.
It's about to burst.
Honestly, I realize that I bought a smaller bag than I originally had, but it's beyond full. More things will have to be ceremoniously dumped before I fly home... and no one would believe how much I've already dumped. I’m even rethinking my new orange shirt. I’ve caught myself in the mirror a few times, and it doesn't suit me as much as I thought it would. Unfortunately, I look more like a professional wrestler than a glamorous Mediterranean tourist. It's something more suited to Dorothy, from the Golden Girls... and not me.
As I prepared to leave Sicily and head back to the Italian mainland, I started reflecting on the things I’ve learned here. I shouldn’t say just Sicily... some of this probably applies to parts of Italy in general. Actually... a lot of it definitely does.
~ They eat an abnormal amount of horse meat here. I think any amount of horse meat is abnormal, but maybe that’s just me. I don't think so, though. I didn’t try any horse meat, of course… but I heard about it. A lot. I'm not kidding. It's a part of Sicilian culinary tradition. Look it up.
~ There’s a lot of smoking. A lot of smokers. Every table has an ashtray. It catapults me back to the days in Canada when ashtrays were everywhere. And walking into tobacco shops where the cigarettes are in full view to purchase? Even more bizarre.
~ Sicily makes the BEST arancini, arancia, arancina… whatever you call it. I'm addicted... and I'm not ashamed to admit it.
~ There are tiny cars everywhere, zooming around like little cartoon vehicles. Thank goodness they’re tiny... the alleyways and parking spaces are so narrow they have to be.
~ There’s laundry hanging from balconies... everywhere... which honestly adds to the Sicilian charm.
~ There’s a LOT of graffiti... and I mean graffiti, not street art. Even though there is a lot of street art too! But so much graffiti. More than in Canada. Yes, I’m still holding a grudge against that Texas woman for what she said about my not-too-graffitied country. . How rude!
~There’s always a midday break where everything shuts down and everyone just goes home. Restaurants will often open for lunch... then close again... and won’t reopen until 7 or 7:30 pm. It feels surreal.
~ Crossing the street is like thrusting yourself into an episode of The Hunger Games. Seriously.
My Palermo accommodation continued along in its own peculiar manner. The guy running it is… a bit of a ditz. Ok... get this... on the day before I left, he suddenly showed up. The girl who had been staying in the second bedroom had been gone for a couple of days, but he hadn't been there to clean up the room at all. Then... out of the blue... while I was doing laundry and working on a blog, he opened the front door and waltzed right in.
Ummmm.... hello???
No knock?
No "I'm coming over" text?
Nothing.
Imagine if I’d been standing there half-dressed… or even naked. I was doing laundry, after all, and as far as I knew, I had the place entirely to myself. So either scenario could have been uncomfortably possible. Awkward. But in he came... dripping with sweat, breathing heavy from having just climbed the three flights... and completely unfazed by how unprofessional the whole thing was. I locked myself in my room immediately. He proceeded to clean the second bedroom and mop the common-area floor.
Ok.
Naturally, I assumed a new guest must be arriving. That would be the only reason for him to show up on that particular day. But no one arrived. Not a soul. And since I was leaving the very next morning, why he couldn’t wait a measly 15 hours... and clean the entire place at once? Beyond me.
As soon as I heard him leave, I went straight to check on my laundry... only to find that all the power was out. What???? I had to call down for him to come all the way back upstairs and flip the breaker. I couldn’t help thinking it was intentional… a way to keep an eye on everything, and stay in total control... and save a few bucks. He'd already tried to charge me double for the tourist tax when I first arrived. Even the next morning, I had to skip my shower because there was no hot water. When I messaged him about it, his only response was “ok.” No apology, nothing.
Bizarre little man.
After my city street art hunt, I jumped on the train from Palermo's central station to the Palermo airport, ready to leave Sicily and head back to the mainland. Naples. The train ride was about an hour long, and sitting there, I got so absorbed in my phone that I didn’t even realize we had arrived and everyone had already disembarked. The man cleaning the train had to tap me on the shoulder, and tell me to leave. And... I WAS AWAKE! Fully awake. Just on my damn phone.
Mortifying.
Truly mortifying.
I think I need some time away from my phone. My addiction is getting well out of hand.
Next stop: Naples.
Let me tell you... Naples came with a reputation. I had no idea until many of my friends and fellow travellers warned me, “Don’t go. Stay away. Stay far away.”
Frightening.
Well… I couldn’t exactly stay TOO far away, considering I'd already booked my flight from Palermo. Initially, I had planned to spend three nights in Naples, but after all the alarm bells rang, I cut my stay to just one. I had to commit to at least one evening, since my flight was arriving late.
Too late, actually.
Alarmingly late.
It was a stupid move on my part.
Travel lesson: never, ever land in a foreign city when it's dark.
My flight landed at 9:30 pm, and I hopped on the airport shuttle bus taking me into the city. This taxi driver was trying very hard to get me into his “shuttle” van, and at first I agreed... He seemed like a nice guy... the price was going to be the same as the bus... and he offered to drop me closer to my accommodation. Big bonus. The shuttle bus would only take me to the central station. The only condition of going in the taxi van was that I had to wait until he gathered up more passengers before we would depart.
… which he absolutely did not manage to do.
I waited.
Waited.
Waited.
Waited...
So when I spotted the airport bus shuttle pulling in, I abandoned ship and headed over to board the bus. The shuttle dropped me at the central station... which, according to basically every blog, forum, article, and traveller's thread... is the one place you should avoid at night. Great. That’s precisely where I found myself... pack on, luggage in hand... all by myself... at 10:30 pm.
Everything I’d read about Naples practically screamed, “STAY AWAY FROM THE TRAIN STATION AREA AFTER DARK.”
Fantastic.
According to Google Maps and that little blue dot, my place was a 25-minute walk from the station.
Could I do it?
Of course I could. No question, no doubt—I could haul all my luggage for 25 minutes.
Would I be safe?
Now that was the million-dollar question.
I would have walked it, no problem… but considering it was dark and potentially “dangerous,” I figured the metro was my best bet. Or... it WOULD have been my best bet, could I have found it...
Shit.
... or had it actually been running at that hour of the evening.
Double shit.
After 40 minutes of wandering aimlessly through unfamiliar streets, I finally admitted defeat and defaulted back to the “walking” part of my plan.
It was dark.
It felt sketchy.
Every person I passed looked villainous. That was probably all in my head... but in my defence, it was getting later and later by the minute, I was exhausted... and my brain was FULL of Naples horror stories. I clutched my belongings as if they might vanish or be torn from me at any second, put one foot in front of the other, held my head high, and wished for the best.
I was definitely not feeling particularly strong... but I knew confidence was key at a moment like this.
I hadn’t gotten far before I spotted a taxi stand and made an immediate beeline for one. I opened the door and practically dove inside. But… wow. Not cheap. When the driver told me the price for a mere six-minute ride, I nearly collapsed. That firmly cemented the “walking” part of my plan again. I’m such a walk-the-line, look-danger-in-the-eye martyr...
Errrr....
I was about to head back out into the night when the taxi driver stopped me. I wasn’t entirely sure what he was saying, but I’m fairly certain it was something about the city being too dangerous for me to be out alone.
For all I know, he could have been talking about ponies and parties… but "danger" was exactly how my imagination framed the conversation. And that was enough to lure me into the taxi, price be damned. Luckily, he agreed to turn on the meter, which significantly reduced the cost from his original offer.
Off we went...
Comments