Urban Canvas
- Joanna
- 1 day ago
- 8 min read
The other day, I took a tour up to some of the ancient ruins of Sicily and to a medieval town called Erice… and I will get to that part later, I promise. But first, I need to talk about the conversation that unfolded in the van on the way there. I was riding with three ladies from Houston, Texas... very thick accents, very kind, kinda quirky.
BUT...
When I mentioned that I loved Palermo because of all its brilliant street art, one of the ladies shot me a sideways glance, lifted her eyebrows, and said,“The graffiti? You wanna talk about graffiti? Canada has some of the worst graffiti I’ve ever seen.”
…Whoa…
Them’s fighting words.
Elbows up!!!
Okay, first of all… I wasn’t talking about graffiti. I was talking about Palermo’s street art!!!
Second… WHAT???
No. We absolutely do not.
I was thoroughly offended by that comment... on behalf of all Canadians.
Naturally, I had no choice but to look it up.
***Most frequently mentioned cities and countries that are consistently cited for having widespread or problematic graffiti include:
~ Rome, Italy: Often described as being practically covered in graffiti.
~ London, UK: Considered a “graffiti capital,” with a heavily targeted underground system.
~ New York City, USA: Famous for its subway graffiti, with an entire vandalism squad dedicated to fighting it.
~ Central Europe: Many cities have walls layered with political graffiti.
~ Elsewhere in Italy: Not just Rome—the issue is national.
~ Los Angeles, USA: Noted for gang-related tagging and aggressive cleanup efforts.
~ Mexico: The Metlac Bridge is a notorious (and dangerous) hotspot for graffiti artists.
Funny… not a single mention of Canada anywhere. Yet... the USA is mentioned twice in top location.s
I also asked Google, "Is Canada known for its problematic graffiti?"
The answer: "Canada is not specifically known for being more problematic than other countries, but it does face challenges with both vandalism and a cultural debate around graffiti, similar to many other places."
Interesting...
Very interesting.
Meanwhile... Palermo? The street art has absolutely BLOWN me away. I just can't stop taking photos! It's been one of my absolute favourite things about the city.
The murals aren’t just pretty... or interesting... they’re loaded with meaning: social, political, spiritual, cultural. Palermo actually has more than 300 murals scattered across the city. Alleys, market walls, and residential facades are turned into this massive open-air gallery.
Sure... there’s plenty of garbage graffiti too… unfortunately... but the fascinating street art more than makes up for it. Kinda. Honestly, I wish the crap taggers would beat it and stop destroying property. They just ruin such beauty with their spray cans. It actually makes me so incredibly sad when I see these works tagged or scribbled over. But back to street art... there are saints, sinners, political figures, cannoli, octopuses, carts, fruit, weird demons, Free Gaza messages, cartoon characters, and sometimes just vibrant splashes of colour to brighten up the neighbourhood.
Hunting for these murals has become my most favourite pastime whilst being in Palermo. I’m constantly searching online for any hint of a new piece I haven't seen yet... and then desperately chasing that little blue Google Maps dot to track it down.
It's like my own personal treasure hunt.
My art quest!
It’s been a really gorgeous week... weather-wise... and far better than I ever could have imagined for November, especially after surviving the torrential downpour in Ortigia last week. I’ve been told it’s the "Summer of San Martino."
I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant… but I found out.
In Italy, the Estate di San Martino refers to an unexpected warm spell that arrives around November 11th, the feast day of Saint Martin. It’s basically the Italian version of an “Indian summer”... a few days of mild, sunny weather just when you think winter is settling in.
So that explains the sunshine.
Perfect for exploring.
I won't complain.
I really do have to appreciate each and every day... as I've been warned that there are storms a'brewin'! It is November... after all...
I finally found myself a shirt... but it's not a lemon shirt. It's an orange shirt. I know I was desperately looking for lemons, but oranges will simply have to do. Honestly, for a place that has orange trees everywhere you look, there is surprisingly little actual orange stuff. Plenty of lemons… but no oranges. I would think there should be some orange magnets... or orange cream liqueur... or an orange apron... but no.
Nothing. Zilc.
What there is here in Sicily though, is an abnormal amount of heads.
Yep... heads.
Ceramic heads are everywhere in Sicily. Men and women. Head magnets. Head pots. Head aprons. Head salt-and-pepper shakers. Head shot glasses. Head-shaped bottles of wine. Head postcards. Heads, heads, heads. You can’t turn a corner without being stared down by some ceramic face or another.
And of course, there’s a story behind these ceramic heads... These are the "Testa di Moro"... which translates to "Moor’s Head."
It's an old 11th-century Sicilian legend, back when the island was under Arab rule. A young Sicilian was tending to her plants in her garden one afternoon, when a North African man walked by. The girl immediately fell in love with him... and he fell in love with her as well.
BUT... always a but!
The young girl had NO idea that the Moorish man already had a wife and family waiting for him back home. When she discovered the truth, she flew into a jealous rage, cut off his head, and turned it into a pot to grow basil. She watered it with her tears, and the basil flourished.
The neighbours were so enchanted (and jealous) by the basil... and the strange pot it grew in... that they all wanted the exact same vase! So ya... kinda a love story... mixed with betrayal, jealousy, some murder… a little horticulture advice and some very iconic pottery.
Moral of the story? Jealousy can be deadly. Be careful who you trust with your heart. Basil flourishes from decapitation. Turn that frown upside down? Always use your head. Even murder can inspire art. So many to choose from...
In addition to buying the orange shirt... I also bought a pair of new reading glasses. Actually... I was coerced into it.
I was an idiot and tossed my regular pair into my purse one day... and when I pulled them out, they were slightly scratched beyond repair. On one lens anyway. The lens had actually popped out, and it took me forever to get it back in. You know... I have had the pleasure of learning this lesson before... yet clearly, not at all. This lesson didn't resonate... so I was doomed to try to learn it again. Perhaps this time, it will stick.
Ugh.
Why do I keep doing this to myself?
I even thought I brought backups... but after a frantic search, I realized I didn’t. I don't have much to 'search'... so I'm assuming I didn't bring any backups at all. Maybe I accidentally left a spare pair hiding somewhere in my roly-poly bag… who knows?
So, the hunt for a new pair was on. Miraculously, I found a pharmacy that sold them. There are many that don't. Believe me. Anyway... I was innocently trying on some when the shop ladies swooped in and basically forced me into a pair I probably wouldn’t have chosen myself. They just kept complimenting me… a bit toooo much, actually. Telling me how perfect the glasses looked on me and laying it on so thick. It was painful. It wasn’t that I believed them... cuz I didn’t. I bought the dumb glasses as an escape.
Oh boy.
They’re bulky. They're big. They're bold. They're blue!! I think that's why they wanted me to buy them... because I was wearing a bloody blue shirt!!!
And the arms… oh, the arms. They have those flexible, floppy arms that don’t stay on your head. They're just not secure. I’ve also learned this lesson... or rather, failed to learn it again... before. The exact same thing happened to me in New Zealand. Dumb glasses kept sliding off my head. And you know what? They were blue too.
Now, I feel like Buddy Holly.
Or Dame Edna.
So, I’ve gone back to my old scratched-up glasses for everyday use... saving the blue Buddy Holly's for nighttime, away from prying eyes.
And the hunt for reading glasses now continues...
On my second day, I hopped on a city bus to a seaside area of Palermo called Mondello. I had initially planned to walk there, but changed my mind... deciding I’d probably walk back instead. I’d done a little busline research and discovered the fare was only €1.40. Perfect.
When I got to the bus stop, I didn’t have the exact change, but I had a €2 coin, so when the bus pulled up, I jumped on and handed my coin to the driver.
Nope.
This bus was different. I needed an actual ticket. Shit.
Why is everything hard?
Of course, I didn’t have a ticket. The driver didn’t kick me off... lovely man... he just waved me on and said something I didn’t understand. I did manage to catch the word biglietto... ticket. Ah ha! Maybe he meant I could buy one later? I didn't know. Maybe he was indicating that I could purchase one from the QR code that was located on top of the bus ticket validator?
Nope... cuz I tried it and it only took me to the bus company's website.
So... I just stood there on the bus... holding on to the grab bar... feeling quite stupid... cheating the system... and I let the bus take me... down the road... to Mondello... for free.
Naturally, I was petrified that the bus ticket police would board and fine me... or worse... arrest me!! All for failing to pay a measly €1.40. In my defence, I was still clutching my €2 coin, ready to hand it to anyone who was willing to take it!
No police came.
No hassle from the driver.
I arrived in Mondello, safe and sound... after sidestepping the law.
That little adventure cemented my decision to walk back. Kinda.
I strolled along the shore... taking some photos and enjoying some (near the) beach time. I’ve never been a big fan of sand. I steer as clear as I possibly can. I like the idea of the beach, the views, the sound of the waves... and definitely the sunsets... but I hate sand. If beaches had grass... I would definitely be whistling a different tune. I'd probably want to be there all the time.
There were plenty of vendors along the boardwalk, selling gimmicky stuff: phone cases, fake jewelry, sunglasses, underwear… etc etc. After seeing pretty much all I wanted, I ducked into a tiny seaside café for a Spritz before my 2 & 1/2 hour jaunt back to Palermo.
Ten euros for an Aperol Spritz.
What???
No way.
€10???
Of course… anywhere else in the world, this would have been a perfectly acceptable price. BUT by now, I was used to paying rock-bottom for a drink that was practically surrounding me at all times. I was not used to beach resort prices.
For once, I decided to forgo my favourite Italian cocktail and wait until I was back in Palermo... paying €5... or less. I seriously intended to walk. The entire way. That was the plan.
BUT… the heat got the better of me. I may have mentioned how poorly I packed.
Long black leggings were not ideal beach-walking attire.
It was hot.
Too hot.
So... I found a little kiosk selling bus tickets... deciding to be legal this time... boarded the next bus... and headed back to Palermo. A €5 Spritz awaited me...
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