Luck of the Irish

My apartment in Cefalu

So when I was in Cefalu (almost a month ago!) Francesco (my “landlord") said that I could use any of the bikes in the front entryway. After 2 days at the beach, I decided to do a bit of exploring by bike, knowing I could still hit the beach later that afternoon.

I found one with a low enough seat and a basket, and headed out. The gears were tricky and I’ve never been that good at adjusting them anyway. I generally just arbitrarily turn them back and forth until it feels ok. The bike was clicking and clacking and at times didn’t have enough resistance, but I got it to a (noisy) spot that I liked and persisted down the street that followed the shore.

The shared patio. Yay for laundry!

 I assessed each beach as I passed, all of them the same really, from the one I had been frequenting. All the way down at the end, the shore curved up and out to form a little crescent beach. Rather than a sandy coast, this little end point had large rocks scattered throughout the surf. Just enough to climb around on or sit and get your feet wet. There were also the familiar blue lounge chairs and umbrellas that you can rent on most parts of the beach. Upon inspection, I learned that this was the private beach reserved for the guests of the Santa Lucia hotel. I was pretty sure that if I took up residence here for an hour or so, no one would be concerned with whether I was an actual hotel guest or not. I liked the idea that it was secluded and that there were free chairs, and I imagined myself reading and lounging in solitude.

My bike

After running back home to grab my beach stuff, I headed back on my rickety bike, beach bag crammed into the front basket. By the time  I settled on the sand, it was already late afternoon. The sun was slowly sinking behind me, causing me to have to move out of a newly cast shadow every fifteen minutes or so. After about an hour, I gave up and decided to take some pictures and head out for a bit to eat.

I had been observing this couple a few yards down. They were meandering down the beach, sometimes putting their feet in the water. Each had taken a place on a different rock in the surf. The husband sat reading a newspaper with his feet in the water, the wife was a few rocks closer to shore. She had on a matching shorts and tank top set. It was white with little smears of color here and there. It was like something I would have had (and loved) when I was a kid. I thought it was cute that they were there together, but taking time to chill separately. They were clearly tourists like myself.

You can see Florence & Robert in the background : ) 

On my way off the beach I snapped a shot of the shore stretching out to the east, with the ever present Rocca towering above the town. My father & brother are famous for self-portrait shots of themselves, arms outstretched, faces wincing in the hopes that the shot will actually work out. So far, these were the only pictures I had of myself. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

So I asked the woman in the jumper if she wouldn’t mind taking my photo. She snapped a few (later I realized that I really don't want a full length shot of myself in a bathing suit), and we got to talking. Her name was Florence, and  she and her husband, Robert, were from Ireland on a week vacation in Cefalu. Part of their travel package included three bus trips to some of the main sites in Sicily. They had already done two and the second one, a trip to Mount Etna, took all day and was quite exhausting. When I mentioned that I'd like to go to Agrigento, a nearby city with ancient Greek temples, Florence explained that she was going there tomorrow and she had an extra seat, since her husband was fed up with all the touring.  I’d have to get to her hotel by 7:20.

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Agrigento

And that’s how I ended up on a tour bus to Agrigento with 15 Irish couples, one British yogi and a French tour guide. I was the youngest person by at least twenty-five years. Florence was kind, open, and more talkative than me. It was a welcome relief to be able to communicate with such ease. Throughout the day, I actually felt like an Italian tour guide myself, since it seemed I was a bit more familiar with customs, expressions, and food. I even had Florence taste her first ever cannoli. She was incredibly inspiring; she told me about her life, how she had lived on her own in London for several years and wanted to learn to fly a plane since she was a child, which she eventually did. She told me a story about searching for a laundromat in her new London neighborhood and instead came upon a beautiful church that she would end up being married in. It was a nice reminder that good things can come to us in unexpected ways.

Nice butt

Everyone I chatted with that day was incredibly kind. Barbara and I talked about birds of prey in Sicily, New York, and Ireland. I lamented about the state of the world with a  retired pharmacist who noted, as we pondered these ancient ruins that were no doubt built by slaves, that the rich have been exploiting the poor since the beginning of time. Nothing ever changes.

And then there was Margaret. She was dressed in a long blue sundress with a matching scarf. Her short white hair held with a small barrette, she carried herself with a certain bemused lightness that made her stand out among the crowd. I liked her instantly. Later, when I found out that she runs an Iyengar yoga school in Ireland and is a reflexologist and electro-crystal therapist, I wasn’t surprised. She could easily have been from New Paltz.

Me & Margaret. When Barbara took this picture she quipped, "Two Goddesses!"

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Later that night, I agreed to meet Margaret for a free show in Cefalu’s theatre. So I found myself in a tiny theatre on a Friday night, watching Italian children in the first two rows jump and whoot as giant balloons bounced over the crowd. The show, it turned out, was Bubble Magic and was primarily intended for locals and kids. Here I was, a teacher far far away from her school, at what was basically an assembly. How did this happen? It was enjoyable nonetheless, especially to see Margaret’s reaction to the many bubble contraptions the glittery host kept bringing out. An old Italian man sat next to her and commented to her throughout the whole show. She had no idea what he was saying, but that didn’t stop him. After the show he was still going on about how great it was (or so I surmised from my limited translation ability). I was able to chat with him a bit, explaining where the two of us were from, and again, I felt happy to realize that I had made progress in the communication department.

The Cathedral at dusk

The next afternoon, I met Margaret in the main Piazza for tea. Today she was all clad in purple. It had begun to drizzle, and we decided to once more check out the interior of Cefalu’s Cathedral. Just as we entered, it began to downpour. We were trapped inside the cathedral with a few other tourists as the rain came down in sheets and the wind threatened to slam the huge wooden doors shut. We stood at the doorway, watching the palm trees sway and tourists dash for cover. Margaret hadn’t had lunch yet, and needed to eat something before she left town that day. She decided to brave the rain. And so, I watched her arrange her purple rain coat and carefully step out into the monsoon. With a few brief strides, Margaret disappeared down the stairs and into the storm. It seemed like I had imagined her.

There she goes...

I stayed in the church a while longer. There was this poor guy setting up flowers for a wedding, and all through the storm he & his young son continued, unwavering, to haul in the bouquets and arrange and rearrange them at the altar. I sat and watched and waited for the rain to subside, having no where in particular to be. Sometimes it’s nice to be stuck in a place.

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View of Cefalu from on top of La Rocca

A storm rolled in for my last days in Cefalu. The beach had been absent of waves until this particularly blustery day.

Me & Florence (notice the outstretched arm shot, yet again)