Day 5: Acireale

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February 26, 2008: Santa Maria La Scala, Italy

Holy shit, it's the rapture! Batten down the hatches.. wait, I'm not on a boat. Grab a cat for the underworld... no, that's Egyptian mythology. Where's my emergency rosary and bible kit... oh right, I don't have one. Well, I'm boned, it was a good run while it lasted. At least I have a front row seat for the end of the world. As I stuck my head out of the tent to see Satan's face and find out if my childhood pastor was right--"You can really see the devil in that kid."--I noticed that the rapture looked a lot like fishing boats setting off a massive fireworks display at two in the damn morning. If nothing else Sicily sure has found inventive new ways to rouse a poor sleeping tourist. Getting back to sleep after such interruptions is never easy, so I read. Between reading simply to sleep, and reading to pass the time, I've almost finished the book I brought.
It's funny how art really can imitate life sometimes (and vice versa). Not in the sense of a conscious effort to portray, in art, that which defines one's world, but even in an accidental sense where someone else's art unknowingly draws a parallel in the life of a stranger. The latter happened to me when in the early evening I got a call from Henrik who said he was free this upcoming week. I don't know if it's possible to mentally jump for joy and run around in circles naked screaming "I'm making myself dizzy," but if it is, I managed it in that moment. After hanging up the phone I decided to get some dinner. I would have loved to go to Acireale or Santa Maria La Scala for some dinner but, frankly, I didn't feel comfortable walking that hill at night. No shoulder, no reflective clothing, and having to think about how to say stop is not the best combination when traveling the scenic routes of Sicily. Like most nights, I used what food I had with me for dinner. It was as I sat there eating and reading that I realized how similar the emotional arc was between me and my only English-speaking companion: my book.
The protagonist in this book is thrust into a strange and confusing world (mine was more confusing than strange) where he has to fend for himself. His despair over being away from home with no way to return certainly paralleled my disappointment as I arrived in Sicily and realized it wasn't what I had built it up to be. His exultation in returning home came on the day that I got a call from Henrik, essentially giving the go-ahead to finalize the rest of my travel plans, and freeing me to go where I please in-between my meetings with him and my family in Rome. Ah, to have no commitments and be able to wander and explore as I please. This was the news I had been hoping to hear. I didn't even care if cats or the apocalypse woke me that night, I was in too good a mood.

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