Well the past few days have been long and tiring, and thus, I have not blogged (I have tended to go back to our hotels and immediately crash).

First—Siracusa.

Our first day at Siracusa was very interesting. We started the afternoon off looking at a 4^th century C.E. Villa with amazing mosaics! (again, no wifi, so no pictures, yet).  It had scenes of  gladiatorial fights, animal fights, giants, Hercules and the 12 labors, and 10 bikini girls!  What really struck me though, was not the mosaics themselves, but something that came after.

We were made our way back to the bus, and were waiting for some latecomers.  I decided to eat one of the apples I stole from the breakfast, and then went outside to throw out the core. As I was walking back, I passed this man, who proceeded to get my attention.  He started asking, in Italian of course (unlike in many restaurants we’ve been in, this entire conversation took place in Italian), where I was from.  When I told him I was from America, he had this look of shock on his face, then proceeded to debate with me how this didn’t make any sense, because I looked like I was Sicilian.  I can’t really describe it more than that, but his reaction really surprised me.  I proceeded to describe why this half Sicilian was not an Italian native, specifying “sono italiana-americana,” and where my grandparents were from, which cleared it up for him.  Afterward, he told me his name, Angelo, I told him mine, and then I said my goodbyes and left.  A very pleasant conversation.  (Its also funny to note that, once we came south, people have been mistaking me left and right for a native based on looks (which I may have said, but I keep thinking about it.  I’m finding it slightly hysterical)).

It was very interesting in terms of identity.  I have been told by some that I’m Italian.  I’ve been told by some that I’m American.  Identity is something that one ascribes to, or so I’ve been taught, and that’s something I believe.  But its difficult to figure that out sometimes.  I remember in freshmen year of high school, in English, my teacher explained how she went to Scotland (I can’t remember why), but how here she’d say she’s Scottish, but in Scotland, she’s American, because her family has been here for a while.  My family has been here for about a century—what do I ascribe to.  Being at Queens, I’m surrounded everyday by immigrants or children of immigrants, unlike me, who’s the child of children, of children of immigrants; this is the reason some people don’t like when I ascribe to any identity that has the word “Italian” in it.  I swear, sometimes I feel like people are trying to make me go through a freaking identity crisis, and it just makes me want to scream.

But I’ve realized something while I’m here.  There’s still a sort of mix to my own personal culture, one that some say doesn’t exist.  I may not speak Italian very well, and my dialects may have been blocked from my learning, but culturally, there’s still something there that does come from this place.  Obviously its not “pure,” but after speaking to people, I think I’ve come to realize that we’re not so different, even though a difference is there.  It’s all kind of mixed up and jumbled together in my brain, but then again, so am I.  Italian-American I stay.  I thank Angelo for that conversation.

In other news, the rest of Siracusa was AMAZING! The theater and the ampitheather.  The largest altar in the Greek world (450 oxen sacrificed at a time!  That’s one big BBQ! NOMMY!).  By the way, I would like to comment on this:  A lot of the biggest “______” in the Greek world à IN SICILY! And we didn’t STEAL IT.  On the contrary, the Greeks came here and gave it to us freely, and OBVIOUSLY we made it better (size matters).  I say this for certain Greek friends of mine who find it in their hearts to start arguments with me about who’s better, Greeks or Italians.  I think, once again, I’ve won this round.

Okay, back to more serious blogging, they really were amazing.  That altar was bigger than at least one football field- American or actual football.  And the theater—it was HUGE! AND NOT EVEN IN ONE PIECE!  As our expert archeological professor for the class told us for so many of the sights in Siracusa, the Spanish quarried in the 16^th century… they quarried A LOT.  It was to build up Siracusa’s port, but in the process, they proceeded to destroy these sights a bit.  Its really a shame, but that’s how the ancient cookie crumbles I suppose (I apologize for these bad jokes by the way).

Its easy to see how Syracuse was the superior city compared to the rest we’d seen in Sicily from the ancient world.  And ancient histories we read speak no differently.  We’re talking about, not an impressive city-state, but just a city that came about due to a good port that fought off the Athenians, won with ease and proceeded to make them suffered (they did win after all, by a lot), and with this took down Athens, basically forever, as a fighting power.  I mean, why would Athens try again when the Syracusians were able to round up over 7000 POWs and make them suffer the way they did (no, seriously, very cruel.  Hot sun at some points, stuck in a cave with dying/dead bodies—this is what happens when you invade Syracuse for no other reason than to tick off the Spartans (and the Spartans didn’t even have anything to do with this little expedition.  Failures.)) It took the Roman army to take these guys down and turn them into a real colony (oooooo did I just take a stab again?  Okay, really, I’ll stop now…. FORZA SICILIA (okay seriously I’m stopping)).

Taormina was our next stop—SO PRETTY! THE BEACHES WERE PRETTY! EVERYTHING WAS PRETTY! Such a tourist trap, but so worth it (not normally something I’d go for).  The water was actually blue! And there wasn’t a lot of sand in the water.  I’m used to New York beaches.  You know, where the water is green and sandy, and the land is sandy, and eventually your entire body is sandy, even if you didn’t do anything.  Those beaches.  But I have to say, the best part was the World Cup Final.  Spain versus, Netherlands, and I was cheering for Spain.  I was in a bar,  where the was a huge downstairs and small upstairs. Down for Netherlands, upstairs for Spain.  I squeezed upstairs, so as not to be punched or something when I screamed at a ridiculous Netherlands foul (seriously! What the hell?!  WHAT SPORT ARE YOU PLAYING YOU DUTCH BARBARIANS?!?!?! (karate kick to the chest? Really?! REALLY?!?!?!))  Anyways, the environment was friendly, and my roommate and I became friendly with this man from Barcelona next to us, who nicknamed us “New York” (A.  We never exchanged names. B.  Such bad timing to plan a vacation!).  Spain’s goal in the over time was amazing.  I knew it was coming, because the only reason the Dutch were getting by was because they were playing to kill the Spaniards, not play football.  Spain had, you know, skill. The entire upstairs JUMPED up and started going nuts, and then we all started singing “oleeeee ole ole oleeee oleeeeeeeeeeee oleeeeeeeeeee” (why WOULDN’T I join in) and some other song, I caught on to the words quickly (one liner kind of song), but the lyrics escape me now.  It was truly amazing.  4 years ago I was cheering for Italy in the final, who did eventually win, but the win consisted of me jumping around my living room alone – not as much fun.  After the game ended, the same situation ensue.  My roommate and I left, and as we walked down the stairs, I waved goodbye to our new friend. “GOOD BYE NEW YORK!”—“GOOD BYE BARCELONA!”  (I found it too funny that this is what we ended up calling each other).  Spain it was an excellent win, and you deserved it.  Congrats on your first cup.  Netherlands…. Meh….

The next day, we woke up—It was time to head back to Palermo to catch a ferry to Napoli.  But first, we were going to stop in another kind of tourist trap area—Cefalù.  The beaches were, again, very pretty, but I didn’t have my swim suit this time.  Not much to say.  We walked around, found some tasty lunch, saw a church, and I bought a souvenir for my dad (which is going to torture him now cause I’m not saying what it is).  And I take it back, there is one thing definitely worth mentioning. There was a Cathedral there, and when we walked inside, the artwork was IDENTICAL to that which was in Mon Reale.  The two places are very close to one another, so them being similar isn’t surprising, but you’d think the French would get a little more creative with their churches when they take over a place (seriously, because it was the same, we knew the Normans built it, because they built the one in Mon Reale.  I’m not just blaming the French to be a jerk or to be funny—this is legitimately their fault… Teehee).

We made our way to Palermo, where I walked around with a friend for a little bit to a St. Mark’s kind of area, and got some cool earrings for really cheap! (Not gold obviously/unfortunately, but I have ways around that hahahahaha).  Next, we got onto the ferry to Napoli.  These ferries are things that I had heard about in Italian class many times, so I was excited to be able to ride on one.  We walked in, and it was like a fancy hotel (which was extra surprising because the outside was kind of ugly to be quite honest).  It was an overnight ferry, so, instead of doing the fun thing, which was staying up late and experiencing this wonderful ride, I slept.  All this moving around has been interesting, but not being grounded easily makes one very tired.

We woke up right outside Napoli, almost got lost getting off the boat (it was big and confusing and I SWEAR they moved the elevators), and then got on a bus to our hotel in Sorrento, where I am now, typing this blog.  I wasn’t completely awake for the whole ride, but I did manage to catch a glimpse of Mt. Vesuvius through the cloudy morning.  Its big.  We shall see it up close later in the week I think, so I’ll say more then.

Sorrento is very nice, and very peaceful, compared to Rome, thought bigger than other places we’ve stayed, (which makes me happy).  I’m half way into this trip, and I have to say that I’m not really all that homesick.  The only thing I can’t get used to is the siestas in the middle of the day!  I think it’s a wonderful idea, but I’m so used to stores being open the entire day.  So its interesting when you want to, say, go food shopping so you don’t have eat out all the time, and the store is close (regardless of the hours it posts… seriously, the other stores do it, please say you’re closing).  Business wise, I’m still American I guess, but that doesn’t stop me from envying that nap they have.

That’s about it.  I’m going to pit some fierce plants against some killer zombies (nick, this game you put on my computer is addicting.  I CAN’T STOP) so with that, I bid you all CIAO!!!!

Peace, love, and Signor Barcelona (our new friend from Espana :D),

-E.M.M.