Category: Bon Voyage

Chapter Eight ~ Naro: La Citta del Barocco

Naro may not be the most well-known stop on the tourist trail through Sicily.  The ancient city is settled on the crest of a hill in the province of Agrigento overlooking La Valle del Paradiso, Paradise Valley about an hour’s drive from the coast. Many Sicilian cities are situated in this manner partly because of the topography. This is also a defensive position allowing the guards to sound an alarm should invaders be on the march. Sicily has a right to be wary of foreigners. All the powers of the Mediterranean and even the Minoans have put their boot on Sicily. Why? The island is a paradise. The land is fertile. The hillsides throughout Sicily are cultivated with grape vines, olive, citrus and fruit trees, grain and vegetables. The crops are planted in neat rows encased by tidy stone walls or shrubs defining each plot of land. Wild flowers of poppy and broom are abundant and cling to the edges of the fields. The climate offers two excellent growing seasons. The wind is constant allowing for pollination and air circulation around crops. The rains are plentiful in their season and the sun is strong.

Naro was not directly affected by the earthquake in 1693 that shattered the southeastern side of the island. The damage was so severe that several cities in the Province of Siracusa actually moved rather than rebuild. The quake knocked over walls in Agrigento  and was even felt in Palermo. The rebuilding took place during the late Baroque Period (1600 – 1750) and created a distinctive look to the region. The Baroque Style is ornate and layered, extravagant and vain.

Naro is referred to as La Citta del Barocco, The Baroque City. The town planners embraced the style and added a layer of embellishment on to many public buildings and churches. To visit Naro is to come directly into understanding of the crossroads of cultures that have been in Sicily. Some of the churches have been built over a temple, or a mosque. The Castello di Chiaramonte and Chiesa Caterina d ‘Alessandria are gothic, medieval structures. Both have been altered or added on to several times. The city retains evidence of Greek, Arabic, and Norman occupation.

The Province of Agrigento contains well preserved Greek ruins. The Hellenic city of Selinunte is closer to the sea but also an easy drive from Naro. Akragas, the ancient name for Agrigento, was a major city of Magna Graecia and a few miles down the road, the famed Valle dei Templi is a short drive away. A casual way to determine if an area had been inhabited by Greeks is to look to the hillsides for acanthus. This flower grows in abundance at all Greek sites. Sicily has housed and fed external civilizations for ages. But, every town and city that flourishes today began as a humble settlement near a reliable source of water. Il Lago San Giovanni, an artificial lake completed in 1981, is fed by the river Naro. This area is dominated by agriculture and would need a plentiful, predictable supply of water. The translation of Naron in the Greek language is river. Perhaps the origin of the name.

The city may also have been named by the Arabs. The Castello di Chiaramonte is situated on the highest point and was built on top of an Arab stronghold. Some writings indicate this was formerly a Roman watchtower. The translation of the Arab word Nar is flame, luster or glow. It’s possible the town radiates a soft glow like a flame from a distance when directly in the sun or moonlight. The color tone of the stones is light honey to soft butter cream. The architects of this city may have followed the path of the sun when laying out this city. The shape from above is irregular crescent facing toward the coast and not unlike an oyster shell.

On the ninth day of my vacation, I came here. It was a lovely moment to watch Naro appear in the distance. The road wound and swopped like the swallows, gracefully swirling to the top. Up and up the car climbed, arriving at Piazza Municipio, a small square that is home to the Town Hall, Chiesa di San Francesco, a barber shop, bar, shops, and residences. The city was not accustomed to outsiders I thought. The streets were narrow and buildings tight up next to each other. Everything was quite old. Everything was quiet. I had traveled several thousand miles and wondered that one of the inspirations for this journey came from here. An arrangement had been made to meet with a family member. While waiting to be met, bashfulness took over and I wondered why I was here. Is it not odd to be inspired to travel and then go? I came to see Sicily, to take this day and visit Naro. Self-doubt ruled the moment. However, people seemed welcoming and quite curious. 

I was fortunate to meet with Signora Eleanora Ognibene. A man named Enzo became a part of the small group I was with and helped with translation as Signora spoke no English and my Italian was basic. She was able to take a few minutes away from her job to say hello to a fan from America.  She was slender, willowy, well-dressed, dark eyes with an almond shape that turned down at the corners. When she spoke, she was lively, bright, courteous and engaging. The eyes were Piero’s. I’d had the opportunity to shake hands with him twice during the finale at two concerts. The second time, I was brave enough to look straight at him and absorb a bit of what made him so special. He has vivid, speaking eyes. They flash and while the face may be still, the eyes revealed the many thoughts skittering across the mind. The meeting lasted about 15 minutes, I stumbled along in light conversational Italian She seemed a content woman, secure and graceful in herself.

After this meeting, a man appeared and took me in towards the mayor’s office. I did not wish to intrude. No, I was only shown about the town’s public chambers, an assembly room and the mayor’s conference room with a dazzling painting up on the ceiling. The building had been a convent attached to the Chiesa di San Francesco. This man clearly wants me to see something important to the town and understand that in Sicily, art is everywhere.

I was a bit dazzled coming out of the hall and back into the streets. Enzo brought me into the Feliciana Municipal Library where I met Anna Maria Morello. She showed us a 15th Century fresco on the wall of the Death and Assumption of the Virgin Mary. Apparently, the fresco is typically Byzantine and one of the few examples of this style in all of Sicily. I had been raised a Catholic and commented that I had been taught she never died and sort of floated up to heaven at the Assumption. This was an artistic interpretation of what may have happened. One thing I discovered about Catholic Churches in Sicily, is that it is common to have a relic of a saint or person who may have traveled to the Holy Land during the Crusades or on a pilgrimage. The fragments of their body and clothing are kept on view in a glass case or under an altar. These pilgrims truly believed, lived, and died in their faith. Sicilians have a more sensible grasp of life and death. Of course she died, all humans do. At that moment, I realized I had lived with a myth for years. It was not a mystery, just a misinterpretation of reality.

Somehow it got mentioned I was a writer and the librarian gave me two booklets from the library. One is, “I gioielli discreti di Naro” by Matteo Collura and Gianni Provenzano which in English is “The Subtle Jewels of Naro”. The other is, ”Naro: Kalos – Luoghi di Sicilia” or “Naro: Places of Sicily”. Both are published by the Commune di Naro. I was beyond delighted to receive such gifts. One of the booklets contained a print of Chiesa di San Augustino. If I read the liner notes correctly, this is one of only 250 printed in 1999. The lithograph by Provenzano that came with the booklet bears a stamp of authentication. How generous to give such a precious document!

I went on to visit with a contact I had made through social media. Luxottica Minio, Naro’s optical shop was only a few steps down the Corso Vittorio Emanuele. I always thought so highly of this man who managed three shops, was raising a family, had his own life to lead but took the time to support Piero. The families of Barone and Minio seemed to be neighbors and friends. Signor provided all the eyeglasses that Piero wore. Piero wears eyeglasses on stage. I was what made him stand out to me from the start. Most performers are highly conscious of their appearance. There are very few entertainers who would be seen wearing glasses at all. Yet, Piero was rarely seen without them. He’s a handsome young man but appeared most comfortable and not concerned with appearances. 

I found Signor Minio’s shop to be modern, spotless, and trendy with the latest Italian eyeglasses for sale. The staff were kind while we waited for Signor to appear. How dynamic was his personality. He spoke no English but welcomed me in his brisk, efficient way. Signor Minio was a busy man, had great energy and moved about like a boss does. We exchanged some gifts and did take that coffee he had mentioned.

A guide was found with a smartphone app in English that helped during the tour of Chiesa di San Francesco and Chiesa di Caterina d’ Alessandria. The Baroque Chiesa di San Francesco, reconstructed in the late 1600s, was small and felt worn. Oh, it was clean and well-kept, but the floors seemed as if a thousand footsteps had passed over it. The walls were pure white with elaborate scroll work, paintings, and statuary everywhere. I was shown a relic of a pilgrim, bones and all, hidden behind a false door on a side altar. The guide took me behind the main altar at the front of the knave and into a room that smelled strongly of old, warpy wood. On three sides of the wall were heavily carved cabinets elaborately embellished. There was a font where the priests used to wash their hands before giving Communion. He showed me a cupboard that kept the most sacred objects of this church. There was a statue of Jesus, a crown of some sort and a carved object that looked like a sunburst with an eye in the center. The eye I had seen before in other churches in Noto and Modica: The All Seeing Eye.

Chiesa di Caterina d’Alessandria was constructed in the Norman style. The interior was far simpler with classic Norman arches. It had at one time been a mosque. The app recounted that when the Plague arrived in Naro, it reduced the population from 18,000 to 12,000.  

We were taken down a staircase into the old crypt. The wealthier members of the community were buried here. There were several stone chairs around the room with a hole in the center. The body of the deceased sat upright in the chair. The gases or liquids of the body were drained out. In order for the body to sit upright, it was pinned to the iron bar sticking out from the top of the chair. I didn’t quite understand what happened next but the bodies were dropped into a hole in the floor. If the body didn’t quite fit, a mallet bashed the head until it did. Ugh!!!

So, my writer’s mind immediately leaps to the rest of us. Where are the rest of the inhabitants buried? I never saw a cemetery in all of Sicily in my travels. I have no idea how the dead are buried. Sicily has been supporting civilizations going back to the days of the Minoans. This is a curiosity. Morbid but a part of the cycle of life and death.

The app talked about how the wealthier patrons were separated within the church by some sort of barriers between their section of the knave and the rest of the attendees. All that was left were cutouts on the columns of the arches to hold the curtains or whatever served as the panel between the groups. The wealthier patrons sat right in the middle, the rest of the crowd sat on the left or right sides. This description would make no sense unless I had been inside several churches in different cities. I noticed this most particularly in Ragusa, that the center pews, although all made of simple unadorned wood, were highly polished and pleasing to the eye. The seating of the same material, on the outer edges of the knave, were definitely more worn and not as well cared for. 

Also, common in each church, is a comfortable, cushy, king size, highly embellished chair of the finest quality. The chair is always situated on the right side looking toward the altar. The guide pointed out this chair in the church. He put my attention to the photograph above the chair. There was Pope John Paul II seated in it! The Pope has been to Naro. In May of 1993, on Apostolic Voyage 58, John Paul II visited the Valle dei Templi in Agrigento. This is one of the finest archeological sites in the entire world for Greek art and architecture and is perhaps a half hour drive from Naro. 

We took a long narrow road up and up to the very top of Naro. Here is the Castello Medievale built around 900 AD.  The castle is in superb condition and plastered inside and out in a soft, honey and cream-colored stucco. Calico cats were puttering around the base of the wall as we walked up to the entry. There were very few windows. This castle was a fortress meant to keep someone in or someone out. The door and gate, as all gates in Sicily, were in excellent condition, polished, straight and strong with a well-oiled lock. We walked into the spacious courtyard filled with sandstone and large butterfly palm trees. 

The day was gloomy with a heavy, cloudy sky. Inside the structure, the stones gave off a cold, clammy aura and felt unwelcoming. The hallways were narrow with high ceilings. The rooms on the right formerly housed the horses. It must have been so long ago as it doesn’t look at all like a stable. Everywhere, it was too close. A staircase wound around and up one flight into a display area for gowns and accoutrements from the Baroque Period. The pictorial display showed the last family that lived in the castle. 

At one time, the castle was a prison. We were taken up into a large chamber with deep slotted windows. The walls were covered with etched graffiti from former inhabitants. What had they used to carve their names into the stone? As with every site visited in Naro, a person would become part of the group that knew quite a bit about the place. He sorted out I was keenly interested and started pointing out the markings. He showed me a carving of a mother and child. We found dates and names from so many years ago. Apparently, the light from the windows had been blocked out and the inhabitants left in the dark to ponder a hopeless situation. How many people have been here? What was their crime? Did they ever get out? 

I took a long slow climb up a tall staircase to the ramparts of the castle. Overlooking the city of Naro, was a statue of the Virgin Mary. What a view! We could see far out into Paradise Valley. An old abandoned mosque was pointed out nearby. The fields around the castle were covered with red poppies and blown about by a brisk wind. Of course, all the way down back into the courtyard, a barred door lead into a large open rock chamber. This prison was carved right into the bedrock. The chill grey ugly walls made it worse. The pit provided a place for human waste. The feeling was not one of haunting. Whatever energy was left was dead cold.  

Sicilians seemed to be artists by nature. The old cities, churches, squares, and fountains were a reflection of the best qualities of Sicilians. Everything, be it the sea, flowers, birds, clouds and babies, was beautiful, casually, simply beautiful. The beauty of the land was replicated in the cities. As nature adorned simply, man adorned purposefully. The architecture was so old. The decorative facades, window frames, doors, steps, porticos and even the water drains were works of art. Many churches had a large screen carved of wood meant to block the sun’s rays at the entrance. Even the functional furniture was exceptionally designed and made. Cherubs, gremlins, angels, saints, and spirits looked out at us from every corner.

If you do find yourself in Naro, stop at the La Vecchia Lanterna on Via Palmiro Togliatti. They were known for their homemade ravioli. The pasta was hand rolled and filled with a finely diced mixture of tomato, carrot, lean beef, and garlic served with Nero d’Avola wine. The ragu had just a little heat. The beef or veal served were tender, lean and well cooked. Everything was very fresh. Despite the full plate of pasta, meat and salad. I was able to eat it all and not feel stuffed. 

The memory of tall staircases, quiet empty streets and sunlight breaking through still lingers. The phrase,  “Fulgentissima” was used by the Narese to describe their city and what it meant to be from Naro. One of the guidebooks I returned with states the Norman emperor Frederick II (1194 – 1250) gave Naro the title. Naro has been an important center for commerce, agriculture, and Christianity since medieval times. Naro was compared to a pearl inside the oyster. The shape of the pearl was a mystery until uncovered. It’s “wealth” hidden inside. It takes a native to appreciate the complexity of Naro’s history, art, and architecture. Fulgore in Italian means brightness. The suffix, -issima in Italian creates an adjective that gives the word a meaning to the highest degree it could possibly reach. Fulgentissima means literally brilliantly radiant.

I sought out Signor Salvatore Nocera for help as I researched the words to the song, “Canta Fulgentissima”. I had written earlier about some of my motivations for visiting Sicily and specifically Naro. It was music that brought me here. This song was sung by the lyric tenor, Piero Barone of Naro, on the occasion of his inauguration, as Ambassador of Naro to the World, in December 2014. A title he earned by continuous promotion of this city to the people he entertained on stage. I listened and thought about what he was saying to the fans. I followed his suggestion and stopped for a while in the city of his birth to find out what he was so proud of. The song was especially arranged and played by Signor Nocera on guitar for the performance. Signor Nocera was able to provide the lyrics which are published in this article.

Signor Nocera is a modest and highly accomplished man. He was born in northern Italy but moved to Naro with his family from age 6 to 17. He traveled to Pavia to study medicine and music. He performed for several years in Germany at folk music festivals and in the theater. He completed an MD in 1986 and has a keen interest in poetry and musical composition. He moved back to Naro permanently in 2004.

The song is written by Gero Rindone of Naro (1897-1958). Signor Rindone had a full and complicated life. He was a veteran of WWI. He completed a law degree at the University of Palermo. He was a gifted singer, composer, and poet. He studied music for several years in Milan and performed successfully as a lyric tenor. He made his operatic debut in Torino 1925 at the age of 28. He appeared in: The Barber of Seville, Cavalleria Rusticana, Pagliacci, IL Travatore and La Giocanda. According to Nocera, Rindone was listed as one of the 900 great professionals in Italy. He wrote the words to this song in a letter to a friend. He was honored by the citizens of Naro with a street named after him, Via Gero Rindone, in town.

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The Lyrics to Naru Fulgentissima from Signor Nocera in Italian and English

Terra di fiori e cantici Terra di poesia
Sei sempre dilettissima
Chi ti conosce ti ama
Chi ti conosce spasima
E non ti dimentica più
Quando il sole su Mongibello
Apre quel gran ventaglio alla mattina
La conca tutta attorno al Catello
È un Paradiso, una cosa divina
Quando la sera calda di calore
Scende raggiante sopra Punta Bianca
Il sole tra vampe di colore
Metta la pace in un’anima stanca
È naro fulgentissima
La bella patria mia
Si apre il mi cuore e cantano
Tutti i miei sensi
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Land of flowers and songs of Earth poetry
You are always beloved
Who you know loves you
Who knows you agonizes
And do not you forget it
When the sun on Mount Etna
Opens on the large range in the morning
The basin around the whole Catello
It is a paradise, a divine thing
When the hot evening heat is
Beaming down over Punta Bianca
The sun blazes among colors and
Puts peace in a soul tired
In Naro brilliantly radiant
My beautiful country
It opens the heart and I sing
All my senses
________________________________________

 

Chapter Seven ~ Past Life Met in the Castle Garden

Monday morning, and it’s time to say goodbye to Noto and drive towards Agrigento Province. Along the way, a visit is planned at Castello della Donnafugatta. This enormous 14th century Norman fortress is far into the countryside of southeast Sicily near the city of Ragusa. The narrow roads are flanked by groves of olive trees growing in clusters on the gentle hills leading to the estate. Sunlight plays on the grey-green-silvery leaves under a hazy blue sky. 

The castle comes with the legend of Bianca di Navarre,  the daughter of Charles III of Navarre.  She was married to Martino I of Aragon in 1402. It was a political union between two feudal families. Bianca lived at the Castle while managing the affairs of nine cities in eastern Sicily. Martino died in 1409 while in Sardinia. A decision was made to marry her to Bernardo Cabrera, an advisor of the Navarre family. Bianca objected to marrying the much older man and decided to flee into the countryside to escape; hence the name, donna fugatta, fugitive woman. 

The driver dropped me off at the main gate for the afternoon. I walked toward the great house by a row of old stone structures lining the main entryway on both sides.  They might once have been vendor stalls. All are odd, dilapidated one room huts open to the sky. I thought I’d see goats at any moment. surrounded by a traditional courtyard complete with tall, strong wooden gates.

The castle has fifty public rooms to stroll through including Bianca’s private suite. Guests and family walk up a wide two tiered staircase to the living quarters on the first floor. Statues of maidens greet visitors at each turn.  Just as I entered the first public room, a school group of 10 year old children arrived. I stood back and realized it was a chance to tag along and listen to their group leader describe in Italian what was special about the rooms. She spoke slowly and clearly, but my ability to follow was poor. The rooms are well proportioned with fine woodwork and furniture. Every inch holds a small treasure of art and design. The ceilings are embellished with ancient Greek legends. Many of the walls are painted with local scenery. Curtains of heavy green brocade meant to block the hot sun draped around tall windows. The music room is distinguished with pianoforte, violin and flute. The ceilings are adorned in eggshell blue frieze. The condition of the furniture was superb, but of course, no touching or sitting permitted. 

Bianca’s suite is predominantly white. Her apartments are lavish with a waiting room, bedroom with a full canopied bed, and something rare in such a home: privacy. Even the floors in her suite are laid with beautiful white limestone. On, and on I wandered along hallways into a mirrored room, billiards room and more. The Castle appears to be well cared for with fine furniture, statuary and gardens as they might have been in the day.

After a tiring stroll through the castle. The extensive gardens felt welcoming with great magnolia trees and a stone labyrinth. A boy was jumping up trying to see the way out of the maze. A stroll inside was a possibility but the thought of wandering around and around completely lost kept me outside. There was a side garden with large clumps of lavender and rosemary. Everything grew in abundance in this environment. The shrubs easily reached my shoulder. There was no apparent source of water yet all plants and trees were quite mature. 

The shade was inviting, I sat down under a large tree and started lacing long strands of lavender together in a braid. The warmth of the air and hum of the bees created a languid atmosphere. As I wove, smelling the fragrant flowers, I drifted out of focus into a pleasant dreamy state of being. 

As quick as a blink, I had a vision into another lifetime. I saw myself in Ortygia, having come from Cyprus during the reign of the Greeks. My parents watched me go from the dock. The sense of departure was strong. Am I being sold, or given away? They did not stop or protest my parting. Neither was I panicked. I was on a skiff sailing out of the harbor on an overcast day. I could see the wooden oars lift and splash the water.  I was taken to Ortygia and became a basket weaver at the fount of Arethusa at the edge of the sea.

I worked in the shadows and led a quiet life. I had long brown blonde streaked hair tied on the sides with strands of thin leather. The hair was down my back. My skin liked the sun and was perpetually bronze. My eyes were grey, green and blue. I could feel the thin leather sandals on my feet. I hardly took them off. There was a strip of leather around the big toe and around the instep, heel and ankle. My toes hung over the edge a little. I was clean. My tunic was soft blue, green cloth. It draped to my shins. I had bracelets made of shells. 

My company was mostly stray cats. They were a comfort to me here. Cats are friends of the goddess and trusted companions. There was a kinship between us. We could speak with each other. The human language spoken in Ortygia was unknown to me. Life was lonely. I had no relations and was an outsider. My task was to weave baskets for everyday use. My name was Talytga and I was around fourteen years old.

As quick as it was there; it was gone. On the little island of Ortygia, I walked around the fount and inside the hidden places nearby. The blue grey cast stones were still soothing to the eyes. The ducks still paddled softly through the reeds. The palm fronds made wonderful floor mats. The grape vine was good for oyster baskets. The slaves’ foot wash; a busy place then. This vision offers insight and possibly why I am so fascinated by Artemis and Sicily. The statue I saw at the square in Ortygia would not have been there but, I’ve traveled around here in another time.

My journey now, largely on my own, ought to have been intimidating. My disposition is not so brave. I have the odd moment of being homesick. I am by nature a homebody so two weeks into the journey, my thoughts naturally turn towards home. I never thought it odd to walk about in a foreign place. Is it because Sicily could never be strange to me? On a vacation to New Mexico, I walked about Albuquerque much the same way. I remember being in a canyon admiring petroglyphs, wandering around admiring the sacredness of the land. Is it just a high comfort with unknown places? Or, had I been there before as well? 

Some of the echoes of that lifetime as Talytga follow into this one now. Stray cats find their way onto my doorstep back home. Wicker baskets are all around my house whether I need them or not. I enjoy working with my hands. I had a large bed of long stemmed lavender in the garden but the harsh winter took them away. A basket weaving workshop offered me an opportunity to create one with my own hands a year or two after this experience. My hands felt clumsy as I wove the lash together. It’s a pleasant thing to do but did not bring forth new memories.

Talytga often stood back and watched events around her.  I don’t have the sense she is longing for home. But, she knows what happened. Curious, I had a distant relationship with my parents from an early age. The sensation of having been forgotten by them is constant. The name Cyprus is common to me and a pseudonym on different social media forums.  Perhaps it was all a waking dream in that castle garden but it felt so compelling and satisfying in so many ways. Sicily, she opens many doors to the willing pilgrim.

This was becoming just that; an unplanned pilgrimage. I didn’t just see the stone walls and structures, I felt them. The sensation of sinking deeper into something else was close. The energy of all things and all ages is close. The living presence in the air, earth, water and sun are close. I am not alone.

 

Chapter Six – Ortygia ~ The Home of the Goddess

It is one thing to read about antiquities but quite another to visit one. All the descriptors in the Michelin Green Guide were most useful and gave me some familiarity with much that happened. However, nothing prepared me for the encounters with the energy of the island. On Sicily, the sense of a spirit, something else, some kind of energy was felt inside of me in several places  and most profoundly on Ortygia. 

Over the last twenty years, I have spent many a happy hour deeply immersed in different beliefs and cultures. My fascination with the teachings of the Buddha took me to a cushion to practice meditation and attend Vipassana retreats for about five years. My love of Native American ways took me from ceremonial Medicine Wheels in Rutland, Massachusetts with Otter Heart, all the way to the Gathering of Nations in Albuquerque, New Mexico. My love of the seasons eventually brought me into a Wiccan circle which helped me understand that the goddess appears in many forms. So much has been learned moving in harmony with the esbats and sabbats. My love of earth, air, fire, and water also lead me to Tao. Of all the paths, this is most natural. Tao-Jia gives purpose to daily activity. A life spent in contemplation has many subtle rewards. These spiritual paths raised awareness about the mystery of all that is unseen. There is something out there. The Spirit of All Things is close. 

Yet, I rarely felt more than an awareness of something deeper. Not a living being. Not a specter. A glimpse into a different way of expression perhaps is the way to convey the subtleness of some other life form present.  Sort of like trying to step out of the human perception of things, not just obviously living things, but the animism of stones, earth and all that is tangible. During quiet hikes through fields and forests, I would connect to the energy of the trees. An awareness of the peacefulness of a place would come through. Hiking paths I was fond of had names like the soft moss trail or the golden bronze leafed walk and the red pine needle path. Brooks sang and held their own little life energy. The poplar leaves being bustled about by the breeze at times, seemed to be talking their own language. I recall a green shimmer hanging over the ferns at midsummer along the Robert Frost trail. There was almost something I could see, or more, sense. One thing I came to understand is I had to be alone to be open to it. 

Taormina was the first place to stir  my spirit and represented the solidity of earth along with its fiery energy just under the surface. I felt a presence when I looked at Mt. Aetna. The summit was smoking high above the tranquil, sparkling bay. Lava was creeping down the mountainside. The solid mass of the mountain rising up from the sea bed gave a sense of being in flight and the energy of the sun and sky. Sicily has feminine energy. All the Zen teachings finally made sense. A person can sit, and sit and sit for years waiting for enlightenment; nevertheless it can occur with the simple skip of a stone. It is in living that awareness comes. By looking at the panorama in Taormina, the magic of being on the island began to take over. I was becoming aware of her, of Sicilia.

A day trip to Ortygia was arranged long before I arrived. The hired driver dropped me off at the gateway to the island where I had several hours to explore on my own.  The guide books encouraged the traveler to look carefully at the ruins surrounded by the modern bustle of commerce. Ortygia is the old city of Siracusa. At a certain point after crossing the bridge, cars were no longer allowed and it was a pleasure to walk around without a little Fiat sputtering too close. The Temple of Apollo sat at the gateway to Ortygia. The city historians have preserved the site and visitors can get an excellent look at this antiquity. It’s a worn down structure of steps, walls and columns supporting nothing but sky. The area is about the size of a baseball field but oblong in shape. Honestly, I couldn’t make sense of it.

As impressive as this could be, everything came to a stop when I entered Archimedes Square. In the middle of the piazza is the Fountain of Diana. All that I knew about Greek mythology came back in a joyful moment. She I knew something  about. Diana is the Roman name for Artemis, the great goddess of wild animals and the hunt, protector of women in childbirth, guardian of agriculture and animal herding. She is the moon, nature, and women all at once. 

My journeys in Wicca sacred circles prepared me for this moment. Wicca honors the goddess and keeps myths alive in different ways. The ancient archetypes are celebrated and called on for guidance. A full moon circle is the Wiccan monthly celebration that honors the ancient part of us that  marks the stages of birth, life, death, and rebirth. Women understand this pattern of life instinctively. We co-create life, birth it, support it and pass, but live on in our children. The old expression as above so below to a Wiccan, means literally, as the stars, planets, and all celestial bodies move above, so what happens up there  reflects below on earth in us. We are stardust. We are the energy of the moon as well as the sun. The moon is feminine energy. Some women can look at the phase of the moon to understand their own hormonal cycle. Wiccan honors the goddess in myth and honors the goddess potential in every woman. A goddess is a feminine deity with supernatural powers. The phrase, “she’s a goddess” refers to a woman’s strengths, character, qualities, and her beauty.  

All those nights in sacred space, all the offerings, contemplations, and wanderings in nature came back to me. So, that is why I followed that path. At the time, I thought it was just a fascination with a philosophy out of the ordinary. As much as I participated and enjoyed the full moon celebrations, I held back, I connected to the rituals, but the people often got in the way.

The reader might have sorted it out by now, I tend to do things in a solitary way. I pick up all kinds of energy and do better without the distraction of other folks around. People project their emotions and feelings in different strengths. All too often, I feel  their discomfort. I can let my guard down in nature, not with others present. I trust in the unseen of natural surroundings, not the unseen nature of  people. Intimacy with nature is natural. 

Artemis is an archetype that impressed me but I did not know how to incorporate her qualities into my own. The only female deity I knew well from childhood was the Virgin Mary. She has limits and does not represent the aspect of the feminine that is independent, choses her sexuality, choses to give birth or not, honors all creatures, and is self-sufficient. Artemis is power without hostility. Mary always appears as a passive figure, things happen to her. Artemis creates her own future and that is the attraction. No one tells her what to do. 

Standing at the edge of the fountain, putting my hands deep in the waters, feeling the spray was a singular spiritual moment of connection to water. I was able to disconnect from the awareness of other people all around and immerse in what deeper awareness the images conjured up. I was home, I am in my first, best, safest home. I am with Artemis.

The large circular fountain in Ortygia is an elaborate depiction of a myth that was  unknown to me. The central figure was Artemis with her bow, at her foot was Arethusa, behind Artemis was  the river god Alpheus and in the water were  several figures riding sea creatures. A young boy rode a sea horse thrashing the waters. A mermaid and child rode  a wide-mouthed fish. A merman rode a sea turtle moving through the sea. The gentle spray of water surrounded thel figures above.

The legend of Arethusa says there was a water nymph bathing in the sea. She felt the brush of something against her foot. It was Alpheus. He became infatuated but pursued her with too much ardor. The frightened nymph appealed to Artemis to save her chastity and obliged by transforming her into fresh water. Arethusa flowed under the earth and enjoyed the streams and bogs, finally emerging at the base of Ortygia as a fresh water spring. 

According to the guide book, “Arethuse was transformed to be a source of clear waters, which from Greece, through the Ionian Sea, reached Siracuse. So Alpheus decided to follow his beloved, transforming himself into a river and once he reached her, he mixed his waters with hers. The tale makes a clear connection with the indiscernible bond between Siracuse and Greece. Arethuse became the symbol of the city, called in fact Arethusean and it was represented in the silver coins in Siracuse of the 5th C BC.” As I connected to Earth, Air and Fire at Taormina, I blended with Water at Ortygia.

The Fount of Arethusa has a fresh water reservoir near the sea. It’s a deep, large well of water filled with papyrus and reeds. A brood of ducks live there and cats are seen lounging on the walkways. A few steps away is a shaded place with a bathing area called the Fountain of the Slaves. With the beauty of ancient things, comes the reality that not everyone was here of their free will. This is sacred ground.

The Olympian version of Greek mythology has Artemis and her twin brother Apollo born in Ortygia. Her mother is Letto and came to Ortyx, Greek for Quail, to give birth. She was in labor for nine days and nights. As much as I saw the ruins of Apollo’s temple, I did not feel a connection. They are large blocks, parts of a wall and stone steps. It’s large and hard to imagine what it might have been like.

Close to the Fount of Arethusa along the seawall is a grove of enormous magnolia trees. In width, it would have taken a connected circle of ten people with linked hands outstretched to reach around the trunk. The branches curved gently out and upwards, making it perfect climbing for man or beast. The roots seemed to be growing right out of the branches reaching into the ground. There may have been nine trees in all. The grove reminds one of the Ents from Middle Earth. These trees are old and have a different connection to the earth and sky. Magnolia flowers early in the spring season.  It was not in bloom during my trip. The fragrance and sight of it in flower must have been without words to describe its beauty. 

The magnolia tree symbolizes magnificence because of its impressive height and enormous flowers. Sicily is so sensual a being, I conjured up this image of the nymphs gathering the flower blossoms and preparing a petal bath for the goddess. Never mind the goddess, I would enjoy just such an immersion. Perhaps that is the rite to become a devotee of Artemis, honor the magnolia and become magnificent.

The shade offered a lovely resting place on a sunny afternoon. The planters around the park are filled with bird of paradise in full bloom. Incredibly large blossoms with black beaks and tall white plumes. In my native Massachusetts, the magnolia tree might reach 20 feet high and might live 20 years at best. They were in their glory in this island environment. Sicily is more arid than humid. There always seems to be a breeze and it cools off splendidly at night. Of course, I was visiting in May and found the climate most refreshing. We had rain for one or two days, but it was a nourishing kind. The one thing missing from this landscape are rivers and streams. I rarely saw the type of water common to my native New England. We are abundant with ponds, marshes, lakes, streams, and rivers. Sicily seemed to hide her fresh water sources. The rainy season is typically in fall and winter. I commonly read signs along the highways for torrente. These seemed to be deep ravines designed to hold large quantities of water. Maybe that’s how it is in Sicily, when it does rain, it can turn a stream into a torrent requiring containment. Everything about Sicily is fascinating.

Ortygia has so many more attractions that make this a worthwhile stop for a day. I went back to Artemis and put my hands in the water and let the spray cool my head. Now, I think I ought to have taken a vial of the waters back home. To be with her, to know these stories that had only existed in books and lectures could be real, had been cherished and admired is so satisfying. It’s not a myth at all, it’s a living philosophy and way of life.

What captured my attention, is different for the next tourist. Ortygia has a large open area in Duomo Square. The Chiesa Madre was built alongside the Greek Temple to Athena. The open piazza is surrounded by different buildings. When I first entered the island, I encountered a one-man puppet show at the foot of Piazza di Minerva. The owner was swinging the little guy along in a fun rendition of “Johnny B Good” by Chuck Berry.

Alleyways and side streets offer shops and restaurants. There is a large outdoor farmers market up near the Temple of Apollo with everything including fresh oysters, champagne and lemons. I became enchanted with the doorways to tiny apartments around Ortygia. There’s something beautiful and inviting about the clean swept entryways to these homes. The doors are painted a cheery green or yellow. A little flower garden gentles old stonework. A vespa is parked to the side under the shuttered windows. I want that to be my home. I would love to walk about Ortygia, shop at the open air stalls and return home with fresh mulberry, cheese and bread for an afternoon treat. There is a massive structure at the point of Ortygia called Maniace Castle built in 1240 and open to tourists in the morning. Windows, catwalks and portals look out to the sea for advancing invaders. 

I never thought a place could offer as much as this little island did. Why does  statuary draw my attention like nothing else? Who walked along these ancient stone walkways? I wonder if I returned, would it feel as enchanting? The spirit of Daphne, the mystical connection with water, is following me around. The bay at Casa Cuseni, now, this marvelous sculpture brought to life at play in water. I see the nymph in the waking world. Sicily is the best place on earth.