The Gangster Cat in Siracusa

 What is Italy really like? How are Italian cities different from American or European cities? The answer can be as varied as the cities in Italy. But one thing is for sure--Italians are good at using what they have to survive. They host open air markets where many locals (and tourists) shop. They offer loads of old churches. The new Italy is built around the old. In every town there is a square and a fountain.

We arrive in Siracusa, a city that has done its best to utilize the lava that over the years flowed down too regularly from Mt. Etna. The streets of this old Sicilian town are black because they were paved in lava. They are narrow and quaint, engulfed on both sides by old structures. 

The open air market is stupendous. They not only display spices, fruits, veggies, fish and meat and many other local products--dishes, for example. You can literally wander around this market for hours.

Theo is in his element. He loves to sniff everything. We hold tight to him so he isn't trampled to death with all the people milling about, but he is leaning over at each stall, trying to figure out what is there and if it is anything he'll like. To eat. 

 

Theo has no interest in fruits or veggies, but when we reach the fish stand, he starts to wiggle. The nice Italian guy working the stand doesn't help.

"Who are you," he asks in English. "Ah, you like the fish, no?" He picks up a filet and waves it in front of Theo's nose.

This is not a good idea. I don't know what the gangster cat would do to get at the raw fish, but I don't want to take any chances. We take a step backward, then smile and wave goodbye.

The market also offers a "how to make fresh mozzarella" demonstration. This is the local specialty and the core of Sicilian cooking. 

 

We step closer to see the process in action. The mozzarella maker is swishing the newly formed mozzarella in its own liquid. He lifts the delicious Italian cheese up and stretches it. 

Theo spots the mozzarella. He can smell it. He is safely ensconced in Dan's backpack, but he is a young, strong cat, and he wants out. Or more correctly speaking, he wants at the mozzarella. 

"Hold tight," I scream.

Dan, as always, is one step ahead of me. He's already anticipated the possible tragedy. He is holding onto Theo with all his might. Theo struggles valiantly. Is it the slightly milky smell? 

Together we realize that if we weren't more alert, Theo would have jumped into the mozzarella basin. And drowned? At the very least it could have caused an unforgivable international scandal:

Cat absconds with fresh mozzarella. Cat swims in mozzarella basin. 

"You are acting like an ugly American cat," I whisper to him as we leave the market. "We raised you better than that."

Later when we're in our hotel, relaxing, we talk about the market.

"Best day ever," Theo says with a big cat smile.  

Really? 

Theo Guards an Agriturismo

 We love Italian history and the pieces of the past that surround you when you visit Italy--the statues, the old buildings and fountains. You can step back in time and imagine life as it was. But we are also fascinated with how Italians live now. That is why we are spending an afternoon with Aldo.

Aldo runs an agriturismo in Salina, the largest of the Aeolian Islands south of Sicily. 

Salina is known for its capers and Malvasia wine. It is also where Il Postino, a famous Italian movie, was shot. Aldo lives with his sister, daughter and cousin. He's a spry eighty year old, who is usually working seven days a week from dawn to dusk. His vast piece of land up a mountain--plenty of death defying winding roads to reach it--comes with an old farmhouse, a field full of capers, fruit trees, flower bushes, vineyards, and chickens. 

He lives off his land and sells his products. By law, 50% of the products he uses and sells must be home grown.  

Aldo is determined to give us the full "farm experience." Dan and Theo go with him to the fields to gather the capers, of course. It is the first step in the rather laborious process of curing the capers before sale. Later he'll show us how the capers are salted then rinsed. 

I stay behind with his sister and daughter to prepare lunch which we'll eat at a long table on a porch that is protected from the sun but open to the air. It is nothing fancy.

This is a neat experience for me--to watch real Italians cook. We're preparing pasta with wild fennel pesto and zucchini sautéed in olive oil. A few anchovies will be added for flavor. 

We wash, chop, and slice. The sister is the head chef. She tells everyone what to do. I am nervous. She speaks in a rapid Italian that takes me a minute or so to make any sense of. Occasionally the daughter will chime in. She speaks a little English. The aroma of the fennel is intoxicating. 

Then before lunch Aldo takes us up a long and winding upward path to where the chickens are. 

He's got around 40 chickens and one oversized rooster behind a fenced in area. 

Our job is to collect the eggs into a basket. (Somewhere along the line I imagined this was going to be fun, but never anticipated that in June in Italy it is hot. Hot.) 

Finally, we sit down to eat. The pasta is delicious. Wine is poured. There is something truly miraculous about this afternoon. In Italy. Eating homemade pasta. Looking out over fields that seem to go on forever. 

And what about Theo? He's fed up with being inside, in museums, looking at things on the other side of glass. He wants to be outside and sniff. But he doesn't like the smell of capers. Aldo manages to find him some cut up chicken which Theo gobbles up so fast you would think he didn't have breakfast. Which he did. Then he rests by my feet on the cool cement floor, in the shade, with a gentle breeze blowing in. Until . . .

Who can anticipate these things? A stray cat wanders by and meows. Before he even makes an appearance, Theo rouses himself and looks around. Can he smell him? Then, of course, Theo sees him. Now Theo at home is a guard cat. Come around our house--if you're a cat--at your own risk. His tail expands, he smacks at the patio door glass, and glares. Will he act the same? Is he intent on guarding Aldo's agriturismo? 

I grab hold of Theo (just in case) and, of course, he struggles to be free. 

"I'll handle this," Dan announces, slowly rising from his comfortable chair and reluctantly leaving his wine behind. He disappears. I know the drill. Keep Theo occupied for a few minutes. Distract. A few minutes go by. Theo is napping again at my feet. Dan still doesn't return. Where the heck is he?

He's made a friend. The stray enemy cat is, of course, the cutest, friendliest, and most cuddly cat you'd ever want to meet. He is all over Dan.

 

For a minute we consider if we should arrange a greet and meet. Would Theo appreciate meeting an Italian cat? We think of the advantages. We think of the obstacles. We know Theo. 

"He's taking a nap." I shrug my shoulders.

"Yeah, it's probably not a good time."

Dessert is zeppoles. The sister deep fries pumpkin dough with raisins (like a donut) and covers it with sugar. Sweet. Light. Airy. It hits the spot. 

Aldo talks about his struggles. Besides the capers and the eggs, he sells jams made from the fruit from his orange and lemon trees. But his biggest concern is keeping the farm in the family. Who will run it when he can't do it anymore? 

In Italy, many things are different, but some things are remarkably the same. Parents and kids. Stray cats struggling to survive. Guard cats who won't give an inch. And life goes on.

Ancient Burial, the gods and Theo

 Lipari, Italy is known for more than a cathedral and St. Bartholomew's thumb. Dan and I know there's a fabulous museum close by. Now, I like some museums and hate others and sometimes feel totally overwhelmed by the number of objects organized on shelves that you're forced to look at. 

The Museum of Lipari is different. 

Even though it is huge, it is housed in several different buildings, forcing you to make choices. It is primarily Greek artifacts unearthed centuries ago because Lipari was originally a Greek city. Dan and I (and Theo, reluctantly) decide to visit the Pre-historic museum building because it contains ruins unearthed outside the city walls from a Greek Necropolis (yes, a city of the dead). Beginning in 1948, archaeologists discovered 3000 tombs (so far) hidden under approximately thirteen feet of earth. These tombs and what was inside date back to four or five centuries before Christ. That's a long time ago. 

Theo is slightly interested in two facts. One: the bodies were buried back then differently than the method we use today. No coffins. Instead, the remains were usually put into vase like structures that look more like wine canisters. 

Two: the Greeks insisted on being buried with small objects that they believed helped them reach the afterlife. 

The Greeks, back then, literally believed in the gods and the power they had to control the life of humans. One of the most popular was Bachus or Dionysus (his Roman name), son of Zeus, who was the god of wine, festivity, fruit, vegetation, fertility, theatre and religious ecstasy. For the Greeks, theatre was a religious experience.

Therefore, the tombs contained all sorts of neat little objects representing the person's belief in their preferred god, usually Dionysus. 

 

Theo is fascinated. As we walk past shelves filled with all these tiny figurines--statues of people and animals or masks that connect to the theatre--Theo's paw keeps stretching out and hitting glass. He can see them, but he can't touch them. He can't sniff them which amounts to another excruciatingly depressing experience for the gangster cat. The hits become more frenetic.

"Stop that, Theo. Just look. You can't touch."

He gives me a woeful expression. Isn't that the story of my life, he seems to want to say. 

"I think Theo has had enough," Dan says.

"You're right. I think it's time we go and visit Aldo."

Sorrento - What Is It Like Really?

 Sorento, Italy--what is is like really? Theo, the gangster cat, wants to know. We only have a day to walk around and visit this wondrous cliff side city that hovers over the Bay of Naples, renowned for its nature and culture. This is the city where mythical sirens with their sweet singing lured sailors to shipwreck on the rocks. Even the great Ulysses wanted to hear the songs, but he was smart enough to block his ears, commanding his men to tie him to the ship's mast so he could avoid catastrophe.

The night before we sail into the harbor, we are greeted by a lovely sunset. The sky is ablaze in pink. We listen carefully for the siren's call. Theo seems especially animated. Can he hear something we can't. We hold him tight, fearing he may leap off our ship. 

We are primed for a great walk around. The town is as quaint as you might expect: cobblestone streets, flowers everywhere, ancient buildings dating back to the 11th century, people on motorbikes cruising through the narrow streets, and a famed uneven landscape which gives you a unique perspective to see the town. 

We have to stop to see the Basilica of San Antonino, the oldest Catholic Church in Sorrento. Legend has it that the church was built to commemorate San Antonino when he saved a small boy who was swallowed by a sea creature back in the 6th century. The church is quite majestic inside:

But the most fascinating part is a red wall containing silver talismans, each representing the part of the body that was cured after praying to San Antonino. 

But we have arrived with a purpose. One of the oldest traditions of Sorrento is its Wood Inlay Carvings. Most of the old masters are no longer alive, and the town is filled with workshops and galleries located along S. Cesareo Road, but we are on our way to see a masterpiece within the walls of the Museo Bottega della Tarsia Linnea or the Inlaid Wood Museum. 

Inside this museum, there is a wood carving that defies description. It is quite remarkable considering that it was carved long ago, with what we would consider crude tools. It must have taken these artisans years to create this scene, and we are in awe.

Have you ever seen a scene so delightful, you wish you could jump right into it by some magic process. This is my only explanation for what happens next. Theo, who is content to look on and admire the scene, suddenly, with little or no provocation--other than the work of art itself--pushes off against my stomach with his fierce hind legs, and tries to make a jump for it. Into the scene. Aiming directly for the table with the food: 

Did he think it was real? I am appalled. I hold on tight and manage to keep him from committing the worst kind of atrocity. I try to keep calm and stare at the heart of the nativity scene: 

"You can have a snack if you're that hungry, but you can't eat the wooden food."

His efforts foiled, Theo, of course, pretends that he had no intention of eating the wooden food. But once a gangster, always a gangster!