Chuck is Lured in By the Curse of Messina, Sicily

       

         Curiosity drove Chuck, my rascal cat, and I to Messina, Sicily.

We heard stories. The city had a terrible history of destruction which spanned the centuries, and it was a tribute to this city that it was still standing.

On the bright side, this port city was known for its lemons, mandarin oranges, and olives -- all of which played an important part in Italian and Greek cuisine.  In fact, it was founded in 8th century B.C. by Greek colonists.

However, it was  seized in 288 B.C. by the Mamertines who went on to kill its men and take its women for their wives.  Years later, the city was free and became an ally of Rome, but this peace was short lived when the Messina harbor became the gateway for the Black Death to enter Europe.   

Yes, you heard me right!

In 1908 Messina was almost completely destroyed by an earthquake and a tsunami which killed over 60,000 people.  

Was this city under some kind of curse?

There was no denying our nerves were on edge. 

We decided it was best to be in and out of Messina in a day.  We wanted to see only two things.  

One - there was a Cathedral from the 12th century which held the remains of King Conrad, ruler of Germany and Sicily in the 13th century.  After the earthquake and after the fire (triggered by the Allied bombings from World War II) this church had to be almost completely rebuilt. Of course.  The original Norman structure of the Church was now only visible in the spsidal area only.  

We also wanted to see the bell tower which held one of  the largest astronomical clocks in the world.  The belfry mechanically animated statues, which illustrated civil and religious historical events, came alive every day at noon.  But that was only half of the amazing part.  In the background, the figures moved to the music of Ave Maria. 

Can you imagine?

For me, I hear that lovely music mostly sung at funerals.  

So, here we were, standing in the square, our eyes glued to the bell tower.  It was one minute before noon, and we waited for the spectacle to begin.  

All would have been purrfect if it weren’t for a certain street vendor.

Suddenly, the most delicious smell wafted by.

Chickpea fritters.  Street food.  An irresistible temptation for my now starving Chuck who hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast at the hotel.   

The almost largest astronomical clock didn’t matter anymore.

I thought I could trust Chuck to wait by my side, but he took off in the direction of the delicious aroma.  

I spotted the street vendor, dishing out his “fritella di ceci” to a few of his customers standing by. The fritters are made in the shape of squares, deep fried, hot to the touch, deliciously crunchy.  

“Chuck,” I shouted, “Wait.” I tried to grab him by the tail, but the belly boy was too quick for me.  He trotted off toward the vendor.

And what did he think he was going to do.  Meow for his fritter?

I raced after him, counting down the seconds in my head, knowing that my chasing after this recalcitrant cat while the lovely figures danced around the bell tower could be the ruin of the moment.  

I reached the vendor, just as Chuck came to a sudden halt next to him.

“Meow,” Chuck said.

The vendor guy, a nice Messina gentleman, smiled.  “Il suo gatto?” (Your cat?) he asked me.

“Il mio gatto affamato.” (My hungry cat.)

Then I heard it.  Ave Maria. 

My heart gave a little jump.  I was dealing with the vendor guy while my eyes should have been glued to the bell tower! 

The vendor handed me a fritter.

I reached into my smart bag for money to pay him.

He waved his hand aside.  “Mi piacciono i gatti.”  (I like cats. )

           “Grazie.”

I picked up Chuck and held him in my arms.  We ate the fritter together while the mechanical statues rotated around the bell tower while the beautiful Ave Maria drifted around us.  

“Messina isn’t so bad after all,” I said to Chuck.  Then I turned back to the vendor and held up what was left of the fritter.  “Squisito.”  Which in Italian means delicious. 

My paranormal romance, Wild Point Island, is now available in paperback and ebook from Amazon.com and BarnesandNoble.com  Average reader review 4.7 stars on Amazon.com.    

Something Fishy in Catania, Sicily OR Chuck Goes Too Far for Heart Healthy Fish Snack

When I travel in Europe, I live for the open air markets, which are different than the flea markets that we flock to in America, which mainly sell antiques.  The open air markets of Italy and France and most other European countries offer the fresh produce of the city--the meats, the cheeses, the fish, the vegetables, the fruits. 

That day--in Catania, the second largest city in Sicily and which happens to lie at the foot of Mt. Etna (a still very active volcano)--we arrived early in the morning at the open air market, eager to browse the stalls and mingle among the locals and the tourists.

Catania has an interesting history.  Situated between Messina and Syracuse it was destroyed by earthquakes twice--once in 1169 and then again in 1692.  The city also had to contend with volcanic eruptions from Mt. Etna--the most notable occurring in 1669.  The city is mostly paved in a black pavement, made from the lava, so it is difficult to forget the history as you walk around. 

The energy was intoxicating.  

And all would have gone well . . . but because we were rushing to get to the market, we neglected to give Chuck his usual snack, and in retrospect, that small event sparked a embarrassing incident.

For the Chuckster arrived hungry, his big stomach growling, and it is never a smart idea to bring a hungry cat to a place that has food--delicious food--around every corner.

Even so, who could have anticipated that a cat, even a rascal cat like Chuck, would take matters into his own hands and want to leap from the safety of my smart bag into a display of fish?

But let me begin at the beginning.

We arrived at an already crowded market. The stalls were open, their umbrellas a colorful sight.  Vendors had their wares on display.  People were milling about, making purchases. 

We minded our own business, as usual.  We wanted to browse only.  We decided to buy some bread and cheese and prosciutto for later on.  A small picnic for lunch.  So we wandered over and made our purchases, and Chuck barely whimpered. 

Our purchases did not include fish.  After all, we were tourists staying at a hotel.  We had no means of frying fish.

But still, as we passed the fish stalls, we saw octopus, snails, tiny clams, eels and rays, tuna, and were intrigued by what seemed to be thousands of sardines laying about, their silver skins gleaming--fresh.

     And we expected to smell fish.  Nothing.  That’s how fresh they were--brought in that morning from Mazara del Vallo, Italy’s largest fishing port or one of the smaller ports in Sciacca or Favignara and hauled in by the local fishermen.  

But the Chuckster, well, any cat has super sensory smell capability and from his perch, he caught a whiff of the sardines.  

Not that I blamed him, but I felt him stir.  For the first time.  Which should have been a warning sign.

It wasn’t because when you are in the open market, it is so easy to become distracted by the stirring of life there.  

So he jumped, out of my bag toward the open display case--landing on the small wooden table just to the left of the basket that held the sardines.  A very strategic jump which he must have calculated would put him near enough to begin his own private feasting on the fish.

“Chuck.”

Luckily, the owner, the proprietor, was on the other side of the stall, dealing with a customer who had placed a rather large order so he was up to this point oblivious to the jump.

I scooped up the rascal, who now smelled like sardines because his paws had landed in some kind of goop that the table was drenched in.

“You are in the biggest trouble.”

But he didn’t act like he was in trouble.  Nor did he act contrite.  He only meowed, disappointed that he’d lost the opportunity to snack down on a sardine. 

I swiveled away from the fish stall and began hurrying away from the market.  I didn’t want a Sicilian fish monger mad at me and my cat. 

“Yuck, Chuck.  You smell like fish.”

He looked insulted, but he had the good sense to say nothing.  He didn’t even meow.  

        WILD POINT ISLAND, MY PARANORMAL ROMANCE, IS NOW AVAILABLE IN MASS MARKET PAPERBACK AND E BOOK FORMAT FROM AMAZON.COM AND BARNESANDNOBLE.COM   

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