Day 14: A Blast from the Past in Palermo

Ten twenty-eight. 10:28? Wait, what? 

With Lori physically struggling and dealing with pain, the previous night was not a calm one. I was worried about her. I couldn't sleep, despite the pitch blackness of our room. Not being a great sleeper anyway, I bit off part a small Unisom pill to help me get some rest. So when I rolled over, picked up my phone and saw that it was 10:28, it didn't make sense. I mean, I went to sleep well after 10:28 PM so how could it be 10:28? Then my foggy brain finally kicked into gear. It was 10:28...AM! I had slept in and lost valuable time in Italy! 

Lori had told Ron and April to go ahead with the day's plans without me but they waited. I took a screaming fast shower. Lori said she was going to stay in the apartment for the day and rest so Ron, April and I went on a 30 to 40 minute walk. Our destination was the Catacombs of Cappuccini or, as its website touts, a place "where the living meet the dead." Let's face it, it's a macabre tourist attraction but Ron and I had both visited the catacombs as missionaries and it was on our list to make sure we saw it again. 

The corridor down into the catacombs

Photo credit: Sibeaster

This place has quite the history. It began as a simple cemetery at the Church of Santa Maria della Pace (Lady of Peace) in the 1500s. A single room to house deceased monks was created underground but it then expanded into two ancient caves. When the bodies of other friars were exhumed, 45 of them were naturally mummified and well-preserved with recognizable faces. Word apparently got around and by the late 1700s, it became a status thing to want to not only request a spot in the catacombs but to be placed there in favorite outfits. In fact, locals paid big bucks to be displayed there as a form of social relevance.

Church of Santa Maria della Pace

Men's corridor (Photo credit: Sibeaster)

Women's corridor (Photo credit: Sibeaster)

One of the last bodies placed in the catacombs was in 1920. It belonged to Rosalia Lombardo, a two-year-old often referred to as the "Sleeping Beauty of Palermo." For years, she was considered the world's most beautiful mummy. That's what I thought when I saw her in 1983. She looked like a little girl asleep behind a pane of glass. However, as we saw in 2023, she's beginning to show her age a bit.

Rosalia in 1982 (Photo credit: Maria lo Sposo)

Rosalia in 2023 (Photo credit: Carlo Vannini)

I wanted to take photos to replace those of the catacombs I lost in our 2017 house fire, but rules have changed. We weren't allowed to take any and this extremely large, hulk-like Italian security guard was roaming the halls making sure nobody did. Oh well. After the catacombs closed down for the country's mid-day break just after noon, we wandered out back into a cemetery. Italian cemeteries have fascinated me ever since I first visited one in Bari in 1982. They are immaculate and feature both small and large edifices. It is easy to see that Italians revere and honor their loved ones who pass away.

After some 45 minutes in the cemetery, we found a taxi and took a ride up above Palermo to the small community of Monreale. Like the catacombs, Ron and I had also been here before too, but it was also a must-see. First, we grabbed some lunch at a sit-down, outdoor cafe and followed that up with my best gelato of the trip. I ventured outside of my lemon preference when I saw the offerings at this gelateria. I went with a combination of pineapple and cannolo Siciliano, as in a gelato flavored like the cream filling inside cannoli. And not only that, I had them placed inside brioche, the oh-so-sweet Italian bread that was made to have gelato stuffed inside of it. Wow, I mean wow! So smooth. So flavorful. Just oh so good!

As I sat and enjoyed the weather, Ron met up with some women that were just kids and part of a family he baptized back in the day. It was fun to watch the reunion from a short distance away.

Just across the piazza where we ate sits the Cattedrale di Santa Maria Nuova di Monreale. I was a little disappointed we did not get to see St. Peter's Basilica in Rome earlier in our trip but then again, I knew we had Montreale still to come and St. Peter's has nothing on this church! The outside is relatively stark and plain but the inside is absolutely amazing.

The building's history, like everywhere else in Italy, has a unique story. Here's how the legend of the Monreale Cathedral goes: William II, king of Sicily during the 1100s, went hunting near Monreale and stopped under a tree to take a nap. As he slept, the Virgin Mary came to him in a dream and told him to build a church there. The removal of that tree revealed a stash of gold coins used to finance its construction so he obliged. Work began in 1172 and finished about 100 years later. 

The cathedral stands one of the greatest examples of Norman architecture anywhere in the world. Its floor is about the same size as a football field. It also features ornate pillars and marble slabs but what stands head and shoulders above everything else is its vibrant color, thanks to 69,000 square feet of mosaics made out of millions or maybe even billions of tiny glass paste tiles infused with gold leaf and other colors. Putting together a puzzle is one thing but just imagine the amount of intricate work it took to do the ceiling, facade, walls and flooring in mosaic. Talk about overwhelming.

There are more than 130 biblical scenes portrayed throughout the structure but my favorite is of Jesus on the front wall behind the altar. In many Catholic churches, he is shown as suffering on the cross during his crucifixion but in Monreale, he's shown thoughtfully gazing down upon visitors. Because the facade is a curved arc, you can see him almost everywhere from the floor below. Or should I say, he can see you almost anywhere you are on the floor below. With outstretched hands, it's as if he is inviting all to come unto him.

Exiting the cathedral, we wandered up the streets of Monreale. I'd had my eyes open for some small ceramic mafioso (mafia) figurines to add to those I'd purchased and brought home when I was a missionary. Most of them I saw were small and cheap. It had seemed that today's shop owners had moved on from Italy's mafia-infested past. 

I arrived in Palermo near the end of my missionary service in late summer or early fall of 1983. During that time, the government made the bold decision to arrest and put mafia bosses on trial. That was an especially daring task since Palmero was the mafia capital of the world, and had been so for quite some time. Just a few days prior to my arrival, a bombing rocked the city. A car carrying a judge on the way to an ongoing trial with a mafia kingpin exploded killing the judge, driver and a couple of innocent bystanders. I remember standing on the street where that happened. All of the bottom level business doors were blown in from the force of the bomb. And all the windows were shattered. There were visible chunks taken out of the marble-faced apartment buildings up to five or six stories in height on both sides of the street.

On another occasion, I remember being in our little Fiat on a p-day (or preparation day when we did not have to wear white shirts and missionary name tags) when an unmarked van suddenly stopped in front of us, the doors flew open and uzi-carrying military members poured onto the street. It appeared to be a random sting operation in search of criminals. I had my camera on me and started taking pictures from inside our car but tried to do so without being detected. One of the soldiers saw me, came over and asked who I was and what I was doing. I instantly played the "ignorant" card by speaking in English and saying, "I'm an American. I don't know what you're saying." In Italian, he demanded I turn the camera over to him. I pretty much repeated the same thing again in English. Luckily, he went on his way and let me keep my camera.

Anyway, back to shopping. I found a legitimate sculptor's shop with an array of impressive works including a few mafioso characters. In the end, I decided not to pull the trigger on any of them. Just a few shops down, I finally found a nice hat to buy. It had an image of the island of Sicily in the middle of it with "Sicilia" above and "Italia" below in text. I walked out of the store with it on my head.

Looking down on Palermo from Monreale

We found a taxi that took us on quite the ride back to our apartment. I don't know if he was showing off or if he drives that way all the time but it was much like an amusement ride. One thing that is always a challenge in every Italian city is finding a place to park. On many streets, even the main thoroughfares, cars are parked bumper-to-bumper along the curbs on both sides. However, when there are no places to park, other drivers will simply double park, leave their cars and head out on foot to take care of their businesses. As we sped down the hill back into the city of Palermo, that was exactly the case. Cars were parked on both sides of the street and at one point, they were double parked on both sides. It looked like there may be enough room to slowly drive a riding lawnmower or maybe a golf cart through the opening. Here we were in a van and this guy didn't even blink. Without even braking, he maintained full speed, yanked the steering wheel to the left and then immediately to the right. We didn't hit either double-parked car and nonchalantly continued on his way. As I had done earlier in the trip, I thought to myself how grateful I was that we didn't rent a car for our Sicily travels and that I wasn't the guy behind the wheel.

Taxi driver with "mad" driving skills

It had been a long, lonely day for Lori. She spent much of it on the balcony people-watching those passing below on Via della Liberta. She was hungry so I headed out in search of a restaurant that would handle a to-go order for us. After some on-site texting of different menus, she ordered La Siciliana or gnocchi with basil pesto. I went with Ragu of Sicily or Bagherese suckling pig sausage and cinisara beef. This was one of the rare pasta dishes that actually had beef in it. Italians eat beef but as a general rule, they don't place it within their pastas. Instead, they feature ham, guancale, bacon or fish but not beef. I brought the orders back to the apartment and we enjoyed a nice balcony dinner. By the way, loaded with flavor, my pasta did not disappoint. It was as filling as it was visually attractive.

"How about some desert?" Lori asked, so off I went for what I knew would be a successful search. I texted photos back to Lori, who made her selections from them. There was just so much to choose from including cheese, chocolate and pistachio-flavored cakes along with rows and rows of colorful Sicilian donuts, cupcakes and cream-filled pastries. Lori went with some Kinder chocolate cake. I chose several lemon-dipped circular lemon cakes. It was a sweet way to end our final day in Sicily.

We packed for our morning flight back to Rome. By now, we just wanted to get Lori back home so we did some research and made a call to Delta Airlines. Perhaps we could skip our final day in Rome and catch a flight to Montana once we arrived at the Rome airport instead. Our current itinerary called for a 19-hour flight but bumping everything up a day meant a 31-hour flight with a stayover in either Amsterdam or Salt Lake City. We decided to stick with the original plan of one more day in Rome before flying home the following day.

Day 13: Giving Thanks at the Pulpit

Our second and final Sabbath day in Italy was one to remember. We caused a bit of a buzz after our taxi dropped us off at the Agrigento Branch church building. Okay, maybe we didn't cause the buzz ourselves but we certainly contributed to it. Due to much socializing and visiting, the 10 o'clock meeting didn't start until 10:15. Once again, it was oh so cool to sing hymns in Italian. They just have a special spirit about them. 

Prior to the meeting, the branch president asked Ron and me if we would take a few minutes to address the congregation and bear our testimonies. I went first. It was very moving to stand in front of a group of Italians who I both admired and believed as I did. It also got my blood pumping a little to stand before a bunch of fluent-speaking Italian locals and talk to them in their native language. But it was also exhilarating. I started off by joking a little and saying, "My wife doesn't understand Italian so I guess I can say whatever I want." I spoke of my belief in Jesus Christ and told the congregation how much it meant for me to serve as a missionary in Italy 40 years ago, how much it meant to be back with Ron and with our wives, how much I learned from those missionary experiences and how they helped mold me the person I am today. I also thanked them for their faith, their diligence and their zest for life. 

Ron followed and, of course, spoke much more eloquently. He said when he was a missionary in Palermo, there was no branch in Agrigento. He related how there was only one family there that attended church but to do so, they had to travel 80 miles one way all the way to Palermo. An older woman up front waved her hand, signifying that it was her. Ron praised the branch members for their strength and said they were more like a ward than a branch. He, too, became emotional and said through his tears, "We love the Italian people!" That really got me. It made me tear up as well. 

Our second hour of meetings was also wonderful. Ron and I met with the men where we talked about being peacemakers while Lori and April met in the women's class, where the missionaries translated for them. Afterwards, we exchanged stories, showed pictures, took pictures and laughed and laughed with the Agrigento members. 

We also spoke with the two young male missionaries, one from San Diego and the other from Virginia. Looking at them was almost like looking in a time-traveling mirror back to when Ron and I were baby-faced missionary companions. The missionary from Virginia, named Anziano Roma, said something like, "This is so cool. Elder, this could be us 40 years from now. We could do the same thing." I asked him about his last name. He said his father was from northern Italy and then he showed us a video when he received his mission call. When he announced before family and friends that he was going to Italy, his father gave him kind of a running tackle of joy. Ron and I told each of them to take advantage of being a missionary in Sicily, to cherish their time, work hard and love the people.

We had another busy day ahead of us so we said our goodbyes. It was midday and the country was in shutdown mode. Plus, there were no restaurants or bars nearby for lunch so we settled for a supermarket out back of the church. Even though the lunch meat, carrots, rolls and other finger foods were fine, I felt like I was cheating. Cheating myself, that is. I mean, here we were in Italy, home of the best and most flavorful food in the world, and we were in a grocery story. Sheesh. On the bright side, it was the nicest day yet - definitely a shorts and t-shirt kind of day.

Our next stop was another throwback as we caught a taxi to the Valley of the Temples, a magnificent site but a bit of a misnomer since it sits on a ridge. I'd visited it twice back in the day Once with a different missionary companion and once with Ron. Again, it was so much better to be able to share it with Lori and April. The 3,200-acre archaeological park had electric wheelchairs, which was really nice for Lori. 

The park features seven Greek temples or ruins that date back to the mid-400s BC, highlighted by the Temple of Concordia, named after the Roman goddess of harmony and one of the best preserved Doric style temples in the world. It features 13 columns that run down each side and six on each end that stand on a massive four-step stone base. Each of the columns is 20 feet high, has 20 flutes and tapers at the top. It was converted into a Christian church in the sixth century in honor of the apostles Peter and Paul.

Today, there is protective gating that surrounds the temples and ruins accompanied by "keep out" signage. Back in the early 1980s, well, let's just say you could go anywhere and do anything. That prompted Ron and I to take a truly classic photo (see below) scaling the Temple of Hephaestus, one of the symbols of Sicily, that would probably get us in trouble today. 

Ron (on the right) and me (on the left) in 1983

On this visit, we did not make it back to the Temple of Hephaestus, which was a little bit of a bummer. Why? Well, it would've been nice to see it again, plus perhaps we couldn't follow through on my threat to recreate the original photo (which April said we could NOT do!) In the end, she used her sweet photoshop skills to help us create a different sort of recreation.

Ron (on the right) and me (on the left) in 2023

After dropping off Lori's wheelchair, we cooled off by hitting a small trailer with "La Vera Limone Granita" sprawled across the top of it. Hmm, was this indeed "The True Lemon Granita?" One spoonful screamed, "YES!" This granita was so lemony and so tart that it bit back in a big way. It truly was the best granita of the trip so far.

As we took a taxi back to town to pick up our bags, I was wishing I had more of that granita. No, wait, a barrel of that granita. One little cup just wasn't enough. Oh well, on to the next stop. We boarded a train and enjoyed the countryside as we headed north. 

Scenic Sutera in central Sicily

Palermo is the city where Ron and I each finished our missions. I served there in late 1983 while he followed in 1984. Like most everywhere else we'd visited, Palmero had been cleaned up and was pretty. Our Airbnb was just off Via delle Liberta, a busy pedestrian thoroughfare with shops, restaurants and jammed with people. We had just crossed Sicily (again) so we were h-u-n-g-r-y. I ordered baked pasta timbale with meat sauce, mozzarella, breadcrumbs, oil and salt. And yeah, it was tasty! 

 Lori was feeling pretty good after dinner and it was a beautiful evening so we went on a walk, a long walk! It included checking out a lot of shops, enjoying the atmosphere and, of course, eating another lemon granita. It was good and larger, but not as true as the "true granita" in Agrigento. 

Other than the miniature trulli in Alberobello, I hadn't really bought any souvenirs. That changed in Palermo. Forza gli azzurri! The Blues is the nickname given to the Italian national soccer team, the squad that won the 1982 World Cup just a few weeks (dang it!) before I arrived in Italy as a missionary. The country was still buzzing when I got there. 

We ended up going too far on our post-dinner stroll. Lori pulled or aggravated a muscle in her upper arm or shoulder. And due to stress and/or overcompensation, her foot was really bothering her. In fact, we had to physically help her up the stairs to get into the apartment. We finally got her in bed and I did some late night laundry. The next day would be our finale in Sicily but it included some memorable and even creepy throwback memories.