"Collateral Damage" - short story

            Despite the roaring thunder and the immense downpour they left the windows open. While the eaves of the building prevented most of the rain from pouring into the classroom, the thunder could not be helped, and class had to go on. The series of storms that Florence had received during the last 3 days had created several problems for the Oltrarno area and particularly the Santo Spirito neighborhood where the school was located. The buildings within the Piazza, being quite old, experienced a few power outages as well as sewer problems. While the storms were unpleasant, and caused a bit of inconvenience, they were nothing compared to those that the four students in the Literature class were used to dealing with back at their home university in Minnesota. Currently, the school was experiencing intermittent power outages, and the two large windows in the classroom provided plenty of light, allowing class to continue.

            Jack had just gotten back to Florence from Paris for the weekend. Despite the coolness of the spring rain, he had rushed from the train station to the other side of the city to make it to class on time, and was subsequently feeling a bit warm. Noticing Jack’s distress and discomfort, Professor Villa suggested that they should open the glass of the windows as well to let in some fresh air. Normally,from Professor Villa’s point of view Erin was furthest to her left, followed by Andrew, Jack, and finally with Sam furthest to the right. However today, Jack, having arrived late, was not sitting in his usual spot amongst his classmates, and presently was sitting in the seat farthest to the right.  The classroom was small, but much larger than what was needed for a class of four and so the students usually sat in a small semi-circle in the middle of the room.

            As Professor Villa was lecturing about the Grand Tour in Europe the students struggled to stay awake and attentive. The combination of the stifling lack of air within the building, the humidity from the rain, and the fatigue that accompanies Mondays, had created an environment ideal for dozing off. Class slowly rolled on with Erin providing her opinion on the latest excerpt they had read, Sam making an exasperated face into the camera on his iPad, Andrew staring at his notebook fighting the heaviness of his eyelids and Jack tapping his fingers upon the desk uncontrollably.

            Just as Professor Villa thought she had lost their attention for the day, a loud crash drew her attention up from her computer. It appeared the Sam lost his grip on his iPad, thus dropping it, causing the case to crack. Erin let out a laugh, presuming he had dozed off for a moment, just as Andrew and Jack looked on intently at Sam’s face. He seemed to stare off, most of the white of his eyes visible. The Professor was trying to convince Erin to stop her laughing, when she let out a shrill scream. Sam had begun to lean forward and just had fallen out of his chair onto the red carpet covering the floor. His mouth was agape, and his eyes, still open, seemed to stare off to the corner of the room.

Andrew asked “Is he-”

“Dead.” Jack finished in disbelief.

For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still. They all sat there, in utter disbelief, racking their brain for any coherent thought that could make sense of what had just happened, and what they were all looking down at.

The professor got up from her spot sitting on the desk, repetitively muttering “we need help” as she ran out of the room. Jack, Andrew, and Erin remained in their seats, staring at their fellow classmate, who had been sending silly snap chats to his friends just moments earlier, now lying completely still, on the floor in front of them. Within a few moments Mariarosa, Beth, and Daniela had ran into the room, following Professor Villa. Upon taking a glimpse into the room, Beth ran back to the main desk to a phone, and called the police.

            Gathering around Sam on the ground, Daniela reached down and felt for a pulse on Sam’s neck. Slowly looking around at the others in the room she opened her mouth, but no words came out initially. Finally, “I- uh--- I think he is dead” slipped out. With the same unanimity of a crowd moved to applause, everyone drew their hand to their mouth, shocked and in disbelief.

Soon sirens could be heard arriving in the piazza, followed by boots marching up the front steps of the building.  Andrew sat quietly in his seat, as Erin began to cry and Jack whispered “No, no, no, no, no” over and over again under his breath.  

A few moments later, a small group of carabinieri had walked into the room, dressed in their crisp blue uniforms with white accents and helmets. As the scene began to be assessed, there was quite a bit of commotion and talking in Italian between the administrators of the school and the professor. Despite their Italian classes, none of the students were able to follow the conversation, their shock blocking any possible logical comprehension.  Finally, Daniela explained to the students that they needed to take a few pictures, and then they would be able to leave the room. A carabinieri officer slowly walked around the room, taking photos of every nook and cranny, while carefully stepping over Sam’s body sprawled across the floor. Once the officer was done taking the pictures, they students were allowed to get up and leave the classroom.

Andrew, Erin, and Jack each took a seat on the couch, with their professor on a chair next to them, just outside of their classroom. Daniela, Mariarosa, and the Carabinieri all crowded around them. The carabinieri needed to begin questioning the students, so Daniela was chosen to translate between them. The officer asked each of them what had happened, what they saw, if anything unusual had happened during before or during class. Other than the power outage and the strange weather, no one could think of anything out of the ordinary, except for Cristina.

Shaking her head, confused and in disbelief, Cristina quietly said “I don’t know what it has to do with this, but they weren’t sitting in their normal seats today.”

The officer replied, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that all semester they’ve sat in the same seats. Except for today. I remember thinking how it felt a little odd from my point of view.”

“What does that have to do with this boy being dead?”

“I do not know. That is your job to figure out.  It could be nothing,” she retorted, the obvious annoyance towards the officer detectable in her voice.

Clearly feeling arrogant, the officer disregarded her response, and her comment about the students sitting in different seats. Just then another officer and a member of the coroner’s office emerged from the classroom. The coroner was holding up his hand for them to see. “We found this in the back of his neck.” All of their eyes squinted, trying to make out what the object was that he was holding up. Just 2 cm long and ¼ of a cm thick, it was a tiny needle.

“Is that what I think it is?” The officer who was doing the questioning asked.

“Some kind of tranquilizer needle” replied the coroner.

“That’s not just any kind of needle. That is a high tech needle. What in God’s name is that doing here?!”

“Sir,” another officer chimed in, “what do you mean?”

“I’ve heard about this needle. Just recently. It’s just been developed and is being used by the French CIA.”

The officers then made their way back into the classroom, heading over to the windows. There certainly was enough balcony and roof top, perfectly placed to get good aim right into the classroom. The leading officer ordered 3 of his men to head up to the roof to look around. Perhaps they might find something that could help them. Although, in the back of his mind he though, that if they were dealing with the French CIA, that wouldn’t be likely.

After sending the officers off to the roof, the leading officer returned back to the students and school staff in the computer lab. As if it were even possible, everyone was looking even more confused than they had before.

“Well it looks like we’re dealing with the French CIA. Why, I have no idea. But for now, you should all be free to go. We’ll get to the bottom of this. If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a few phone calls.” With that, the officer quickly stepped away, and followed Mariarosa back to the main desk of the school. The officer made a series of phone calls to his boss, relaying the current information, and was told to sit tight, until the director could get in contact with the French CIA. Meanwhile, the students and their professor remained sitting in the computer lab, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened, trying to grapple with the mixture of shock and grief.

“Someone say something. I can’t take this silence!” Andrew yelled out. Erin finally opened her mouth, “umm…I don’t know what to say. I mean, yeah, Sam may not have been nice to everyone all the time, but he definitely didn’t deserve this. Who would do this to him?”

With that the lead officer returned to the computer lab. “Well, it seems that the French CIA claim they have no records of any agents in this area. They have no idea either.”

Hesitantly, Jack let out “I- I might…have an idea.” Instantly everyone’s heads spun around. Jack, the guy who had always pulled random metaphors and jokes out of thin air, knew something about the CIA?  Sputtering the sentences out, trying to run everything through his head while he spoke, Jack said, “I just got back from Paris this afternoon. I didn’t think that this would happen. I’m not even sure what I saw. They barely got a look at me. Something happened while I was in Paris. I don’t even know what it was. But I witnessed it, and they must’ve seen me before I ran off….. Sam was sitting in my seat…… That needle was meant for my neck- not his.” 

"Mondays" - short story

“I remember the whole thing clearly, it was early Monday afternoon. God, do I hate Mondays. I had a hell of a time getting to class that day. I was scrambling to finish my assignment at the last minute, as usual, and failed to notice the weather in my haste. I slapped together the final few sentences of my short story and was on my way out the door even before I could zip up my backpack. At the bottom of my building, I was greeted by a face-full of rain as I opened the door. It was already one-fifty – though by the skies you might have thought it nighttime – and class started at two. It was too late to go back for an umbrella. I gritted my teeth and moved forward with my head down to avoid being pelted in the eyes. On every block I’d have about five men shoving umbrellas at me, murmuring ‘umbrello, umbrello’. It was late in the semester and I had made a habit of silently declining any strangers who approached me. About three blocks in, however, I realized that any relief from this torrential downpour would surely be worth a few Euros. I could even pay with coins, which never felt like I was spending that much money anyways. I grabbed the next umbrella that was offered to me, and spent the extra couple of Euros to get the better kind. You know, the ones with the thicker handle and pointed tip. In this storm, there was no way in hell that a crappy little umbrella would even survive my walk to class, and to be honest I had my doubts about the big one.

Surprisingly, the damned thing held its own against the wind and I made it class without getting too soaked. By the time I got there, it was ten after two, but I wasn’t the only late one. As you know, there were only four of us in that class, but that day I was the second to arrive. Cristina was there setting up the projector, and Sam was doing something on his iPad. I set my umbrella against the wall and mumbled greetings to them both as I sat down, more relieved to be out of the storm than anything. I remember Sam saying something to me as I retrieved my folder from my backpack, but to be honest I wasn’t really listening. As a general rule, whenever that kid opened his mouth I would smile, nod and hope to god he wasn’t looking for a response. It was nothing against him personally, I’m sure he was a great guy if you took the time to get to know him; I just wasn’t prepared to make that kind of chronological commitment. Plus, he was from South Dakota. Anything or anyone that can survive in a desolate environment is genetically wired to need very little stimulus. I, on the other hand, tend to surround myself with people who acknowledge that there’s more to life than corn fields and chewing tobacco, but I digress.

If you would’ve asked me who’d be the next to arrive, I’d have thrown down 50 Euros and dared you to bet on Andrew. That man, and I do use the term appropriately (he made it to the ripe age of 30, God rest his soul), missed the bus more than anyone I knew. Plus, the other person we were waiting on was Erin Montemurro. Erin was never late; in fact she’d have been in class most Sundays if the building were open. You can imagine my surprise, then, when into the classroom walks Andrew, only 15 minutes late, which for him was like being 15 minutes early. Despite our age difference, I actually really liked Andrew. He was a real down to earth guy, and had a strange curtain of mystery about him that made you want to get to know him better, unlike Sam.

After greeting Andrew, I asked Cristina what we were going to do in class that day. Before she could respond, Sam somewhat bitterly reminded me that he had just told me we were going to watch Hannibal. I was about to spew some poor excuse as to why I hadn’t heard him earlier when he spared me the trouble by getting up to close the window blinds. Over the course of the semester Sam had unofficially become our ‘window guy’ as he was unparalleled in his eagerness to do that thankless task. I don’t pretend to know why he was always so happy to do it, but I suspect it had something to do with that whole South Dakota lack of stimulus thing.

Sam returned to his seat, and I could hear the obnoxious squeaking of wet shoes rapidly approaching the classroom. The door swung open to reveal Erin, soaked to the bone, out of breath, and visibly anxious at having been so delayed by the storm. She shut the door and pivoted back around, gathering her breath presumably to apologize for her tardiness. Unbeknownst to all of us at the time, that breath would be Erin’s last. She attempted to continue her pivot into a step, but her slicked feet flew out from underneath her. A brief squeal escaped as her body came crashing down to the stone floor. Her neck swung back with tremendous momentum and propelled her skull straight into the ground. Blood immediately pooled around her lifeless body as we gasped in shock. Looking back, she should’ve taken the extra couple of seconds to wipe her feet on the mat upon entering the building. It proved to be a fatal slip-up on her part.

A second after the initial sock, panic began to set in. Sam, who confirmed the absence of a pulse, started sobbing and mumbling incoherently. It was as if Erin’s death was too much for his simple South Dakotan mind to comprehend. I didn’t catch a glimpse of what Andrew was doing at that moment, and I can’t say I had any idea what he was thinking, either. I simply sat in silent disbelief, thinking to myself. First, Andrew arrived before Erin, and now this. I wondered which was more improbable, but couldn’t reach a conclusion. Cristina, being the responsible adult, immediately took out her phone and dialed 113. She explained our situation in Italian that sounded even faster than normal, which I previously thought impossible. Her quick action settled us down a bit, allowing the reality of the situation to sink in.

The ever-widening pool of blood was making me queasy; I could feel my muscles weakening and my stomach churning. Andrew suggested that we move Erin’s body out of the way of the door so the EMTs could enter when the time came. This seemed to snap Sam back to normal, and he wiped his eyes, agreeing that this would be a smart move. The two of them awkwardly approached the body, clearly unsure of the proper way to respectfully move it while creating as little of a mess as possible. They decided the best course of action would be to grab her limbs and lift her a few feet to the side. As fate would have it, this was most definitely not the best course of action. With Sam at the feet and Andrew at the arms, they simultaneously hoisted Erin’s body upwards. At this moment, Andrew’s grip slipped from the bloody limb and her left arm swung down. I could only watch as he plunged forwards to catch the arm, which flopped directly into my umbrella, knocking it from the wall. The falling body pulled Andrew down, giving his lurch deadly momentum as his throat connected with the tip of the umbrella. It must have hit his aorta, because blood started spurting everywhere. As I mentioned earlier, Andrew was known for his poor timing, but for him to hit the umbrella like that was considerably unfortunate, even by his standards.

This time there were three thuds. First, Erin’s body reconnected with the cold ground, then Andrew’s followed suit. On the other side of the room, Cristina fainted at the sight of Andrew’s death and fell back, hitting her head on a desk. With surprising composure, Sam hurried to her side and read her pulse. She was most definitely alive, but the fall had knocked her unconscious. With this, I felt like we had finally caught a break, but just then a deafening clap of thunder sounded and the room went pitch black. It was as if the gods themselves were mocking our situation, showing us just how powerless we really were.

The darkness brought momentary peace to the classroom. The absence of sight allowed my brain to ignore the horrific scene that lay around me. For a brief second, I was even able to forget that I was still stuck with Sam. That moment quickly came to an end, however, when his dreadful voice pierced the silence. This time I was actually listening. In what must have been the most triumphant spark of brilliancy to ever illuminate his feeble mind, Sam suggested that I grab his iPad to shed some literal light on the situation. I should clarify that those puns are my words, not Sam’s, just so you don’t give the kid too much credit. Anyways, I reached down to grope for his backpack, and quickly found that brick of a tablet which most people refer to as an iPad. I brought it up onto the desk in an extraordinary feat of strength, only to be met with an even greater challenge. Sam’s iPad case might have been the only thing on this planet that was thicker than his freakishly large skull. In fact, those two objects were far more similar than most people think. First, they both protected machines with fairly weak processing power, and, second, both of them would be opened up in the next few seconds.

In a surprising turn of fortune, I was actually able to remove the cover from Sam’s case and expose the brightly lit screen. With Erin gone, his iPad was just about the only thing Sam had left in this world, and he asked me to pass it to him as soon as the case was off. I obliged, and tried to slide it across the dusty floor over towards his corner. At the time, I didn’t realize how large the ominous crimson pool had grown. Fortunately, Sam noticed his Ipad’s trajectory and made a quick move to snag it before it could meet the blood. Unfortunately, Sam tripped while attempting this daring save. Once more, blood sprayed the walls of our classroom. The hydroplaning iPad cracked to a halt against the wall, and so did Sam’s head against the floor. When the blood had settled, it became apparent that Sam was dead. I was surprisingly calm by this point. When I had found out we were going to watch Hannibal, I mentally prepared myself to see raw brains, so I maintained my composure at the sight of Sam’s. As his humble life faded into oblivion, the lights flickered back on to irradiate the scene. It was at this moment that the EMTs burst into the classroom, to their shock finding three more motionless bodies than they had been alerted to.

And that, officer, is the true story of what happened that day.” Upon finishing his frightening recollection, Jack leaned back in his chair, visibly exhausted. His eyes looked empty and emotionless; his hunched posture conveyed the same.

The mustachioed man in the Carabinieri uniform chuckled a little, shaking his head. “So you’re telling me that three people are dead, two of whom have blunt trauma wounds to the head and one impaled in the neck, not to mention the unconscious woman we found, and this all happened from people slipping!?”

Jack shot back up in the chair, “Do you think I could make something like that up?”

“Yes, because you just did,” the policeman said plainly, “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good story, kid, but how do you explain the bloody baseball bat that we found in the closet with your fingerprints all over it?”

“Oops.” Jack admitted defeat, almost seeming relieved, “Well you can’t blame me for trying, officer”

“Actually I can, it’s called obstruction of justice. But you’ll already be locked up for life anyways, I suppose.” He paused for a second before continuing, “But tell me this, son, what drove you to do it? Those were your classmates and your friends!”

Without hesitation, Jack shrugged, “Like I said at the beginning, I really hate Mondays.”

Historical Fiction

The Kite Runner, novel by Khaled Hosseini published in 2003 and movie by Marc Foster (2007) 

Art Spiegelmann's Maus, graphic novel (1991) about the Shoah

Umberto Eco's novel The Name of the Rose (1980) and the film by Jean-Jacques Annaus (1986)

Do you agree with the following statement?
‘The historian, if honest, gives us a photograph; the storyteller gives us a painting.’

From ‘Historical Fiction for our Global Times’, Leon Garfield

Please answer the following question.

‘You have to write an historical novel, what would you write about and why? (Think about a) characters, plot, style, themes, and message) .’

Useful link
http://historicalnovelsociety.org/

Ancient Stages

It's funny how history can be lost between stones and grass, between the distance of time and memory. I stood on the ruins of the tribunes of the Greek ampitheater of Taormina and felt a thousand lifetimes flash by. I tried to imagine what it would be like to be an ancient Greek, washed and ready to take in a night of theater. What it would be like to be there when all was still whole, the ampitheater standing polished, gleaming stone in the saddle of a hill, with the open back of the stage giving way to a backdrop so perfect it couldn't be painted. Etna, the ever-present house of the god Hephaestus, standing tall behind the stage. I’d be there to worship, the theater my temple, the stories of gods and men played before me. Three tragedies and a comedy, all that’s needed to achieve catharsis. Perhaps I’d walk to the back of the theater first, to look out over the endless blue of the Ionian sea and the Mediterranean beyond, towards Greece, towards home.

Then the Romans came, the theater expanded and rebuilt with brick. The tragedies of the Greek stage gave way to the everyday tragedies of the death of gladiators, killed for sport, for spectacle, the temple transformed into a circus. But that couldn't last forever. Somewhere across the sea, an empire collapsed, and with that, the Arabs came to Taormina. They couldn’t abide the Romans, or the town, and destroyed everything they could. The pillars of the stage fell, and the stage lay dormant, for decades leaving only the silent, far-off eruptions of Etna to play to empty seats.

Eventually, the Spanish came. Taking advantage of what was already there, a rich family turned the lofted space above the entrance into an apartment with an incredible view and an amazing backyard (I wondered if they ever picnicked on the seats. I knew that if I lived there, I’d eat breakfast over the ocean every day).

The centuries passed across the stage, and with them kingdoms rose and fall, the earth shook and the mountain erupted, taking with it most of a far-off city, and still, the theater stood. Even when the bombs came, during a war that engulfed the entire world for the second time, the theater remained.

As I stood there on 2200 years of history, surrounded by an ephemeral parade of other tourists, I wondered what the following centuries would bring, what history the stage would host or bear witness to. I wondered if, even after humans were gone, if the theater would still remain, its stage lit only by the passing sun and the fires of Etna.

Taking Taormina

The city of Taormina is an undeniably beautiful one. In experiencing the city and comparing it to Florence, it is easy to see that Taormina is equally as focused on its history and creation. Taormina, however, has a hugely different founding history than does Florence. Taormina is a much more Greek influenced city and was resilient to the renaissance. It is also borderline obsessed, as it should be, with Mt. Etna as it is so close to the city. Water life is obviously also a huge part of the city, as it sits on the coast. As a tourist for a week, we saw the bright beauty of Taormina -- the views, the gardens, the oceans, the food. As with Florence, however, I am sure there is a negative dark side to it. As we wandered, it was easy to see and appreciate the beauty, but it was also easy to see and notice how many dark corners and sometimes shady people there were throughout the city. 

The city itself had an entirely different feel than Florence does. Florence is obviously full of rich history and beauty, but Taormina's is of a different kind. The buildings aren't nearly as tall, allowing for much more natural light in all the walkways. The food is very comparable by some aspects, but entirely different by others. It seemed that they were much more focused (if that's possible) on social experiences than Florentines are. Our home stay dinner, for example, was an extremely slow paced, conversational based experience. It is easy for me to say, however, that in all of the places I've visited in Europe, Toarmina tops the list of favorites. 

Travel Writing - Coming to Taormina

When you first step off the plane at the Catania airport, it doesn’t feel much different from mainland Italy. Sicily is a few degrees warmer, to be sure, but nothing strikes you as particularly special. Then again, once you’ve been to one small airport you’ve been to them all. Once you get out into the city, the real Sicily starts to show itself. The buildings are generally less ornate than in Florence, but there is a certain indescribable air of history and timelessness about them. Largely untouched by the renaissance (of Florentine origin), Catania’s landmark churches instead feature Muslim and Norman influences. The city is far less crowded than Florence, and what few tourists there are seem to be more interested in the food than anything else. Catania maintains the small-town feel that eludes many populous cities, despite being the second largest city in Sicily and boasting nearly 300,000 inhabitants.

However, the truly distinct feel of Sicily doesn’t fully hit you until you escape into the lush countryside. The coast is littered with picturesque towns that overlook the Ionian Sea. Red clay roofs and pastel colored houses contrast beautifully with the green grass and sapphire sea. Around every corner of the winding road out of Catania lies a view even more breathtaking than the last, culminating with Taormina. Perched high on a promontory some two hundred meters above the sea, Taormina is composed of a cluster of sandstone buildings. Directly beneath the town lies Isola Bella, a quasi-island nature reserve and beach surrounded by crystal clear water. The entire scene is stunning, but even more so when you turn to see Mount Etna, an active volcano, looming over the town. Bringer of both fortune and destruction to the region, Mount Etna dominates the skyline. Words do little justice to this awe-inspiring setting; there is truly no substitute for feeling the steady breeze and breathing in the array of fragrances while soaking up the timeless view from Taormina. 

Visions of Taormina.

The first stop on our week long adventure in Sicily was to Catania, which is the second largest city in Sicily, and built on top of the lava of Mt. Etna. Catania has been given the nickname of “the black city”, which was the opinion I had before I even learned of it. A large portion of the building material used in Catania is stones made out of the hardened lava, which is black, thus giving the buildings and therefore the city, a dark look and feeling. Catania was nice, but I wasn’t overly impressed, and was a little worried that Taormina would have a similar feeling to it, seeing it too is close to Etna. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Taormina was a tiny picturesque town that I would love to live in. The first full day we had in Taormina made me instantly fall in love. The language school we were attending, Babilonia, was absolutely breathtaking and I felt like I was in paradise. Everything from the warm rays of the sun, to the sweet smells of the wisteria, made me fall in love and never want to leave. Taormina definitely was a tourist attraction and a coastal city, but strolling the streets of the city was an experience unlike that of Florence. English is not the language you hear by most tourists passing by you or inside a shop. Perhaps it is because of the language school, but most people speak Italian, or at least attempt to. Many times inside the shops, owners asked if we went to the school, helped us with our Italian, told us they would tell Alessandro, the director of Babilonia, that we spoke only in Italian, and gave us a discount for being a student there. Many times in Florence, when I or other students, try to speak Italian in a shop the workers will often respond back in English, which can be very frustrating to a student that is trying to practice and make an effort to speak the native language. Those in Taormina were very friendly and encouraging to us, which made each encounter more pleasant than the last. Taormina, despite being a tourist attraction, has a very small town feel. It was not uncommon for me to see the same people every day, and start to build a rapport with them. I often witnessed locals running into each other on the street, saying a quick hello, or seeing what the other was up to for the day. Despite the beauty and rich history of the town and the immense presence of Mt. Etna, Taormina had a simplistic, peaceful and genuine feel to it that was quite enchanting. During my trip I made an effort to try many of the typical Sicilian dishes and I was not disappointed. Everything was absolutely delicious, and I wish that I could find such dishes in Florence. One of the things that I liked the most was all of the restaurants that were located on the little side streets and staircases. Even if we didn’t have a view of the sea, the cute back corners and tables scattered about the stairs made for a pleasant and picturesque evening. It definitely was a perk that the town was built on the side of the mountain, because you could use the direction of the slope to help you find your way. I did not use a map at all during the week and did not get lost once. We often decided to just wander through the streets and take little mini-adventures and see where the road would take us. While Florence is an old city with a rich history, it feels very connected to the present and has its own share of daily problems. While I have been in awe of the history and beauty of the city and I'm miles away from home, I never feel completely separated from reality. The feeling of crazy city life and daily politics is always there, unlike in Taormina.   Overall, Taormina felt like its own little world, where there were no problems and everyone got along. It was quite surreal, and I loved every minute of it. 

E. Montemurro