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.
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.
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.
Our writer and poet, Marco Simonelli, entitled our worshop "CSI Florence"
1) First Step Nick Cave and Kylie Monogue "Where the Wild Roses Grow" (murder, love, passion, possession, beauty and the wild side, etc)
2) What is a monster? Latin root "mostrare", to show = Gods used to send monsters as an omen that something horrible would happen
Dante's Inferno, Cerbero
3) Serial killers
Jack the Ripper
4) The Monster of Florence, first murder
August 21, 1968: Antonio Lo Bianco (29) and Barbara Locci (32), lovers, shot to death with a .22 Beretta in Signa, a small town to the west of Florence, while Locci's son Natalino Mele
(6) lay asleep in the back seat of the car. The child woke up and,
finding his mother dead, fled in fright. At 2 a.m. he arrived in front
of a house nearby and knocked on the door, telling the landlord: "Open
the door and let me in, I'm sleepy and my Daddy is sick in bed. Then
you have to drive me home, because my Mommy and my uncle are dead in
their car." Natalino initially said he had run away alone, then
changed his story and stated that his father – or maybe an uncle of his,
as he used to call his mother's lovers "uncle" – had driven him to the
house where he asked for help. Years later he said again that he was
alone, but was too shocked to remember exactly what happened on that
night. Locci was famous in the town because of her multiple love
affairs, and so she had received the nickname Ape Regina (queen bee). Locci's husband, an ingenuous man named Stefano Mele,
was eventually charged with the murder and spent six years in jail, but
even while he was in prison, more couples were murdered with the same
gun.
5) Let's reenact the first murder
Sam = killer, Erin = woman, Andrew= her lover, Jack= kid
6) Let's write our impressions... points of view (see comments)
