How I Cracked the Code on the "Isola" of Sicily

An excerpt from my upcoming memoir

Taormina, Sicily

Isola means island, a cognate of isolare, to isolate, to seclude, to shut off. Even though I now live on an island, I'd never made that connection, so obvious in Italian. Perhaps that is why I feel such a deep sense of isolation on the island of Sicily, where I feel so uncharacteristically like a foreigner. Unlike in the rest of Italy, where my much improved language skills, designer duds and attitude have most Italians fooled and greeting me as a local, Sicily is proving to be a surprising challenge.

Despite its superficial welcoming of tourists, Sicily remains a closed community, with its Greek influences and places that still remain war torn. It is an island with its own personality, uniqueness, eccentricities and limitations, things I am becoming familiar with on my own rock in the middle of the Pacific. Native Sicilians make sure that tourists understand who is in charge. Though every meal ends with an abundance of sweets, the irony is that that Sicilians are anything but dolce! Forte, tenacious and unwavering, traditional, self-protective and stoic, they must be explored with respect. It requires care to gingerly peel back each layer and expose the vulnerable and tender core—the essence of a Sicilian.

The Wishing Stone

An excerpt from my upcoming memoir

A special friend reached out to me a couple of weeks before my travels east. He and I have known each other for years. We share the same spiritual sensibilities and optimistic glass-is-totally-full attitude and philosophy of life. He has watched and waited, sitting quietly with the patience and wisdom of Gandhi, always offering sage advice and encouragement as I worked to realize my dreams. He also told me that I could manifest anything I set my heart and intention to, so when I called to tell him that I had finally moved to Maui, my “somewhere over the rainbow,” he replied, without a trace of surprise, “Of course you did because you manifested it.”

We get together from time to time to walk the ocean path, to admire the incredible beauty surrounds us and inspires us and on Maui, and to catch up or, as he would say, “talk story.” Aside from being my spiritual guru of sorts, he is a gifted artisan, avid gardener and collector of artifacts. One morning, 10 days before I boarded my east-bound flight, we met to wish each another a wonderful summer. His purpose for our meeting, I learned, was to give me a wishing stone—a triangular turquoise stone worn and rubbed smooth over time that had been blessed by a native chief of stature and high regard. He had intended to set it into a piece of jewelry created especially for me but there was not enough time prior to my departure.

The Wedding Dress Message

An excerpt from my upcoming memoir

Lace is the quintessential romantic fabric. To my delight, Italian designers are celebrating lace in their new summer and fall collections. The girly side of me is thrilled to see this feminine nod to structural and classic jackets, sweaters and dresses. Even this season's lingerie has stepped it up to add lace upon lace.

Despite my love affair with fashion, living in Maui has limited my opportunities to wear all my beautiful clothes. Flip flops and a cotton sundress seem to work everywhere on the island. On occasion, I can't resist donning a real dress or a pair of European shoes and heading for Safeway—the place, as everyone knows, to proudly show off the latest fashions, especially in the freezer isle where a shearling or puffy winter jacket helps stave off hypothermia!

On my third day in Firenze, as I stroll the main piazza, I spot a familiar shop sporting a 60% to 70%-off sale sign in the window. Why not take a quick peek? I think, although finding something in my small size is a bit of a challenge in the land of pasta and pizza and all things that start with the letter "p."

The Perfect Cappuccino

An excerpt from my upcoming memoir

"She like it Madame?" my barista at Gilli asks me daily! €1.40 euros for this steamy hot, creamy, chocolaty, marbleized work of art in a fine bone china cup, accompanied by a pearl-and-sterling demitasse spoon and delicate pistachio cantucci on a lacy embossed monogrammed doily. A perfectly poised Italian-designed sugar container and extra embossed napkins complete this perfect cappuccino.

In Firenze (Florence), it's a matter of pride, passion and priority to produce this caffeinated delicacy!

Heaven forbid a foreigner should utter the word decaf—a term usually met with a dismissive gesture. I am now schooled in the language of gestures.

Like any delicacy, taste, temperature and artistic sensibility are all important and necessary in preparing the perfetto cappuccino! If you are fortunate to have a barista who has taken a liking to you, you may find your cappuccino delivered with a spectacular heart shape floating amidst the dark cocoa topping. Here's hoping!

Eat, Pray ... and Observe, on My Viaggio da Sola

An excerpt from my upcoming memoir

Pasta with shaved black truffles

Despite my commitment to maintaining my European size 34 figure, I’ve tasted and feasted on every specialty of each small village, town and region in Italy. I’ve savored warm roasted creamy chestnuts, handmade paparadelle garnished with earthy, decadent shaved black truffles, Roman fried artichokes served with a zesty lemon aioli, orange-scented arancini, grilled calamari drizzled with liquid gold first-pressed olive oil, buttery buffalo mozzarella and candy-sweet cherry tomatoes topped with fragrant, peppery basilica the size of lettuce leaves, fresh porcini foccacia, rich rare bistecca, lightly battered stuffed zucchini flowers, ricotta-filled cannoli—and gelato, gelato and more gelato.

I’ve eaten, and now it’s time to pray, something I've always done, albeit in silence, in private and with regularity. Travelling alone—my viaggio da sola—has given me the time and the opportunity to pray, but also to think, to observe and to understand the world and how it works in a clearer way, from a different vantage point.

Italy's Language is More Than Italian!

An excerpt from my upcoming memoir

Outdoor market in Florence (Firenze)

From year to year, I forget just how Italy works. OK, by North American standards, it doesn't work! After touring a fair bit of Italy, I question why North American standards and judgments are my point of reference. I suppose it’s because these standards are all I’ve known my entire life.

Italians are unique! Admittedly, they are administratively dysfunctional (rules constantly change without notice), disorganized, directionally challenged and chaotic—but it all seems so non importante to Italians, of no concern whatsoever. In fact, it seems woven into the fabric of their culture and lifestyle.

Words are not their true and ultimate form of communication. It's the gestures and actions coupled with words—even a non-response—that make up this language. To that end, given my commitment to study Italian with my new young tutor (who, by the way, is not too hard on the eyes and is at a complete loss as to why I am so fascinated by this language), I realize I’m better off just observing, listening and being more plugged into behavior than the words.