Palermo, Sicily

Italy was amazing! Or should I say Sicily, because from what I've seen they are two distinct places. The people were surprisingly friendly and open to being photographed, especially coming from London. Our photography class met up on Thursday, traveled to Palermo, met the guide, and had an amazing Italian dinner. Went to bed around 2, up the next morning at 6 to photograph. I walked around with Jim and Erika, but the light didn't start getting nice until 7:30 and we had to meet everyone at 8. Breakfast, guided tour thing and then cut lose for a little to go shoot on our own. Jim was a little hesitant to really cut us loose...seeing as it was Sicily and the Mafia and we don't speak Italian...Etc. But everything went smoothly. The food was absolutely incredible and I'm spoiled for London...not to mention life. Not speaking the language wasn't really a handicap. I didn't get as many ID's but no one had a problem getting their picture taken, almost. We visited the Catacombs there. Really, really, really (did I mention really?) disturbing. All of these bodies, in varying degrees of preservation lined the walls, hanging in niches, lying in niches. Families, naked babies lying in cribs, small girls dressed up in their best dresses women with crowns and old men.



The city of Palermo had a very distinct feel to it. The streets were narrow and slippery stone. The buildings were old and falling apart, many parts of the city showed visible evidence of the bombings from WW11. Yet the city was vibrant and alive. I'm left with impressions of smiling faces with crinkling corners and dancing eyes. The laughter of the people I met which replaced words. The markets teeming with people, the roar of motorbikes, the smell of fish and the colors red and blue.



A street somewhere in the maze of central Palermo on a Saturday morning. The presence of satellite dishes and motorbikes is the only evidence of a modern Palermo.



Marino Francesco, 73, fixes nets on his boat Saturday morning. Marino has been a "pescator" all his life. His son (left) came down to help and see what the photographer was doing. Marino joined the Marines at 18 and traveled to different points in Italy, a fact he proudly points out.

Did I mention the food was amazing? I'm having withdrawals. We'd go out in a group for lunch and dinner and they'd serve us bread, brushette, seafood aps and more before we even got to our meals. Not to mention wine. The guide is also a high school English lit teacher so she introduced us to some of her former students. We all went out to dinner together Friday night and went to a party with them on Saturday night. Since there were nine of us, we split up into three or four different cars. The guys I went with got completely lost. Instead of it taking 20 minutes it took us an hour and a half to get there! None of them spoke much English and they were all about 17 or 18 but still acting the role of Italian "men" and trying to get with all us girls. One of them completely latched onto me and followed me around all night. I tried to dance but he would chase me all over the floor, it was exhausting! And he couldn't understand me when I tried to explain to him that I needed space! So I finally had to find the one kid who spoke English to explain to him that I had a boyfriend and he needed to relax! It was kind of a sketchy scene and we were trying to keep track of everyone. A bunch of us decided at 1:30 that we wanted to leave (I wanted to shoot the next morning and it wasn't that great of a party) So then there were issues because two of the girls didn't want to leave and got mad at Erika and I for ruining their good time. We're only in Sicily once! They said. But I was thinking the exact same thing, only it was to get up and take photos...not spend my evening running away from 18 year old boys.



On Saturday we went up the mountain to a small town called Monreale. I hung out on this little side street with a group of neighbors, photographing and attempting to speak Italian. I was much better at communicating than I thought I would be. Italian is similar enough to Spanish that I could understand a little of what was said to me. I tried speaking a strange part Italian, part Spanish and part English but sign language was the most successful. Each little street makes up a small community. The buildings stretch up on either side with balconies balancing precariously inward and lines of laundry creating bridges and giving the impression that the alley is even narrower than it is. Cobblestone streets angle up the side of the mountain and the side streets are stepped so the cars can't go there and children run freely. It becomes difficult to tell which women the various children belong to. They all run in and out of each others houses, playing, fighting and looking after each other. Women stand in their doorways looking on and chatting with the neighbors who lean over their balconies.


I spoke mainly with Giovanni, the oldest son of Badocgliocca Spalvotore (pictured above). He was the most successful at interpreting my broken Italian. Mainly I just smiled at everyone and photographed. Eventually they stopped paying quite as much attention to me and I was able to get some more candid shots, but mostly I photographed what they placed in front of me. I even got photographed when Francesca, the oldest daughter of Maria, one of Badocgliocca's many neighbors, brought out the video camera.







On Sunday we went to the beach at Mondelo but it was a rainy, cold, windy day so no one went swimming. We were a little bit slacking on the photos as well. I was exhausted by the end because I woke up so early each morning to photograph and then we'd be out late or at least up late each night. I always enjoy working by the water. It was one of my favorite parts of this trip and is reflected in my photography. Once I discovered the harbor I went each morning, scrambling over boats and hopping happily from rock to rock.



Antonio catches a small Sarago at La Cala in Palermo, Sicily while fishing on Sunday morning with Angelo, a friend and fellow pescator. The Sarago they were catching seemed too small to eat but that is what they were for all the same. Antonio kept cocking his head at me quizzically, I could almost hear him wondering what this girl was doing perched on the edge of a rock, practically falling into the water. It was one of those moments when I realized how valuable not speaking actually was. If we'd spoken the same language I would have felt obligated to explain to him what I was doing and why, but in place of that I just smiled and kept photographing. As a result, I got a better picture.

I was basically useless when we got back on Monday. Recovering.
So now it's back into the London scene and time to edit all of our photographs.



Did I mention the food was great?