There were two sites of archaeological interest on our schedule. The first, a museum, which starts chronicling the history of Sicily from about 300,000,000 years ago, had a display of great interest at the ticket counter. Stephanie and I agreed he was stunning. The whole museum was peppered (if that’s the word) with such students, perhaps working for a stipend as part of their studies. It was interesting to see a fine museum staffed with young people in casual clothing.

The progression of civilization on this large, historically significant island is hard to overstate, but I’ll do my best. Early settlers found flint to be a useful substitute for claws and saber teeth. An enlarged brain provided additional advantage that has since been abandoned by Trump supporters. One witnesses the progress of crude pottery taking on attractive shapes, then colors, then glazes. Attention to detail eventually gets to parts of the human form that assumes an enlarged place in human history.

I have always been curious about the black on terra cot genre that captivated the Greeks to the near exclusion of all else for a huge percentage of their glazed pottery. Has art ever been so lacking iconoclasts? Or did the potters see Prometheus and say, “fuck that.”

If only I could grow hair on my nose.

The hat keeps me warm

Here’s how you tie a toga

Not like that

Finally! A pot to piss in

Got some tail at Lydia’s

Lydia

Breast feeding twins

Eventually, the Romans dropped by, the roads got better, women are said to have gotten more attention, and anti-intellectualism bloomed in the bloody theatre. Archimedes was stabbed to death by a Roman guard who must have one too many axioms stuck up his ass. Thus, Syracuse declined for a while.

The museum was so large and intriguing that we left the outdoor ruins for another day. As I hope you agree, it was a day well spent.

A day at the actual site of the Greek and Roman ruins is hard to describe, but I have made a questionable attempt with the following video:

My thanks to Mozart for proving the only part of the audio that wears well on the ears. I can see all the flaws in this, but the pursuit of perfection (or even a 6th grade level of competence) would mean that I could never finish this blog.

Thanks to Die Entfuhrung aus den Serail, K. 384, Neville Marriner – Academy of St. Martin in the Fields, for not suing me. (I hope.)

The afternoon lunch, back on the island of Ortigia, was enjoyed in a courtyard restaurant, canopied with grape vines. 

Pizza and spaghetti

Yeah, I was shooting the waiter

From the start, Syracuse had promise, convenient parking, a hotel along the water front, a room on the 3rd floor (our 4th in the US, as we object to a floor zero) with a balcony, all in a smartly renovated grand building, and warm, sunny weather.

Harbor near hotel

Some streets are broad

Some less so

Some buildings are colorful

Some are ornate

Archimedes fountain

Happy Mr. Hong

Stephanie had a restaurant recommendation, giving her a mission. We three old men hustled along behind, sheepishly oohing and ahhing at the wrought iron terrace rails, elegant cornices, heavy wooden doors with big knockers, narrow alleys that curve out of tantalizing sight, while she who must be obeyed, map in hand, head high in watch for helpful street signs, led us to one of the most outstanding restaurants in Sicily. We were wise to have followed. (But we would have done so if stupid, too.)

Rod ordered shrimp with tomatoes, while I made the superior choice of fava bean cream with fried salted cod. The shrimp were too lightly cooked for his liking, so we swapped dishes, ¼ eaten. I gesticulated like an Italian (the only thing I can do like an Italian) to make some now-forgotten, cogent observation, cleanly knocking an expensive glass of Sicilian white across the absorbent table cloth. The staff were quick to blot the spill with fine table linen. I ordered a replacement bottle, assuring a long lunch.

The Rogers had a tasting menu of various small dishes. My attention was too preoccupied to record each dish, but I can explain the photos. (ehh, maybe not—”fave bean” is what the menu said)

The traveling wannabes

Tasty fresh breads

Tuna with marmalade of peppers

Black rolls of scamp w sea urchin sauce

Salted cod on fave bean cream

Spaghetti, shrimp, sea urchin

Fresh pasta, mackerel, fennel

Fillet of yellow tail, potatoes, celery, carrots

Shrimp w chickpea cream

Lots of chocolate

It was a leisurely lunch. Last to leave, we probably cut into the staff’s siesta or other plans, so an invitation to return remains unexpected. The most expensive meal on our trip, it looked like lots of pizza over the next week…one could do worse. We didn’t.

The Mediterranean tradition of sleeping off one’s lunch alcohol worked well for Rod and me—well, me. Rick and Stephanie explored more of the city; Rick demonstrating a humiliating resistance to early retirement.

In the evening, we found the streets buzzing with excitement. This was the Saturday night before the start of school’s fall session. Half the crowd was under 25—the better looking half.

Italian youth rarely raise their voices when gathered. It seems like respect for elders, but I doubt that they even see us—we move like trees—but they do not draw attention to themselves among their friends. Americans pride ourselves on individualism and find lots to appreciate in that, putting celebrity and wealth above family and friends. Europeans value community, which gives them healthcare, free college, and gun control. We have Facebook and Donald Trump; they have slim bodies and stylish clothes. Tough choice.

Teens in a plaza

While seated at a table

We watched people

Sashay by

Looking cool

and a little distracted.

A couple of young lads, perhaps 12 or 14, were briskly walking up a broad, pedestrian street when one spotted a couple of friends his age. He pulled his companion over to greet them, kissed each friend lightly on both cheeks, introduce his friend, who shook hands. That seemed so foreign to me, but perhaps it is harder to punch or to shoot someone you have just kissed. That has always been that case for me.

We met an artist with an exhibit at a huge gallery (old, empty church). We were his last admirers of the day, but he spent time with us explaining his work while pacifying his infant son. Rick and Stephanie bought a stunning canvas from him. I took a photo of an engaging Greek subject, as is my wont—want?

He works in layers

English biographical note