of the immigration to Europe

The other night I had a dream which is haunting me.  Haunting me to ask if this is this is just a dream or a possible reality.  The dream was about a website, life vests, and immigrants.

Few photos are as disturbing as the ones we see of the immigrants landing on the Greek shores of Lesbos or the Italian shores in Palermo.

These people so desperate to leave their homes that they risk their lives in rickety boats and flimsy life vests.  The disbelief on their faces when they realize that they made it.  The joy of seeing their children on a new dry land.

The burden is huge and the number that arrive is incredible, overwhelming.  The discussion in the United States about the Mexican American border pales in reality.  Building a wall may be our discussion, but building a way to cope and accommodate is Angela Merkel 's responsibility and compassionate obligation.  Europe struggles to follow her lead and make room for all.

It is also affecting so many other countries.  refugees-and-life-jackets-fill-the-shops is an article from the New York Times reflecting on the life jacket sales in Turkey.  In Lesbos, it is another matter.  

"Since the beginning of the year, the number of refugees and migrants arriving here and on other Greek islands has surged to full-scale humanitarian-crisis levels. Arrivals by sea have surpassed 107,000 through July, according to United Nations figures, eclipsing even the numbers of people reaching Italy. Most of those who arrive on the shores of Lesbos, a popular tourist destination just off the coast of Turkey in the Aegean Sea, are fleeing the wars in Syria and Afghanistan and hoping to head deeper into Western Europe.  In June, 15,254 migrants and refugees arrived on Lesbos, according to the Greek Coast Guard, compared with 921 the same month last year.  But only squalor awaits them here. They arrive in a country that is deep in its own crisis, with an unemployment rate over 25 percent, banks not fully open and its government all but broke."

I have not seen this with my own eyes, but the photos are real, the photographers living in these moments are seeing it for me.

So, back to my dream.  What if, just what if, the life jackets that are so valuable on one side of the water could be valuable on the other side. 

What if we had an organization that was present when the people landed to take the jackets. What if they wrote a name or a phrase on the jacket that said how they felt making it across the water. The statement could be a brief thanks or a prayer or a name.

My dream was that the persons or organization could photograph the jackets. They could include the name of the person or their hands or a trinket or just a saying. The photo could be put on a website that allowed people to "adopt" the jacket before it is retired. The funds for the adoption could pay volunteers, local communities, and the immigrants.

This mess of jackets doesn't have to be the future.  Many people would be grateful to send $5 or $10 on social media to support the cause.  Families everywhere would gladly use their #VISA or #AMEX cards to pay the adoption fee.  Giant corporations like #VISA and #Mastercard could lend their support to the cause.  And somewhere there are brilliant programmers like #Anonymous that would help build a site for the process.  It was just a dream.  I woke up and it felt so real.  I don't know enough about #internationalrelief or #UNHCR or saving people.  I just know that life jackets are just that.  This pile and every other pile has done their job of protecting the person wearing it.

It just seems like we could make something more of it than an abandoned pile of the most risky event ever. It seems we could help Greece and Italy with the job they are doing. There are a plethora of volunteers on the shores that could also use the help. The WSJ article references many volunteers trying to raise money to go to Lesbos and help. They site that volunteers use is for individuals who want funding to go and help. Kickstarter is one. Very admirable.  I even considered this.  I would love to be a solid contributor.  I am not sure I would be.  I am not sure that getting money to go is the best use of the money.

But, I know that people want to connect.  Adopting something, like a life jacket, makes it yours; and even if it is a life jacket from a person, it will be a single person that risked their life that you can relate to on a one to one basis.

I can show you more pictures, but what I really want to know is if my dream is possible. I want to know if people that know me think it is real enough or if it was just a great dream.  I can find the resources, I can't find the hearts.

Let me know your thoughts.
http://www.nytimes.com/2016/05/29/travel/migrant-crisis-lesbos-greece.html?_r=0



and now the NYTs says this: 

of Bagheria Sicily, Italy

On our second to last day, we decide to follow a tour book.  Lonely Planet to be exact.  And since it is close and we have no other plans, we head out to the train station and catch a bus to Bagheria, Sicily.

Sounds rather exotic.  It is not.  It is 3 kilometers from the train station.  The signs direct you to the longest path possible, while the street turns right and would take you directly to the piazza of art on the bay.  This is the one thing to see in Bagheria.

Since we followed the signs, we walked 3 kilometers out of the way.  That is a lot of steps, in case you want to know.

fishing boats of Sicily

The signs eventually say Aspra, which is apparently the city within the City of Bagheria.  We walk though neighborhoods, rich and poor.  Sometimes feeling uneasy, sometimes bored.  Then, we pass a tower and the remnants of a the villa of a woman who died in 1118 and whose tomb is still maintained by the local officials.  The gardens have seen better days and the walls are crumbling around them.

The most interesting part of this trip is how the three of us handle the loser choice that was made to come here.  First, there was not much blame, other than it was my choice.  Second, we all judged the neighborhoods by the trash in the street.  Third, when the scenery is the same the entire walk, people get bored.  Fourth, when the walk is long, people bitch.  Uphill, downhill, whining.  Then, we see the sea!

This is Not Bagheria but I needed a picture so this is one of Palermo Bay

I have to commend my travel companions.  For they could have trashed me badly for picking something out of the book.  But they didn't.  They did make many comments on the scenery and the trash and the dog poop, which I might add is everywhere in large cities in Europe.

Watch where you step.  Watch how you hold your bag.  Words of wisdom no matter where you travel.

Anyway, we go  to the coast finally, and it is beautiful.  If we had not already seen the Amalfi Coast, it would be very beautiful.  But we had.  So ten minutes in, the guys are ready to leave, commenting on the trash in the water on the "beach" of rocks.  Trash is very apparent when there is no distraction...

Another metaphor for life...

And now home to cook.  We have spaghetti from egg noodles that are "fresh" and new sauce from the Carrefour.  We have antipasta of salami, buffalo mozzarella and olives.  We have fresh bread and olive oil.  We have wine and most important, we have the digestive.

Licorice liquor.  It is is like licorice jet fuel.  And we  love the two sips.  We leave the half bottle behind as a token of our affection for the island. And we take the recipe book of Sicily so that we can make new memories at home.

Ciao Ciao Palermo and Bagheria.  Ciao Ciao!

of returning to work and things you wish you didn't have to do and not wanting to think about it too soon

The last day in Palermo brings great angst.  Last night, I dreamt of being back at work and having to tell my boss something he might perceive as unpleasant.  It was intermittently interrupted by loud music and this weird electrical sound outside my window.  But I digress.  (turns out the local primary school is outside my window and the wind instruments are playing.)

Today, we toured the Teatro Massimo, the third largest theatre in all of Europe.  To my great disappointment, it was built in honor of Umberto Primo, who has a statute gracing every harbor everywhere,  His statute here is large and prominent, surrounded by arches of the porto and by the sea.  Imagine my surprise to hear that he is displeased by the great theatre built for him.  He says Palermo is nothing and does not deserve such a theatre, and he never sets foot inside.

you truly have to be here to appreciate the immenseness

this is the ceiling and the painting are window that open to increase accoustics

Poor Umberto Primo.  For such a lucky man of war, he was an unlucky man of taste.  But fortunately, Al Capone did step inside.  Godfather III was filmed in the theatre.  In Spite of either of these two, the theatre is amazing.  Stepping inside is incredible and now that I know the King's box is available ( Umberto made it a public affair), I will not hesitate to try and book the best.  We have missed the opera, ballet, and other performing arts all by a day.  Such a poor planner I am.  And there are no last minute stand up seats in these theatres.  No these are for the noble, or at least those who can pay.

And in the boys will always be boys category, there is this duo who find the visual behind them hilarious.  It doesn't matter, 28 or 68, they all still have boyish humor!  Enough said on that!

We take off to see another piazza, not previously explored.  This is the plebicita, the parliament of yore.  The locals call it the "Champs Elysee " of the island. Regardless, it is a fine building with horses charging as if they would leave the building for the drivers. Hooves above your head, with brass green blazing their legs.  Down below, standard breds (or the Italian equivalent) trot through the street with carts behind.  These horses almost blind with blinders (sorry for the horse take on this) and hats, stupid beyond belief.  The traffic booming around, these horse take of trotting forward, and tour buses beside them.  I told my son, I would rather be a French dish.  I apologize for my perspective.  My horses have acreage and only one rider to respond to.  Theses poor guys, must go forth regardless of traffic, weather, or noise.  These horses are fed.  They have shoes, with wooden plates, I might add.  It is just a luxury in the US and not here.

Shopping.  Well, yes the last day should be about shopping.  We leave the piazza and head to the one wine store that I liked.  It turns out not to be a wine store, but a souvenir store.  Matters not, we buy the limoncello for our friends.  We buy balsalmic vinegar for those who don't drink.  We buy candy for those we aren't sure of.  We are thinking of you, not being here with us. And, while I am happy I can buy this for you, next time, I want you to come with me.

the monument for those who died because of the Mafia

science fair in a church of the 10th century

a pope in front of the cathedralle

our view from the deck

our veiw from the patio

I am thankful for Michele, our host.  He was most kind and most helpful.

I miss my husband, glad my daughter came, glad my one son came and thinking Lindsay could have made it, and the rest of you, we just need to decide to go!  Patrick, you live up to your Saint name. Our next destination is only one year away...

.

rising to a tour day of Palermo and realizing how fun it can be

Today started out with a little plan, walk to the local monuments and then take a bus to Monreale.  Indeed, the best laid plans of mice, men and travelers in Palermo.

We took off left, towards the Cathedral and the Porto Nuovo.  North, I think.  (Turns out, North is to the water, and we were walking away from the water.)  We were on hoof and stopped at the patisserie across from the Cathedral. Cattedrale.  An espresso and a cappuccino, three pastries later and we were good to go.  The cathedral is surrounded by a garden and sort of it's own piazza.  We saunter across the gardens and into the church.  An incredibly large and combination byzantine and Norman architecture, it rises above and towers over every other thing in the city.    We entered into the Catthedrale, thinking it would be a long chute, just like every other church.  Instead, it is an overwhelming entrance into the "Walter of the Mill" church.  Walter commissioned the Cathedral to be his power base.  Unfortunately, it took centuries to complete.  And Walter lost to the the glories of William the second in Monreale.  Poor Walter, I don't even think he lived long enough to know he was out done.

I think this is all for the Madonna

the saints are depicted on the columns of the church.  My mother was confirmed after Saint Olivia

 Strolling the the cathedral, I don't take photos very lightly.  First, I am catholic, and feel like I should be genuflecting at every turn, second because I can't find the holy water.  There are turns every 30 feet for a new alter and a new dead leader of the church.  The latest is still in the very new tomb for show.  Ted's translation is that the cardinal was killed by the mafia and now is up for sainthood.  In spite of one's beliefs, the church, the Catholic Church, if you were raised in it, still holds an unbelievable power and mystery.

There is another tour, one for money, that lets you into the crypts and the roof.  Corbett wanted to be on the roof, but Ted could not do it.  I said I would.  I cannot tell you which one made me more weak, but I am so glad that Corbett was with me.  First, we paid our seven euros, then descended down to the treasury and the vaults and the crypts.  The treasuries were much like those of France.  Each pope, cardinal and bishop commissions a ring, a pen, a pin, a vesture ornament, a hat - all filled with jewels.  The wealth of the Cathedralle is amazing.  Elizabeth Taylor has nothing on these guys.  The interesting thing is  the rings all look like they are for very fat fingers, but the bodies outlined on the crypts are small and thin.  When we descended down to the crypt, I cannot lie, I had to do the sign of the cross twice.  Once for me and once for Corbett.  Ted stayed above ground.  I started getting creeped out, then we got to the pope that had his image on top of the crypt.  He had a leg cocked up, showing all his wares, his head on his elbow, a book in his hand, his sword and helmet beside him.  He could not have looked more comfortable.  I, on the other hand, started realizing how far beneath the street I was and needed to escape quickly.  While waiting for Corbett to come up the stairs, I took photos of the ceiling, which I am guessing was a good 75 feet above me.

looking up from the crypt entrance.

The last of the tour is the trip to the roof.  And they mean the roof.  You climb 110 steps in a very tiny spiral staircase to the roof. Once there, a person directs you to the walkway.  The alternative is a step on the tiled roof and then the ground 150 feet below.   Management  changed the pitch of the roof to a flat walkway 3 feet wide with flexible iron handled rails across the top.  The walk on the roof was fine, mostly as I was winded from the climb.  When we got to the dome, 75 feet along, my blood was back and so was my imbalance.  I clung to a corner which you see between the corners of this dome picture.  I encouraged Corbett to take photos, not realizing he would actually do it.  He went off and my back was plastered against the dome, slightly above the little minuet spires.  Corbett finally came back and we started again across the roof.  This time I held his shirt as if my life depended on it.  That is because it did!. He was mostly kind, but did stop to take another panoramic (really!!!) while were on the way back to the tiny spiral staircase.

Luckily on the way down there were two little boys talking behind me.  I don't speak Italian, but when they started counting: ono, due, tre, sounded so familiar!  So they counted in Italian, and I counted in French.  It was all fine till they got to novanta, and I had to switch to quatre vingt dix.   I realized they keep counting in tens and I had to switch to four twenties and a ten.  No matter, mil a onse and we are down!  I am no longer hostage to the depths or heights of the cathedral!  

It is truly beautiful and the treasury of the church is filled with riches beyond  belief.  It is amazing the jewels summoned by the reigning catholic official.  I don't know that I would recommend you come to Palermo for this, but if you do come to Palermo, please see this.  I leave the roof trip up to you, especially if you don't bring your own Corbett.

Tis the largest church we have been in since Rome

We left the church and went through the Porto Nuova which is an arch welcoming one to the city.

 We decided to try and go to Monreale Mountain, but it was closed by the clouds.  Then we walked to the piazza Indipendenza.     There we caught a tourist bus around the city.  It was a fun open top, we never do this tour.  We learned where the opera's were and the history of the city piazzas.  We saw places we might not have walked to like Teatro Politeama.  We jumped off at the Fountain of Shame.  Which in my opinion, the only shame is the painting and graffiti on the sides of the monuments.

Fountain of  shame

If I haven't lost you by now, the next adventure is to the  Teatro Massimo.  We eat at a local cafe and then look at the theater which is the third largest in Europe.  The stairs have a nun mystery to them that involves the second step.  But to learn about it cost euros and we decide we have learned quite enough from nuns already.  there is a place that reminds me of my husband near the front door.

Lastly, I want to go to the Carrefour, which for anyone who hasn't been to Publix, is the Europe equivalent.  So I am sure that I know where it is, as google is in my hand and two men are following me.  We get to a juncture and one of my party says left, and I say google says right and we make a giant circle to the place where we were before.  And then I must acquiesce the google to the map and we arrive before google says we will.

Wine, cheese and  Limoncello gifts later, we are walking back to our splendid apartment.  How nice to have three bathrooms!  Until tomorrow, Ciao!

Aww sweet Cefalu'

Woke up this morning and finally, finally felt like I was on vacation in Italy.  Young children shouting on their way to school, horns honking on their way to work, voices of mothers shouting in the piazza.  Water running through the pipes, and yes, wake up, its time to hit the train station and see lovely Cefalu'.

Cefalu' is pronounced Chef a loo, with emphasis on the loo.  It is a one hour train ride from Palermo.  The ride itself is beautiful as it clicks and clacks along the coastline, revealing hidden towns and bays.  Fishermen dot the sea horizon as we pass the small villages.  The water is remarkably flat and just as blue as the sea on the Amalfi Coast.  You can tell that once, maybe in the 1950's that this was a wonderful fishing village.  Now it is half fishing, half tourist - or maybe 80 percent tourism.

Corbett arrives in Cefalu'

the inlet in complete overcast with mountain cloud cover

The little village is snugged safely in the tiniest spot of real sand on this coast.  I love the colors of the houses and windows.  I am very thankful the day is not hot and the wind is not strong.  Rain had wetted the cobblestone streets and thankfully washed away the scent of dogs.  There is not a sacred corner in Italy, or perhaps they are all sacred.

With the wet, I gingerly tread the streets. I think we walk for at least a mile or so before deciding to stop and eat.  It wasn't great, but it was "classico".  How can you go wrong with pomodora and cheese, basil wrap with olive oil and oregano?  If you don't know what to order, order what they do well.  Wine menus often require you order the bottle. As we had miles to go, I had a Beck birre instead.

Off touring again.  We walk the streets and look at the views.  There is a monument to WWI soldiers.  Our first stop in the village.

 We trudge onward and find the port and the little cay or inlet.  The scenery is breathtaking.  One can envision the summer tourist invasion on this tiny town.  I am very happy to be here in November.

 The few tourists that are here, are European or Asian.  We run into very few Americans, which were so common in Napoli (Naples).  The shop keepers here run from the ice man who says nothing, to the lady at Helios that explains what matapalo is, which is really marzipan.  Corbett bought the bright colored fruit and was disappointed to find the almond paste as the center of the brightly colored fruits.  Turns out these are pastry that monks made to keep funds coming into their abbeys.  I liked them, but a tiny bit goes a long way.  Speaking of a tiny bit, I am a big fan of the local "digestive" which means a spirited shot usually  The shot of digestive for Sicily is Tutone Anice Unico.  A product of Palermo.  It tastes like licorice on fire.  Which at first sip - I do mean tiny sip - is a little alarming.  A full shot takes about a half hour to consume, at least for us Tallahasseeans...  I love licorice, so I was all in for the bottle.  It's a small bottle.  And it will most likely have some in it for the next guest.

Cefalu'

The train ride back was funny as a Swedish couple sat across from us.  The only thing they understood on the train was English instructions, just as we do.  When we leave the train terminal, we all exit crossing the street in front of the station which is a large circle of roaring vehicles. Buses, cars scooters.  Her husband darts out and goes half way turning to look for her.  She runs back and stands with us.  Then, there are enough of us to barge out to the road.  We cross and her husband is gleeful and he says, " It is so exciting!"  and she and I agree, only for men.  We try to find the grocery, but give up after our long day.  The night has descended and warnings of purse snatchers and thieves send us back to our lovely apartment.  Three bathrooms, one for each person!  Lovely.

Tomorrow is Monreale, a trip up the mountains to see a duomo.  A lovely day all in all.

Rising to the Last Leg Palermo

On the way to Italy, Ted continuously watched the Godfather on the airplane video console.  He said putting on a movie that you have seen 20 times makes him sleep better.  I hear the gunfire through his headphones and cannot imagine that there is sleepful bliss in this.

I bring that up, because  Palermo is very closely associated with Mafia history.  Salvatore Giuliano was the real deal.  Not the movie the Godfather, but a real Siciliani who was part of the "Robin Hood" image of Italians in the early 40's.  He was dashing and anti establishment - a villain hero, who was loved and hated by all. 

Salvatore, a handsome man

A lovely introduction to the Palermo streets.  We debated, is Palermo like Madrid or Costa Rica or Miami.  I am pretty sure the answer is yes.  Big open markets, lots of traffic, horns, whistles, yelling, hands and honking.  It is strangely attractive and sixties in architecture, though not really.  Tall buildings so you cannot see the port like one can on the Amalfi Coast.  And at the risk of the Palermo tourist industry people, dirty.  More street trash, more floating garbage in the harbor, more dog poop.

That said our little piece of heaven is fabulous.  Thanks to Michele, we have a three bedroom, three bath flat.  The kitchen is appropriately appointed and the living space and patios are to  live for.  We walk the the Ballaro Market and then down to the port.  We saunter back and hit a bar called, "the navy".  Which of course, Corbett and Ted must stop into.  We have a beer and a couple of paninis.  ( I almost called them sandwiches!)

We track along and see the Carrefour sign.  Don't know how I lived without them.  The Publix of Europe.  Open markets are great for most, but butter, oil and soap are best bought at the Carrefour!  Pronounce Cawfoe.  No r's.

patio view, like right there

View off the top balcony

sort of looks like the sun is peaking though for us

Palermo has not had time to know me, nor I it.  I love the deep roots and mysteries.  I am not sure I love the religion in every breath of every corner.  I need to feel this more deeply.  We head for Cefalu tomorrow.  Catacombs on Saturday.  Water tour on Sunday.  Busy last days.  Oh and last apartment had an elevator, and we were on first floor.  Now we are on three and a half

I miss you Charles and Morgan and Patrick.  Glad I have Corbett!

Rising to Capri

We stayed up late trying ot book charters to Capri, an island off the Napoli Coast.  Corbett and I finally gave up and pronounced to Ted that we had to go in person.

We did and we made it!

But first, we kill an hour in a different part of Napoli.  We have a cappuccino and Corbett has a cheesecake and an orange Fanta.  We watch the students, mothers and business people cross and recross the piazza.  A very nice spot except for the cigarettes.  The outdoors is always full of smokers.

Eleven comes and we are on the fast "jet" to Capri.  It is really a giant catamaran to the island.  Forty Five minutes total.  We get off the boat and try and orient.  Then I see the funicolare.  Love those.  Up and up and Ted not feeling the love so much.  Heights he says.  But aww the view.

I don't have photos of this, but the buses and the trucks and the cars and the anything else traveling on the road of Capri are truly the bravest and most technical people I can think of.  Today, the buses were so close that we felt the breath of the other riders.  Ted said there was an extra three inches, but I did not see it.  And on our right, the cliff straight down.  Look across the photo above and imagine driving around the rocky protrusions.  The drivers inching forward, squeezing busses into fiat size streets, mirrors in, people gasping, and me - I am sure that I tried to suck my belly into my lungs to help the cause.  And even then, with no buses coming, the roads sidle the edge and the lady next to me is doing the sign of the cross (a catholic thing).  Her boyfriend tries to comfort her and I tell Ted, there are worse ways to die.  And then the experience is in the past, as we are out on the streets and taking in the island views.

In case you are wondering, men from America act like men from America even in Italy.  "Do you know where you are going?"  "of course!"  Do you want to look at a map?  "Well that is inconvenient, but if you insist."  Should I ask someone for directions, Ted says?  Well yes.  And then we turn 180 and head up the hill not down the hill.

 Nope, no directions needed at all, why do you ask?

Ana Capri

We walk the top of the island.  One of the tourist offering is a lift up the mountain in single chairs, like a ski lift.   Ted does not want to ride the swinging chairs up the mountain as the clouds are covering the top.  I am sure he just doesn't want to ride the solo swinging chairs.  He is accompanied by a woman from New Hampshire, saying "no way!"  Ted offers to stay and have a beer with her while the rest of us go up.  But we decide to keep walking.  We have to be back at the port by four thirty and Ted is worried about time.  We take a short cut through the town, following the lovely Italian ladies below.  The view is the perfect ending to another day in paradise as we are told boarding our catamaran back to Napoli.  But if I ever come back, the swinging chairs for me!

A perfect end to the day indeed.