Snacks MIA: A Bumpy Train Ride and Market Adventures in Palermo
Our ten-hour first-class train ride from Napoli to Palermo has no snacks or water for the entire duration. Thankfully we brought some along, but only because we had leftover groceries from Napoli and an extra bag, which we might not have going forward since it is only for Kevin’s Advent Calendar of whisky reviews.
It’s the second time in as many cities that I’ve wondered if we are making a mistake selling everything we own to experience this adventure. We’re steps from one of the ancient markets of Il Capo, which sounded cool when we booked it, but the area looks a bit gritty at first glance. The shower in our Airbnb is half the size of a phone booth, and one of the heaters isn’t working, so we are shivering as we snuggle under the covers.
It’s our first full day in Palermo, and we finally get to see it in the daytime. The first positive is that our area is flat and we didn’t have to climb any hills to get here. We have yet to build effective routines around how we get settled in a city. Combined with a difficult night sleeping due to a cold I picked up immediately after leaving San Francisco, we started our day too late to enjoy a cappuccino. Italians are very concerned with digestion and milk in coffee isn’t allowed. We are more mindful of conforming to the customs in these more traditional cities than we would be in Northern Italy, so we gulp a quick espresso before exploring.
Palm trees abound, and there’s more space on the roads than Napoli for cars. Wandering through the market, it’s immediately apparent that this area wouldn’t pass inspection in the US. A large but low bin filled with busted-up plaster sits alongside fresh vegetables, and although the aisles are narrow, fumes from motorcycles that weave between pedestrians feel like an inappropriate combination. Napoli boasted fried seafood in a paper cone, but we didn’t see those. Here in the market, they are everywhere, beckoning stronger stomachs than ours so early in the morning. The cacophony of smells from fruits, vegetables, meat, seafood, and gasoline confuse and assault our senses.
As we stroll, we see six middle-aged men gathered around an outdoor table shouting at each other, waving their hands, and spilling dice. I want to stop and use caveman Italian to try to ask them to explain their game, but I worry that I’m too much of an outsider for them to welcome my intrusion. Regardless, we continue on our path towards our Airbnb with smiles on our faces. For maybe the first time in way too many years, we’ve slowed down enough to catch sight of the extraordinary in the ordinary.
