When you think of ''Syracuse,'' maybe the first thing that comes to mind is an NCAA basketball team. Perhaps it's a city in upstate New York (well, it *is* a city in upstate New York; I just don't know if that's what comes to mind or not). Right now, I write to you from a town in southern Sicily called Siracusa, or Syracuse (in English). I got here yesterday, and though I've been including the days and dates in my entries, right now I honestly couldn't tell you either................................(30-second pause to go check). Ok, so yesterday was Thursday, April 24, and I arrived in the early afternoon. I figured that after I dropped off my things at my hostel, I would have a leisurely afternoon among some tourist sites and then save the rest for today, but as we all know, what you expect to happen is never what actually happens.
The woman working at the hostel suggested that I visit the Archaeological Park, which has, quite simply, lots of ancient stuff. It has a Greek theater dating back to 475 BC (undergoing construction -- but still viewable -- on April 24, 2008) and a Roman theater, from the 2nd century AD. It also has something called Paradise Quarry, a small stretch of land at the base of some cliffs where one can find lots of fruit trees of the lemon and orange variety. In addition, there are two large artificial caves cut into the walls, called Orecchio di Dionigi (Ear of Dionysius) and Grotta dei Cordari (Ropemaker's Cave). The park also features the largest altar in the world, Ara di Ierone II. As I was walking around Paradise Quarry, I walked by a whole bunch of flowers that gave off the most delightful scent (and you'll know this is true because I never use the word ''delightful''). I leaned forward to smell the flowers from closer in, and this old guy who works for the park was passing by and said that it wasn't *those* flowers that gave off the scent on the path. Rather, it was some flowers behind that tree. He then started telling me some history about the park and then how his job is to make sure tourists don't climb the fruit trees that line the the walkways (at this moment, he actually started to scold one tourist for climbing a tree for a photo) or hop the fence to be amidst all the trees. He then asked me if I wanted a lemon from the tree. Uhh, what? Sure! So, he opened the gate to the ''forbidden to tourists'' area, and I followed him to the fruit trees. (Don't fear for my safety -- I could have kicked his ass if it had come to it. He didn't strike me as the Mr. Miyagi type.) Next, he picked two lemons from the tree and gave them to me and told me to put them in my bag. This was totally weird -- a) normally I work alone and b) if I have an accomplice, it's never an employee of the House! The oranges, unfortunately, weren't edible because they were too bitter. Too bad. So we continued walking among the lemon and orange groves, and he asked me if I had ever tried a certain kind of fruit. Not knowing what the English translation of said fruit was (I can't remember the name now), and not recognizing the fruit, I said no, so he picked the fruit off the tree, ate one (to show me it was edible), and then gave me one to try. It was delish! So he gave me a whole bunch more, told me to put some in my pocket, and that ended my impromptu tour of the fruit trees in the middle of the Greek and Roman ruins. Originally, I had planned to check out the Archaeological Park on Friday, but because the woman at the hostel suggested I go in the afternoon, I decided, ''Why not?'' and went to check it out. You never know what the afternoon holds.
From the park, I took the local bus down to Ortigia, the island where the Greeks landed, using it as their port of entry for their attack on the mainland. Since I didn't have a bus ticket (in Italy and Sicily, you need to buy tickets at designated shops), I got on the bus and decided it was worth it to selectively demonstrate to the bus driver that I wasn't from around here, so I asked him, ''How much is a ticket?'' He said, I needed to have it already, and I said, I thought I could get it on the bus (oh so sneaky of me). Since there was traffic and he needed to get a move on, the doors closed, and he started going, so I found myself a seat. Really, it doesn't matter to him -- it just matters if the official guy comes on the bus at any point to do a ticket check, and if you don't have a ticket, you get fined. Lucky for me, it turned out fine! I rode the bus all the way to Ortigia (not that far, but it was a long ride in traffic) without any problem. Cost? 0 dollars. But remember -- everything is more expensive since the dollar sucks now. So the conversion in euros? 0 euros! Sometimes risk-taking just works out.
When I got to Ortigia, I walked around the island for much of the evening, starting with the fenced-in ruins of the Tempio di Apollo, dating from 575 BC. I walked down to the Fonte Aretusa, a kind of disappointing pond (when you're expecting a fountain) right by Porta Grande (the sea). There's some mythology to how the landmark came about, but it seems to me that the if the siracusani wanted this pond to be a landmark, they had to come up with something to make it seem more interesting, because right now it's just a big pond with some swans and some plants in it. After the Fonte, I meandered through the charming little streets up toward the 18th-century Duomo. The door was open, so (naturally) I went in, but the whole place was dark. Not pitch black -- dark enough that I knew the cathedral was closing soon, but light enough that I could still get an idea of what was there. I was the only one in there, though, for a few minutes, before a couple of other visitors came in. For those few minutes, however, it was a little creepy -- it reminded me a little bit of when I visited the wax museum three years ago in Barcelona and was the only person there for the duration of my visit. (Never again!) Anyway, after checking out the cathedral, I walked around in Ortigia a bit more before sitting at an outdoor cafe for a little. Eventually, I made my way back to the hostel, where the woman from the hostel didn't want to eat alone, so invited me to eat with her. Granted, I had just eaten, but when in Sicily...besides, she had brought food from home. This meant homemade Sicilian sandwiches and pizza (yes, she brought both). Too bad she didn't make cannolis and gelato. Ah well. Beggars can't be choosers.
Now that I've seemingly done what there is to do in Siracusa, it's time to head north for Catania.
'til the next time,
missy
http://andsmilestogobeforeisleep.blogspot.com/
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