Cam and Pep shadowed by a Sicilian Sunset.
Benefits of being living in Madrid. Going to Sicily.
As much of a hassle RyanAir can be... you really cannot be their prices... And as much of a hassle Italian language can be.... you really can beat the sea air, the wine, the people, the pizza, and the gelato..... God the Gelato.
I suppose I should start at the airport, where this trip almost got halted instantly. I had a rookie traveler moment and lost track of my passport.... my less than legal passport... thru the security checkpoint. I swore that I had it in my pocket but somehow by some twisted act of fate, it ended up in the pocket of our local friendly 'Guardia Civil' agent. So the picture is me, pacing around the Barajas Airport security checkpoint, patting all my pockets, checking my bag, cursing in English and Spanish, swearing that I just had my passport. I ask the guy checking the x-ray screen if he had seen an idiot's passport lying around on the conveyor belt. He points me to the Guardia Civil agent. My heart drops. Joder. For those of you new to the Spanish federal law enforcement agencies, Guardia Civil is a little mix of the FBI and local Police, but most importantly they also play the role of the INS (La Migra).
As if I didn't have a plane to catch, I walk over to the agent as calmly as I can. He's busy on the phone. I try to get his attention, he looks me up and down and returns to his conversation. So as I stand 4 feet from him, waiting impatiently for a flight to catch, he continues to talk to his other Guardia Civil buddy about his upcoming weekend family get together. I don't think he knew I could understand him, but he's also Spanish, so he probably didn't care. He hangs up, and I throw on my best American tourist spanish, praying that he just looks at my ID page, and goes no further to my visas. Flips through it, gives a quick glance at my bloated Passport photo, gives a double take, asks where I'm from, "California", flips to my visa pages, clearly doesn't really look at the dates... hands me back the single most important document someone abroad needs. I walk back to Pepper and Camilla holding my bag and coat. Situation downgraded from Defcon 2 to 4. Lets go catch a Sicilian plane.
We arrive in Trapani, Sicily to a sleepy little village just big enough to be called a town nestled into one of the small harbors around 10ish. Me and my two traveling companions are eager to find our hostel/apartment to put our bags down and maybe 'mangiare' on some awesome cuisine. One problem, none of us brought a map, or address to our hostel.... this trip is littered with rookie traveler mistakes.... We go into scramble mode and thankfully are saved by our flatmates back in Spain who text us our destination. (I dropped the ball on this one)... End up in the living room of a 70 year old Sicilian lady, sweet as can be, but spoke not a lick of English, nor us any Sicilian. We work it all out and we do get into our apartment/hostel. The next few days are filled with flavorful pizzas, crazy rides in cars with Sicilian Pizza mom's, sunsets on a salt crusted seaside, ad hoc jazz clubs, and a foggy evening in a mountain village called Erice (E-ree-che). The Sicilian people are wonderful and life seems to take an even slower step compared to Spain, which is saying something. The countdown continues when baby boy arrives, Sara and I are waiting impatiently, but in the same moment, are enjoying these last weeks of full nights rest. Call or email to catch up say hi....
"And the adventure continues."
-Angelo A. Austin
-Lo
