Syracusa: The First Day

In Syracusa I decided to start to approach Italian by sentences.  Max was preparing to close the Hostel for some repairs so he was on the desk the entire time I was there.  We had already discussed my new approach and he assured me that he would be willing to supply me with a new sentence whenever I needed one.  Charming.  The first sentence was going to be "Thank you very much. You are very nice but I am just looking." This kind of thing makes me laugh.  My idea was I would walk into stores that I knew I did not want anything and practice this a few times that first day.  Now that I know a little more about the language I laugh a little knowing that I made mistakes.  I already knew the thank you very much and you are very nice but I think a time or two I may have said I am just driving.  I ducked into a beautiful hat store, a Italian book store, a music store where they sold sheet music, a postcard store, a meat store (I did not leave empty handed) and a bakery, where I asked to just buy one of a beautifully tied knot of fluffiness covered in powdered sugar.   These crunchy fluffy things were piled in a mound that was being sold by the kilo.  Judging by sweet airy crunch of melting sweetness, I think you probably got a thousand of them when you bought a kilo.  The woman behind the counter smiled at me and just gave me two in a tissue without charging me, knowing that one would never be enough.   I am inspired by the spirit of it all and  find the Italians endearing when they just smile and bow politely.  

So there was my first goal for the day:  The sentence.  I would practice when I could and then I would add to it on this day a visit to a, well i will call it a castle. On the peninsula of Syracusa is an enormous building enclosed by a wall and a huge door.  The hours were in the morning so my  goal was to be there when it opened.  I don't remember what it was called but I could find it easily when I visit Syracusa again or move there for the rest of my retired life in a decade or two.  I avoided the area with the ear sucking waiter, walking behind the water front through the  streets shadowed by the labyrinth of homes made from stones and volcanic rocks, restaurants and stores to the end into the bright Sicilian sun.  The gate was open and surprisingly modern.  Behind the gate was another door enourmous, three stories high and probably 20 feet wide.  I have no idea how anyone opened it.  I just walked in.  I saw the ticket office and found it closed.  Inside was a police station.  I wondered around the grounds, climbed spiral staircases made of slabs of stone, descended tunnels on ramps made of stone into dark, cool caverns which were more than likely little workshops.  I found an empty cathedral with mosaics of angles and saints.  I wondered around for almost an hour.  I decided to try to see if the office was open so that I could pay for a ticket.  After finding it still closed I decided to leave.  When I tried to leave the giant door had been shut.  I tugged and tugged, pulled and tried to slide, but the door would not budge.  I saw a stair case behind the police station and climbed it hoping that it was a way out.  I was walking on the wall that surrounded the place and was startled by a shrill, loud insistent voice.  I turned myself to the source of this annoying sound, in front of me now, a small flush man with rapidly moving hands saying all sorts of rude things that was offensive at the very least.  Since the crazy ladies at the train station in Valle Lunga, I had not had such an angry experience.  This man had no concern for my well being he just wanted me out.  He was so aggressive and frustrate that he mutated my impulse for spite in situations like this, even though I knew he was probably working in the police station.   I decided that I was going to make him more frustrated by pretending that I knew nothing that he was saying and force him to play Italian charades with me.  I needed to see him silly.  I wanted a chance to enjoy how potentially ridiculous he could look.  Within seconds the speed of the man's hand gestures multiplied by at least two and soon he was opening an imaginary door and walking through it.  He was then closing the imaginary door and walking away from it, marching in place.  I could not help but cover my mouth and laugh out loud at him.  This frustrated him even more.  Then in the end when he was flush with frustration, in perfect Italian I told him. Sir the door is shut.  I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head. I actually surprised myself a little.  I did not know that I knew how to put that all together in a sentence until I put it together in a sentence.  I knew he knew what I meant and as far as I know this might have been one of the first times that I put an idea together that was not premeditated.  It was satisfying.   He turned on his heels and I followed.  We walked to the monster size door.  He lead and I followed directly behind him.  He inserted a huge key, unlocking it with a clunk.  I smiled, thanked him, wished him a good day and bowed a little.   This all made his mouth very small with anger and a little pale, he turned on his heels again and said nothing.  i don't know why but i enjoyed this very much.  I think I get this from my father.  maybe it is bitchy but he just did not have to be so mad.  cranky little bastard.

I did not let him ruin my day.  everything was still on schedule and I did not get arrested.  My next stop was to practice my new Italian sentence have tea in the Duomo square, visit the Duomo, see the Caravaggio, visit the underground bomb shelter that was used during WWII then cross town for my lunch time meat ration and possibly some gelato.  I was off to a very good start.