Exhaustion

Well this was a new experience.  It was a level of exhaustion I hadn't experienced before.  I had done all nighters before (for both work and fun), I had been through physical challenges in the past that meant a lack of sleep... but this?  This was an ongoing level of hammering that was wearing away at my resistance.  The first few nights had been fine, with baby still sleeping even if for a shorter period through the night.  Now, we experiencing him waking every few hours.

He was just a baby.  I couldn't blame him for any of this.  It was just a part of the natural cycle of things.  Still, it did mean that I was completely and utterly shattered during the days.  The paternity leave entitlements in Hong Kong were far from generous, so I also found myself in the unenviable position of having to go to work each day after having spent most of the evening feeding and soothing the crying child.

When I managed to calm him.  To put him to bed.  That feeling of success and satisfaction was hard to beat.  Yet it was probably just as much to do with relief at knowing I could get a couple of hours of extra sleep.

A baby photoshoot

 Veronica was completely enamoured with Pickle.  He was so small and delicate.  She wanted to capture every moment of his life.  Our phones were filling up fast with photos and videos, but more was still needed.

Professional support was needed to satisfy Veronica's requirements.  She found a studio online that did at home visits to do baby photoshoots.  I wasn't sure how I felt about it all.  It seemed all a bit much.  I loved having Pickle in our lives, but did we need to go to these lengths to capture these early moments of his life?

We probably didn't, but like with many things in life, "need" is a strong word.  We may not need many things, but that doesn't mean that they aren't nice to have.  The pictures came out well.  The photographers seemed to be baby whisperers, able to calm and sooth at all times, which resulted in some incredible pictures.

A new arrival

I had restless night.

It was nothing compared to what Veronica was going through, but I still felt exhausted.  My friend Christoph had been kind enough to let me crash at his place close to the hospital, so I tried to sleep.  I put the phone next to my head and closed my eyes.  I expected to be woken with a call, but nothing came.  After a few hours of sleep, I woke up and made my way back to the hospital.  Even without the call, I preferred to be there with Veronica.

At the hospital, there was still no major change.  Veronica had barely slept and was still waiting.  I sat in the same cafe downstairs and kept waiting until the call finally came that she was being moved into the delivery ward and that I could finally join her.  I packed up my things and moved up quickly to the private room where she had been moved in anticipation of the labour starting.

Inside the labour room, we were still waiting.  Veronica paced around, the pain of the contractions still intense but with no further dilation.  A doctor had come to induce her and to break her water, but there still didn't seem to be any major progress.  I tried to comfort her as much as I could.  One of the nurses came and suggested some deep tissue massages in her lower back to help ease her pain.  Between us, we took turns massaging her back to try to give her some relief.  The nurses left, and I was alone with her as I tried my best to comfort her through the painful contractions.  Baby had decided that the best place to rest his head was on the base of her spine , so every contraction was doubly painful.  The nurse came back to check.  A sudden flurry of activity began as the nurse declared with surprise that Veronica had gone from being barely dilated to now suddenly being fully dilated.  The baby was coming.

The nurses ushered me out of the main area and onto a seat to the side as they prepared the room for the birth.  The bed was changed and Veronica was helped into a better position.  Once ready, I was led back in to be by her side.  I took her by her hand as she began the process of labour.  Something so many people have gone through before, something so intrinsically part of who we are as humans, and yet something which is so foreign and unique an experience to the uninitiated.   

The intensity and the pain that Veronica went through was incredible to witness and to be near.  It was an emotional experience as I tried to encourage and support her as best as I could from my position to the side.  I held her hand.  I spoke as many words of support as I could think of.  I helped her count.  The nurses urged me to be vocal in my support and so I took on as much of a coaching role as I could.  It seemed apt.  I gave her timing instructions.  I helped her with her pacing.  I gave her unwavering moral support.  What more could I do?  I was deeply invested in this and yet I felt incredibly impotent and powerless through it all.  There was ultimately nothing I could really do.  This was something Veronica had to go through alone, with all of us mere bystanders hoping to be of some minor help.

The time went quickly.  It went very quickly.  From when I was ushered out and then back in, it was only forty minutes.  In that short time, it was done.  With one final push and with the firm hands of the midwife, a new life sprang into our world.  A gentle cry started, with eyes closed and in shock.  I felt a huge wave of emotion.  It was a powerful experience to have gone through.  The nurses checked Veronica, the doctor came to make sure everything was fine and to check the baby.

Then the baby was brought to his mother, placed immediately on her chest.  The warmth and the sound of her heart instantaneously soothed him.

It had been nine months.  Now we would commence the next part of our lives together.
 

Waiting for a new arrival

The baby was coming.  It was very clear that he would be slightly earlier than expected so we needed to go the hospital.  Veronica had been experiencing some terrible nights sleep and by the morning, her contractions had started and were becoming frequent.  At each contraction, she froze in pain and had to lay down.  It was difficult to watch, with nothing I could do to help her other than to offer my support.  I grabbed our prepared bags and we made our way to the hospital.  There, Veronica was quickly admitted to the prenatal care ward.  She wasn't quite ready to be moved to the room for labour yet.  So we would have to wait.  With her being in this prenatal care ward, it meant that I could only stay during the designated visiting times. So instead, I found myself a cafe to camp myself and to wait.

I tried to do some work, to clear up as much as possible as I waited.  It was a strange time.  Full of nervousness, anticipation, and anxiety.  Through all of this, I also felt a sense of complete powerlessness.  As with Veronica's pain, there was nothing I could really do.  Even my ability to be physically close to her as she struggled with this final phase of the pregnancy was now taken from me and I was reduced to being a distant player.

I walked around the grounds of the hospital a bit.  I tried to stay calm and rational.  The fresh air helped, but I thought it best to keep my busy so I went back to the cafe and worked.  There wasn't anything else I could do, so I used this time to deal with open work matters and to close things off as much as I could before the baby's arrival.

Once the evening visiting hours arrived, I rushed back upstairs to be with Veronica.  She had been suffering but was still it seemed no where close to labour.  I waited with her.  We walked around the ward together and as I tried to provide her with as much comfort as possible.  The nurse checked her again close to when it was time for me to go.  There was still a lot of time to wait.  She told me that I should go and find somewhere to get some sleep, she even said that it wasn't time yet for me to be pacing in the hallway!  I wanted to stay close, so I called a friend who lived nearby and arranged to crash at his place.

Pavlova Christmas

I was over the moon to have won 4kg of passionfruit from Cheese Club.  Over the last few years, they had continued to grow in Hong Kong and Asia.  I was a big fan of their service and it made buying dairy products far more affordable in Hong Kong.  Their success had also led them to expand into other areas such as fruit.  With the Christmas period in full swing, they had launched a series of giveaways.  I had signed up to everything I could, and the win of the fruit was a very pleasant surprise.

Still, with 4kg of passionfruit, I needed to think of what to do with it all.  The fruit themselves were delicious, probably the best passionfruit I had ever eaten, but I still had too much of it to just casually eat day to day.

Since it was a festive time, it seemed that the best use of it would be for a pavlova.  This cake from my childhood that seemed to be the specialty of every grandma in Australia was still a favourite.  Making a pavlova was easy, but making a good one usually took a bit more effort and concentration.  I had a good recipe, and now that I had the fruit it seemed to be the perfect time.

Fully decorated, it is a thing of beauty.  After our dinner, Veronica's family all took a slice and quickly embraced it.  Who doesn't love a good pav?

Heavy rains

The typhoon had come and gone.  So Hong Kong was now back to normal.

Well that's what we all thought.

Instead we were all in for a big surprise.  As I prepared for bed one night, I could hear the rain outside.  It had been wet since the typhoon, so this wasn't anything out of the ordinary.  The rain was getting heavier.  I could hear the rain coming down hard.  It was still nothing out of the ordinary.  Heavy rain can be common in Hong Kong, so much so that there's a system of warnings in place at the Hong Kong Observatory to warning people when it gets too much.  I didn't think much of it as I lay in bed and closed my eyes.  I could still hear the heavy rain.  It was actually quite a soothing sound and I was soon asleep.

I woke up to the sound of rain.

I wasn't sure if I had slept.  The rain sounded as heavy as it had been when I had fallen asleep.  I wondered if it was still early or if I had only been asleep a short time.  I looked at my clock.  There was no mistake, I had slept the full night and it was the morning.  I thought that maybe it was just a coincidence that the rain had been at its heaviest when I slept and when I woke.  Strangely, in the back of my mind I did wonder whether the heavy rain had persisted through the night.

I stepped out of bed and looked out the window. 

It hadn't been a coincidence.  It had indeed rained heavily all night.  We were to find out later that this had been the heaviest rain that Hong Kong had ever experienced.  It was a once in 500 year event that had completely saturated the city and left flooding all over.  There was reports and videos of landslides, flooded buildings and general mayhem.

By mid morning, the waters had started to recede.  Veronica and I went downstairs to look for food and to investigate our surroundings more thoroughly.  Everywhere there was mess and filth.  The flooding had brought with it all the dust and dirt in the city, and caked it all over the roads and sidewalks.

At one drain, we found the remains of an early morning noodle delivery.  It must have been left in front of a restaurant by the delivery drivers only to be carried away by the flooding that came later.

As we turned the corner, we found the biggest sign yet of the true severity of this event.  The local McDonalds, the store that never closes no matter how bad the typhoon, had been shut down by the flood.  Being in the basement of the building, we could only imagine how bad the flooding downstairs had been.  Many of the shops and buildings in Hong Kong are raised a "step", which is normally more than enough to deal with the usual heavy monsoon rains.

This was a different case altogether, and the flooding had gone above that first step which meant a long and expensive clean up for many of the ground and basement stores throughout the city.

Amazingly, the resilience of this city was such that by the afternoon, I could already hear the rumbling of the trams rolling along the routes that had been flooded only hours earlier.

Super typhoon days

It had been years since we had felt in the "typhoon mood".   There had been a few big ones since Mangkhut, but none of them had seemed to impact the city in the same way.  The shut downs that normally come with the typhoons had been short.  The coming of Typhoon Saola seemed like a return to the old days.  The observatory had been warning about it for days in the lead up, with a direct hit on Hong Kong predicted.  Everyone seemed to be awaiting its arrival with a strange nervous anticipation.  It was hitting on Friday and there seemed to be a city wide assumption and agreement that there would be no work done that day.  When the T10 was raised Thursday evening, no one was surprised and everyone was already well prepared for the Friday of work from home.  Shops had been cleared out and everyone had stocked up on the essentials for a weekend in.

The storm started to hit and hit hard.  The city was still shutdown, but it seemed to not be too bad outside.  We went out at lunch for some food and we could see some trees had already born the brunt of the winds. 

We were hungry, so we went and partook in some McDonalds.  Even with everything else is closed, McDonalds seems to somehow stay open during the worst typhoons.  I remember also eating McDonalds the last time there was such a big shutdown.

By the afternoon of the next day, it was gone and the city began the assessment of the damage done.

The worst of it hadn't lasted that long, but there was damage everywhere.  It didn't seem too serious, but trees had been felled and there was garbage and debris scattered everywhere.

What was most amazing though was that everything seemed to be restarting already.  Only a few hours had past since the warning signals had been lowered and everyone was already getting on with their lives.  Chainsaws roared everywhere as the clean up crews were busily dealing with the trees.  We had a farewell dinner planned that night for Rachel.  We had been worried it would be cancelled and yet it all still went forward without a hitch.

Approaching Mt Etna

The time spent at the beach in Cefalu was great.  After being confronted by Palermo, it had been a lovely respite and chance to calm down.  We were now well and truly into the second half of our trip which would be focused more on a slow relaxation.  I hired a driver to take us to our next location on the East coast of the island.  Had we had a bit more time, I think I would have liked to have hired a car myself and driven around the island, but given we weren't going to be moving too much and we wouldn't be finishing at the same spot, it seemed to make more sense to only get the car when it was needed.

The drive took us through the middle of the island.  The journey seemed to take less than two hours, and in that time I saw the landscape change dramatically.  It was an interesting journey that took us from the dry and at times almost desolate parts of the Northern part of the island, through the centre and towards more lush and fertile areas towards the East.  At the start, I couldn't help but think of back home in Australia.  There was a harshness to the landscape and a colour palette that seemed ripped from a pastoral image in country NSW.  This was an island with an incredible history as well.  For such a short journey by car, it seemed to belie the struggles and pains of those who had come and fought through these lands in the past.  Recently, this was of course the first location of the Allied reinvasion of Europe during World War II, as Patton and Montgomery both raced up through the island.  Going back far more years, this was the location of the failed Athenian Sicilian Expedition.  One of the turning points in history as the finest of Athens died or were sold into slavery after they unsuccessfully tried to take the island.  The suffering of those men would have been immense as they struggled through the valleys and the gaps between the imposing hills and mountains.  Yet now, we were able to glide effortlessly from one side to the other in a morning.

Since the drive wasn't too long, I thought it made sense for us to use the opportunity to visit a winery on the slopes of Mt Etna.  Our driver had helped us to arrange a scenic spot for both lunch and a tasting.  We reached the city of Catania and looped past on our way up to Mt Etna.  The road started the very slow climb up, and we could soon see the various vineyards that sat on the slopes.  The car entered into a region that seemed to be almost exclusively vineyards and wineries.  The car turned down a small road and led us to the vineyard.  Through the old stone walls, we walked through into a beautiful open area shaded by trees and overlooking the rows of vines.

It was a breathtakingly beautiful scene.  I struggled to think of the right word to describe it all.  Pastoral?  Bucolic?  Neither of those terms seemed to fit.  It was a scene of refined elegance.  It was a highly curated natural beauty, but it was lovely.  Walking into the breezy open area, I felt this sense of relaxation and calm.  We were led to our table underneath the shade.  We were being served a tasting menu paired with wines grown in the vineyards we were sitting opposite.  As the food came, we sat deeper into our chairs.  It was simple food that was cooked delicately with produce from the area.  Eggs, dairy and seafood, all served of course with various pasta dishes.  With each dish, a wine was paired.  For all our happiness with our situation, we looked at one another a bit with each wine.  There was no other way of describing them, except as not good!  I thought I would give them some time to breath a bit more before making my final judgment.  It didn't work, more time seemed to make the wines worse.  There was a sour sharpness to them.  It had been something we had noticed since arriving in Sicily, and I would be educated more later by sommelier and wine merchant friends that the myth of the great Sicilian wines was limited to the truly exceptional wineries.  For all others, it was apparently best to stay away. 

It was all fine though and it was nothing to be complained about.  Just another interesting quirk and experience of travel.  We both sat comfortably and satisfied with where we were.  The sun was up, and we could feel the warmth in the air, along with the cool wind that blew across.  Looking out from our table, there were the usual couples like ourselves, but also some large families who seemed to making their grand tour of Italy together.  Maybe it was a return to an ancestral home, an attempt to connect with the past?

Well fed and full of wine, we found the driver and got back in the car.  The final drive to the hotel was short but scenic.  We were winding along small streets and seemingly innumerous small towns that surrounded the slopes of Mt Etna.  Our driver lived in the area and explained the lifestyle of the area to us, the family life and the lovely benefit of having access to such fertile soils for their personal gardens.  The road became steeper and we began to climb.  Not too far away, we could see small towns that dotted the tops of the hills and high points.  One of these was our next stop, Taormina. 

We arrived in front of the grand old hotel.  We checked in quickly, and I immediately took Veronica with me down through the hotel garden to the pool with the spectacular view.  Perched out at the very end of a cliff, it had a commanding view that looked out towards the ocean.  I jumped straight into the water, wading up and down gazing back and forth towards both the sea and the mountain.  This would be a good place to spend the next few days.

Ferragosto in Cefalu

I had been a little bit concerned about the timing of the holiday.  I had booked the trip for the middle of August, which hits not only the tourist high season, but also the mid year public holiday in Italy called "Ferragosto".  This holiday dated back to ancient times and was the mid way mark of holidays for most local Italians.  So not only would we be competing with the foreign crowds, we would very likely be competing with the local Italian crowds as well as some potential holiday closures.  I hadn't taken any of this into consideration when I had booked the trip, so as the big day approached I was wondered whether there would be any negative impacts for us.

On the night before, we left Palermo and boarded a train for the beach town of Cefalu.

It was a very full train.

A train that became progressively more full the further we went.  This wasn't an express train between towns, this was a commuter train that seemed to be doing the milk run between Palermo and Messina.  There weren't any other options though, so short of hiring a driver to take us, this seemed to be the only way to go.  We were fortunate enough to get seats, but we also had all of our luggage with us.  At every stop coming out of Palermo, more people boarded the train.  It wasn't long before there was almost no space left at all, with people crammed into the aisle and standing shoulder to shoulder in the doorways.  These trains have a reputation for pickpockets and theft, so I kept a keen eye on our bags.  Luckily, others were also in similar situations to us and seemed to be just as mindful.  The trip wasn't long, less than an hour, but with the constant stopping it felt far longer.  When we arrived, we wheeled our bags the short distance to the hotel. We quickly got changed into our swimwear and headed towards the old town and the beach.

The old town of Cefalu is a lovely place.  It felt every bit the Mediterranean resort town.  The streets were compact and narrow, with the historic old buildings lining all the lanes to give it an intimate and welcoming feel.  The tourist trade had been very kind to this town and everything seemed exceptionally well maintained.  Everything was neat and tidy, all the shops and buildings were all immaculately restored.

The town itself was very small and we soon arrived at the beach.  It was a lovely Mediterranean beach.  The water was beautifully calm and the sand was covered in the umbrellas of the beach clubs.  We walked along the entire boardwalk.  It stretched towards the very end of the town.

We ducked back into the old town itself and visited the old wash house and the incredible doorway which opened up to the small beach and harbour next to the town.  It was all visually stunning.  We looped back into the town again and found small galleries and a place to eat.

Satisfied with our exploration of the town itself, we went back to the beach.  The town really was very small.  I was enjoying our explorations, but I was also glad I didn't commit too much of our time to this place.  A day or two seemed more than enough to get most of the sights and to enjoy much of what the town had to offer.  With its close proximity to Palermo, it also seemed completely inundated with day trippers and so it also didn't seem to be the best place to linger for too long in search of relaxation.  I hadn't been in Sicily too long, but I already felt there would be better more far off places that would offer better options for that sort of respite.  Back at the beach, we wandered along the boardwalk again in search of some spots at a beach club.  Several were already full, but the hosts were helpful in pointing us towards other clubs that may be more accommodating.  We eventually found a spot about half way down the beach.  It wasn't as close to the main part of the old town as we would have liked, but it did instead give us a far more impressive panoramic view of the entire town in the shadow of the "rock".

On the beach, we found our chairs and enjoyed the beautiful day.  The sun was shining.  The weather was warm.  The water was wonderfully cooling.  Families sat near us chatting and playing games.  Other couples lay next to one another holding hands and sleeping.  We ordered some food and drinks and embraced our surroundings.

Our initial disappointment at not being closer to the main part of the old town also quickly disappeared as we discovered that we were at the part of the beach which had a long sandbank.  We were able to walk along the sandbank out several hundred metres into the middle of the ocean.  I went out several times, jumping in and out of the water and looking back at the picturesque town.  After a few more trips in and out, I grabbed my phone and walked further out again.  I stood back with Veronica and we took photos of this surreal location, being so far out in the middle of the water.  The water itself was also incredibly clear.  We had been lucky the last few years with our travel and we had seen the blue of the Mediterranean in different places, each time uniquely striking in its colour.  This time, I was amazed by the clarity of the water.  It was like a shimmering glass, so perfectly clear that I could see our feet clearly even as the water lapped at our shoulders.

We went back to the hotel for a brief rest.  The beach had been very enjoyable but the heat had been tiring.  We napped in our room before getting ready to go out again.  It was dark and the intense heat of the day was gone, but it was still comfortably warm.  We walked back towards the old town to find a place for dinner.  The town had been completely transformed for the evening.  With Ferragosto, there were lights and decorations everywhere.  

This was a happy period for the Italians.  A time of rest and celebration that traced its time back to the Roman era.  Each street had been adorned with the bright lights for the festivities and it gave the entire town a joyous carnival like feel.  It was late, but everything was open.  The streets were full of happy people enjoying the lovely evening.  The cafes were full.  The stores open for business.  It was an incredible feeling to be surrounded by the revelry and the happiness was infectious.  We walked down the main street and bought arancini to snack on as we looked for something more substantial.  Each of the arrancino was hand made to order and immediately cooked in front of us.  They were crispy and hot on the outside, hot and soft on the inside.  It was a warm and satisfying feeling to eat them as we sat on the side of the street watching the laughing crowds go by. 

We walked further down the edge of the water and found a restaurant by the sea.  We sat outside on the terrace and ate dinner.  It was a large restaurant, but the inside was empty.  The true attraction was outside and everyone was seated out on the lovely terrace facing the ocean.  On the one side we could hear the waves of the ocean, on the other side we could hear the distant sounds of crowds and parties. Along the coast, there were other restaurants, all with their terraces full of diners.  After dinner, we headed back into the town.  The parties were starting there was music everywhere.  We walked around the harbour, admiring the scene and soaking up the incredible atmosphere.  Everyone had warned me about Ferragosto.  Too crowded.  Everything closed.  I couldn't disagree more with all the advice on this.  This was a wonderful time to be in Italy.   

Palermo

We arrived mid afternoon in Palermo.  The aiport was outside of the city and the drive in was about 45 minutes.  It wasn't exactly scenic, with the most of the surroundings being low rise buildings and a very dry landscape.  There were some impressive geological formations that seemed to rise out of the ground that reminded me a bit of some places I had visited in the Middle East.  When we arrived at the hotel, we were confronted by an incredibly strong smell of room deodoriser.  It was candy sweet and seemed to get into everything.  The room was otherwise spotless though.  We left out things and immediately headed out to explore the city.

We had booked our hotel in the middle of the old city and so we started walking towards the famed street market of La Vucciria.  Along the way, we walked past a street that was decorated with lights and love hearts.  I immediately thought back to the Spanish Quarter of Napoli.  Would this be a similarly vibrant city full of life and joy?

We sat down in the market.  It was busy and full of tourists.  It had a semblance of being a working market, with fish stalls selling their goods, but the restaurants lining the lanes seemed to indicate that the tourist dollar was far more important.  We were still able to get a good meal, with our first plate of the hearty pasta alla norma and a fresh platter of frito misto.  It was simple food, but cooked well and with ingredients that sang with the flavour of the region.

The next couple of days were spent wandering the streets of the old town of Palermo.  It is an enormous area and claims to be the largest "old town" in Europe.  There were several large intersecting streets which seemed to be the centre of the touristed old town, with other parts being far less populated or visited.  It didn't quite feel like we were in Italy anymore.  There was a more decrepit feeling to everything that once again reminded me of Napoli.  It was a similar feeling of lost grandeur, but without the same grit that Napoli had.  The heat seemed to take an edge off everything and beat down on these old buildings.

We tried to find the famous places to visit in the city.  We stood in the middle of Quattro Canti and looked up and around at the statues that were arrayed at each of the four corners.  All around were the streets full of small shops selling gelato, granitas, cannoli and knickknacks.  Further along, was Palermo Cathedral.  Inside there was nothing particularly memorable about the large cathedral, but with a purchase of a ticket you had the opportunity to delve deep into the recesses of the crypt along with go to the very top to walk along the roof.  Both of these places were well worth the cost of the admission.  From the top of the cathedral we looked out far and wide across the city.  There didn't really seem to be a modern CBD.  There was the old town and then the more modern built up buildings that spread out far into the distance.

Further along still was the Norman Palace.  The building a is a strange mismatch of times, styles and designs.  Parts of the building are now a museum and other parts seem to continue to operate as the local government chambers.  We walked through some of the galleries, but what we were really interested in was the "Capella Palatina" (the Palatine Chapel).  Deep in the middle of the palace was this old church built by the famous Roger the Great of Sicily.  Compared to other churches we had seen in Italy, this place was exceptionally old, having been built during the twelfth century.  This was a building created during the middle of the Crusades, far older than the usual renaissance fare we were used to in other places.  Like our visit to Arezzo, we were instead walking through something that was very much from the Middle Ages.  After several trips across Europe and having seen some beautiful cathedrals everywhere, there is definitely a fatigue that begins to creep in.  What was once unique and spectacular becomes lost in the crowd of other similarly beautiful places.  This Capella Palatina was uniquely memorable and beautiful.  It was built by both craftsman from both the Greek and Islamic world, so it was a blending of cultures and styles that I hadn't see since my backpacking days in Syria.  The intricate beauty of the roof matched in a strange contrast with the ornate Byzantine mosaics.  I couldn't help but think back to the stunning Ummayad Mosque in Damascus.  King Roger had ruled over a cosmopolitan kingdom, full of people and cultures from the entire region.  It was a melting pot of people and this lovely place was the reminder of the wonder that could be achieved with such a blending of ideas. 

After enjoying the beauty of the Capella Palatina, we made our way back towards the middle of the old town.  We had found an old church and nunnery during our initial exploration, but what we wanted to experience was the dolceria that was inside.  It had been closing when we first visited and so we arranged our exploration to circle back another day when it was open.  On the inside was a bakery run by the nuns to raise money for their work.  People lined up for the various sweets, but what was the clear standout were the cannoli.  Each was made to order, with the option to select the toppings to go on each end.

It was my first cannolo in Sicily.  I went for chocolate and pistachio.  Veronica of course asked for everything.  I bit into it and it was immediately clear that it was the best I had ever eaten.  The shell was crunch and crisp.  There was no soggy or chewy texture to it.  The ricotta was intense and thick.  It seemed to be everything a cannolo was meant to be, unlike the sad imitations I had eaten over the years.   

We explored out further outside of the old city.  We walked out towards the harbour and to see the coastline.  It was far more industrial than I expected.  There seemed to be areas that had been built up around a boat marina, but for the most part it seemed to be more catered towards commerce than anything else.  We kept walking around the whole area, stopping to admire the famous mural of Falcone and Borsellino, the two great men who died trying to fight the mafia in Sicily.  The further we got from the marina and from the old town, the more degraded the city felt.  The old town didn't feel particularly well kept to begin with, so there was a real feeling of urban decay in these further outlying areas.

We looped back and headed towards the old town areas again.  It was the peak of the tourist season, so the streets were filled with tourists and with the accompanying touts and shops.  We wandered up and down the streets, but there was little that appealed to us.  Veronica found a few of the smaller shops that had some of the jewelry that she liked, but on the whole the shops were selling the standard tourist knickknacks that we weren't looking for.

Something about Palermo seemed to be lacking.  I couldn't put my finger on it entirely, but there was certainly none of the joy that I had experienced in Napoli.  There were deep similarities in the look and feel of the locations, but it seemed that culturally they could not have been further apart.  There were still great locations to visit.  There was the old and the ancient in this city.  There was a run down grandeur and splendour to the place.  Yet, the people seemed more sad.  There was a weight on the shoulders of the people.  We tried to look for more of the happier locations to enjoy ourselves.  We found great food and we found good music, but the feelings still lingered.

As we boarded our train to leave Palermo, I felt very conflicted.  There were very interesting things to see in this city and a truly unique culture different to any other place I had been in Italy.  Yet there was a sadness and trouble that seemed to linger wherever we went.  The poverty of this city was clear.  It was the height of the tourist season and yet there still seemed to be a lack of activity and opportunity in the city.  Infrastructure seemed to be crumbling along with the old buildings.  It was a city, like many in Italy, that had seen better days.  Yet unlike other parts, there didn't seem to be a joyful irreverence to contrast with this.  Instead it seemed that the depression in opportunity seeped into the mindset of the people at large.  It cut into any of the good experiences we had, and I felt guilty for it.  How can you let go and embrace any happiness when you feel such strong sadness around you?  This city was still full of beauty and a rich history, but it seemed to be a trapped in malaise of poverty and stagnation.