I have found my second home. I had thought that although I plan to continue my Italian, I will not have great use for it. But I was wrong. I will promptly snatch any opportunity that arises where I could live in Sicily!

The train was late, but everyone in car 9 was in good spirits. There were six of us – two Calabrian sisters (one very capricious/princessy, the other indulgent), a fun mother and daughter pair (Giorga), the math/Italian teacher (Maria), and the stranger (me). We talked of politics, culture, families, and children as my new companions offered me their water and food. After a while, we settled down into our tight abode that seemed to rise in temperature by the hour. In the morning, I asked about breakfast – on every night train I’d ridden previously TrenItalia had offered a marmalade croissant, plain croissant, juice, and coffee, for free. The ladies responded with grins “You wanted smiles! (I had previously told them how everyone says that Southern Italy is like the South in the US – everyone says hello to everyone – whether they know them or not – and people are more open) You’ve got smiles! But you’re in Sicily! They don’t give out free breakfast!” Ha. So Giorga and her mamma walked with me up to the barge bar to order coffee and a snack. Giorga and I stopped at the bathroom and as I washed my hands, I asked her, loudly, the meaning of a word. Everyone looked my way and she grinned and shushed me. I’d read a phrase on the bathroom door, and should have known better than to speak outloud bathroom phrases huh? It said – “Tutti le donne in questa barca pensavano solo di …..” – one very bad word for sex. Of course I would say this word loudly in the restroom! We returned to the cabin, and Giorga and her mamma shared their prepacked breakfast with me. The train was running late, and we spent the late morning talking as the train went through tunnels so dark (without interior light) that I experienced what it would be like to be blind. I’d open my eyes and find that it was no different from having them squeezed shut. If there hadn’t been others around, I might have been terrified – this is what Hell must be like! When the mother daughter pair reached their destination, they handed me a pack of cookies and we traded phone numbers. Maria then told me of the book she was reading – an awful true story about a bad marital situation in Iraq. She then began to tell me the story of her life – so that I could write it! But she spoke so quickly that I was having trouble. The stop for Cefalu came just in time.

I arrived in Cefalu only to find that the buses didn’t run on Labour Day. I called the proprietor of the bed and breakfast in Lascari and he was in the country with family and couldn’t come to pick me up. So, after finding out that a taxi was 25 Euros, I decided to go ahead and spend some time seeing the city before I paid that kind of money to get to the hotel. I headed towards central Cefalu and stopped at a small delicatessen to try my first Sicilian cannolo and cookies. I drug my bag to a bench under the trees and conversed with three Sicilian tour guides who tried their best to help me find transportation while filling me with Coke and espresso. After much ado, I decided to find a hotel to leave my bag for a few hours while I wandered around Cefalu.

Cefalu is a small town near the coast, not far from Palermo. After seeing Il Nuovo Cinema Paridiso, I felt the draw of this little city and made my way there by train. Old buildings with wrought iron balconies overflowing with blooms made a pathway to the sea. Colorful wooden fishermen's boats dotted the sand and provided shade for some sunbathers. Rocks jutted from the sea, draped with shawls of shimmering green moss. Children splashed in the tranquil waters that rarely waved, but swayed like a trusted grandmother.

Locals and tourists alike departed from the gellateria with cones dripping with piled ice cream. A lady sat on a bench with her husband and took in the view of the Duomo while basking in the enjoyment of her brioche filled with almost two handfuls of gelato. I had to stop in and try such a novelty – a sweet roll filled with ice cream! And oh was I impressed, this is something Americans at home would love! I fought the battle of dripping sweetness and finished the last pages of my John Grisham novel as the wind gently lifted my hair and provided natural air conditioning – a perfect 70 degrees.

Around three thirty, I decided to grab that taxi to Lascari, where my bed and breakfast, La Vecchia Forgia, was located. Francesco, the owner, met me at the door and helped me to my perfect little room with a view. Not only did I have lovely wooden ceilings, a kitchen nook, and bathroom, but I also had my own balcony overflowing with pink and red flowers. “What is there to do here in Lascari?” I asked. “Nothing!” he answered. “But,” he smiled, “I have a friend – a great guy about your age. I can call him and maybe y’all can go to the beach or something… would you like this?” Would I ever!

After taking a little walk around the town, snapping photos of the church and view, I made my way back to the B&B and took a quick shower. My skin was peeling dreadfully from my nasty sunburn in Spain, and the overnight ride in the sweltering couchette left me feeling dirty. After trying to smother and hide my nasty peeling skin with lotion, I sat out on my balcony with my computer and began to write about my time in Spain. Within a few minutes, a very cute Sicilian guy, about 27 years old, pulled up in his car, got out and looked up at me. “La mia vita é bella!” I thought. “One second!” I said as I hurriedly put down my computer, shut the doors, fiddled with the lock, and ran out the door. “Ciao! Io sono Anna.” He introduced himself, and I hopped in the car. Unfortunately, it is important times like these when you don’t hear the other’s name during the introduction. My Italian, which had been performing pretty well, seemed to dwindle the minute I entered his car. “What would you like to do?” He asked. “Whatever, really,” I was just so happy to be with someone else! We drove to the beach, walked around, but there wasn’t much to do, so we drove on to Cefalu. We talked as we walked down the cobblestone streets. Every few minutes he’d stop and say hello to someone he knew. After about an hour or so, we stopped at a café and the sweet boy remembered that I’d never tried limonecello. He ordered himself an orange drink and me a limonecello, and he toasted my time here in Sicily. I thought that he would then take me home, and I asked if there were any restaurants in Lascari open tonight. “But we’re eating at Francesco’s!” he said. I couldn’t have been happier. We drove out into the country and pulled up to a house filled with people. I walked through the gates, and it was just like walking into Mema’s house on Thanksgiving, everybody rushing up with hugs and introductions. “Ciao! Io sono Anna.” I must have said 20 times. And while I was introduced to almost everyone, I knew very few names, and everyone knew mine!

“Sit!” they said and pushed me into a chair at the head of the table. “She’s American?” the children asked and swarmed around me, eager and yet timid to practice their English. Lorenzo, an adorable eleven-year-old, peppered his aunt (nicknamed Fragola – “Strawberry” and the only fluent English speaker) with dozens of “How do you say….” I spoke to him and his cousins (one whose name was Martina (age 8)) about my favorite foods and colors, what I’d done today, and about Florence. Lorenzo’s class is going to Florence for a field trip next week, and he’d never been. I think my smile was a mile wide. Francesco’s family made me feel as if I were one of them, or that special girlfriend at the holiday meal. They served me steak, sausage, salad, bread, octopus (fresh from the sea that day – it was HUGE), grilled artichokes, peanuts, gelato, fresh fruit, and cannoli, with a choice of beer, wine, Coke, or water for my beverage.

The meal was the best I’d had in a while. The steak was juicy, with the perfect crisp texture that gives just a hint of a crunch – it didn’t even need steak sauce. The sausage makes my mouth water just thinking about it now. The salad had a perfect tangy dressing that cleansed the palate for fresh octopus – a new experience for me! The grilled artichokes were unusual, but definitely fantastic. You pulled the leaf from the base and sucked off the end – it was delicious. The canolli were unlike any I’d tried at home or in Florence. With each bite you have the crispy cone like texture of the cookie, and the smack of the freshest cheese.

As the night began to cool, they gave me a warm blanket and I watched the children’s antics on their rollerblades with glee. Sadly, around 10:00 it was time for me to leave this welcoming family, and my new friend drove me home. I left the house feeling loved and thinking that I’ve found the only place where hospitality may be more prevalent than my beloved Southland.

This morning, I awoke to the sound of workers putting up decorations throughout every street. I left the B&B for a visit to the bar where Francesco had said to order myself breakfast. I enjoyed a cappuccino and two Sicilian brioche – one sweet roll filled with cheese, and another warm and oozing with Nutella. I asked around, and although the barista didn’t know my wonderful new friend’s name, I did find out where a cartolleria was so that I could buy thank-you notes. I wrote two – one to Francesco’s family, and another which I embarrassingly addressed “To: My new Friend” and commenced with “Ciao!” And now, as I sit here at the Lascari train station (where my friend said that another scene from Cinema Paridiso was filmed), I smile and yearn to come back here for a long sojourn.