Christopher Amato

_{“To have seen Italy without having seen Sicily is not to have seen Italy at all, for Sicily is the clue to everything.” – Wolfgang Von Goethe, German writer and statesman, 1787}

Sicily Symbol — The symbol of Sicily known as the Triseklion was derived from a myth about three nymphs, said to have danced around the world gathering the best fruit, stones and soil. They threw all of it into the sea and created Sicily.

Sicily is the largest Mediterranean island and the largest of Italy’s twenty political regions. With a population of about five million people, it’s roughly the same geographic size as the state of Maryland.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is trapani-evening-view.jpeg — A lovely evening view of the Sicilian coastline. This photo is courtesy of Joanna—as is the case with most of the photography.

Sicilians strike me as a proud people, paradoxically friendly but reserved and private. A stranger, viewed suspiciously at first, becomes part of the family given enough time.

Sicily has a typical Mediterranean climate: hot, dry summers and mild, wet winters—perfect for growing olives and pistachios.

Olive harvesting in Sicily takes place every year at the beginning of October.

Then there’s the wine, the seafood, the cheese, the cannoli—stop, it’s not even breakfast yet!

Oh, how I love thee! Arancine are devilishly addictive balls of rice and goodies
coated with breadcrumbs, then deep-fried to perfection.

In my humble opinion, the food in Italy is great—no argument there—but the food in Sicily is even better.

Busiate, a typical dish in western Sicily, is a long, thin, hollow tube pasta, twisted in a way so that it looks
like a telephone cord. Topped with parmesan cheese and basil, it’s delicious. Excellent, there’s pizza too!

When one thinks about the various peoples who settled, inhabited, and yes, sometimes conquered the island, it starts to make sense. The earliest human activity started around 12,000 BC.

Over time, various peoples came to the island: Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans, Carthaginians, Vandals, Ostrogoths, Arabs, Normans, Spaniards, Byzantines, Swabians, Aragonese, and Lombards. And more recently, there were the Brits and Americans. If I’m leaving anyone out, forgive my oversight.

Anyway, it’s not hard to imagine that the island cuisine benefitted from all those contributions—voluntary or otherwise. I can see how a pinch of a spice from here and a cutting from an herb there, combine to overrun the taste buds in a most perfect way.

Snacks, breakfast, dinner, whatever. It’s all waiting for you at a market nearby!

Sicily in some ways is not unlike the U.S. in that it’s a melting pot of different cultures and ethnicities which have all left their profound mark on the arts, music, literature, language, and architecture.

Another example of the exquisite architecture—found in cities across Sicily.

Speaking of language, the people are bilingual, conversing in Italian and Sicilian, a distinct and historical Romance language that evolved from Vulgar Latin between the third and eight centuries. I can make out a word here and there—at least, I tell myself I can, but comprehend the meaning? Uh, nope.

Getting to Sicily, besides the obvious air travel, is a mini-adventure. There is no going on foot, car, bus or train. It’s an island, after all!

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is image-4.png — Who can spy the ferry off in the distance?

Unless…unless you use those feet or other conveyance to board a ferry to make the crossing. I’m quite familiar with the twenty-five-minute ferry ride between Villa San Giovanni, Calabria, and Messina, Sicily, (over the Strait of Messina). Like ants entering a mound, you patiently wait your turn to enter. It seems impossible from way back in the queue that all the vehicles waiting can fit on top or in the belly of the ship—but somehow, you and they do.

It’s a great block to check off on your things to do list the first time you drive onto a ferry to go to Sicily!

Say, what about building a bridge? Every so often, the idea comes up for discussion. The opposition generally focuses on the environmental impact, the economic sustainability, and the involvement of organized crime in the massive undertaking.

Model of proposed Messina bridge — Oh boy! What could be.

Computer simulation of the Messina bridge — Something like this, maybe?

A favorite question of mine to ask Sicilians is wouldn’t a bridge be a good thing to connect Sicily with Italy? The response I hear as much as anything else is why.

I’ve wondered if the reservation doesn’t stem from the idea that a bridge is more than just a physical connection; perhaps it would result in the loss of a deeply ingrained desire to maintain an arms-length independence from Italy—and the world. Then again, who knows?

Sicily will always have a special place in my heart, a land my grandfather left as a small boy. In conclusion, I’m not saying don’t go to Italy. Do. But also visit Sicily. You’ll be glad you did.

The thought of writing a book occurred to me after our adventure in Sicily had ended. I had thrown myself into studying the Italian language and at the tail-end of the trip, we stopped at a smallish city, Termini Imerese, perched on the northern coast of Sicily to explore the roots of my father’s side of the family.

Termini Imerese, Sicily

I was a new driver in Sicily and very happy to grab the first parking space we could find for our Fiat Panda rental. We needed to get directions to the Ufficio Anagrafe (vital records office). Being a guy, I wanted to wander until we found it on our own. My better half, Joanna, convinced me otherwise.

As I approached these men, I could feel them eyeing me suspiciously. When I said my grandfather was born in Termini Imerese in 1882, their demeanor seemed to soften and they became quite interested. In fact, the man standing in front of me removed the car keys from his pocket and offered us a ride! I politely declined and said we wanted to walk through town. They had to repeat the directions a couple of times because my Italian wasn’t so great back then.

The language classes paid off because a mere fifteen minutes later, we had completed the walk to our destination. Once inside, we weren’t sure we would get any help until I retold the story of my grandfather. We spent most of the day searching births, deaths, and marriages recorded in books like the one in front of me.

A kind man, Domenico, became my newest and best friend.

Except for recent events, records are not computerized. Information pertaining to my family from the 19th century and earlier are kept in these large ledger books. A search by hand is quite time consuming.

A treasure trove of information is carefully safeguarded under lock and key.

We found it! The record of my grandfather’s birth in July 1882.

Armed with a handful of vital records we decided at the last minute to stop at the town’s cemetery to pay our respects before leaving the island.

City cemetery – Termini Imerese

It was a Saturday, the first of November. We had no idea it was Ognissanti or All Saints’ Day. We also had no idea the cemetery would be overrun with people (this shot intentionally didn’t include any people). It’s a large cemetery and we quickly realized that trying to find my family’s graves was impossible.

In my best Italian, I asked where we might look. Sadly, we learned there were no grave sites for my family to be found. They were either buried in a cemetery that had since been built over or more likely buried in this communal grave with no marker.

communal grave – Termini Imerese

On a quiet two-hour drive through Sicily toward the mainland, I came to realize that family is family no matter whether I knew them or not. To honor them, I wrote the outline of the story for Leaving Marinella in my head, then took several years to put it down on paper.

It was a day I’ll never forget. I learned and confirmed many things; I was also left with questions that cannot be answered—in this life at least.

My grandfather, Tommaso “Thomas” Amato, said goodbye to his home when he was a young boy and traveled to the U.S. without his parents. Although I gathered some information and was in possession of certain clues, no one can say for sure why he left, nor does anyone have any idea what he did until he was an adult.

One thing is certain. My grandfather was the inspiration for Leaving Marinella. And even though I never had the opportunity to meet him, I came to love this man.

My grandfather as a young man living in Virginia.

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Sicily, an open-air museum and so much more.

Leaving Marinella