Arrivederci Sicily! — Where is Kari?

**This cover image is courtesy of my Aunt Shirley, a die-hard SF Giants fan (formerly devoted to the SF 49ers . . . and then, Joe Montana retired!) who sent me these little "accomplishment" kudos throughout the trip.

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After 75 hours of pure, unadulterated bliss, I drive out of the gates of Occhipinti for the Catania Airport. It was an easy drive and the GPS took me north through many small towns. I discovered that Occhipinti, while remote, was not as far off the beaten path as I had thought. No worries, I didn’t really need to visit these little places anyway!

I noticed these 2 little flower heads tucked into my windshield and amazingly, they stayed with me for the entire drive. I decided they were my Mom & Dad shepherding me safely back home. I smiled as I took this picture, as Mom had asked me often about the yellow daisies on the hillsides. . . and yet here again, there was a “sign”.

Finding the airport was easy; finding the rental car lot was ridiculous. The GPS had completely failed me at this point and I just kept following & trying to read the Italian language signs. I’ve rented a LOT of cars in my life, from many different airports, and I can honestly say, I’m lucky to have found this one.

I unload the car and snap some quick pictures of my “flower shepherds” and Mt Etna – who was still spitting fire & smoke (a full 6 weeks after she started in mid-March). I felt lucky that she decided not to “blow” completely, while I was visiting Sicily.

I walk for about 10 minutes, luggage in tow, to the terminal & find check-in to be a piece of cake. The gal at the counter is really nice, checks my big suitcase, and tags both my carry-ons. I’d finally learned to consolidate my belongings into 3 bags! I head upstairs to security, as I’m dying of thirst & have to go to the bathroom. The lines are not too long and I’m quickly on the other side after a quick “pat down” by security; the scanners had discovered my titanium fortified hips! Another gal says, “is this your bag”? I say, “yes” and she asks if I have marmalade in my bag. I say no, but you’re welcome to look inside. She pulls out 2 jars that are wrapped in paper and asks what’s inside. I start to unwrap one to show her that it’s just pistachio cream and she informs me that I cannot take these on the plane. She offers to let me go & check them, but it’s been at least 10 minutes since I was downstairs and I’m sure my bag is already on its way to the plane. I sadly relinquish them to her and say, “I hope you enjoy them” and she says, “I can’t take them, you’ll have to throw them away”. I almost pull out a spoon to eat them right there – but instead, I get teary eyed and mad!

I find a bathroom & wipe my face; then I find a café with gelato. However, their gelato is only in the form of “popsicles” – but I’m in bad need of some pistachio gelato, so I grab one anyway. It was the shits!

At the gate, I hear a lot of Americans – loud & pretty obnoxious Americans – and I’m getting pretty annoyed. I’m thinking to myself . . really, this is how my wonderful trip’s going to end? Throwing out $25 worth of delicious pistachio cream and having people think I’m one of these obnoxious Americans?? I speak only Italian until I’m safely on the plane hoping it will at least set me apart from these obnoxious Americans!

I sit down next to a nice couple and begin talking with the woman who is afraid of flying. I assure her all the sounds are normal and her husband is thrilled that I am distracting her. She asks me about my travels and is so impressed that I’ve done this trip by myself (at least part of it!). She says she wishes she was that brave and sets a goal that she will travel more in the future; her husband is smiling now!

Turns out they are with the obnoxious Americans who are a group of about 60 from all over the United States and they all work for Piggly Wiggly. If you’ve never been to the South, you may not have heard of this chain – but it’s one of the largest grocery chains in the U.S. Apparently, the founder of Piggly Wiggly is a “local boy made good” from Palermo, Sicily and he put this trip together to reward all the high performers in the company. The trip sounded amazing and filled with tons of great accommodations, tours, fantastic food & special events. This couple aside – the rest of them were still obnoxious!

We arrive in Rome and I collect my bag and mourn my loss of pistachio cream! I head out for the 10 minute walk to the Rome Airport Hilton (where I had stayed when I arrived 5 weeks earlier) and look for my friend, Francesco at the desk. He’s not there – but the clerk that checked me in was very nice and I was quickly settled in my room. It was about 9:30pm, but I’d had nothing but that lousy pistachio popsicle & some peanuts on the plane, so I went downstairs to get some dinner.

I look forward to “my last meal”! I order the same salad that I'd had 5 weeks ago, some pasta with clams & mushrooms, and a glass of wine. They brought that great basket of assorted breads and the bottle olive oil with its handwritten lot number, with the date it was bottled - and I dug in!

The salad was good, but not quite as outstanding as it had been 5 weeks before (I assumed it had to do with my mood and the fact that I had had so many great meals since to compare it to). The pasta was downright disappointing. There was no sign of clams, as they’d taken them out of the shells and just tossed them in; the mushrooms were non-existent. I ate about half of it - and quit. The wait staff was sort of sharing service at my table so different servers kept stopping by. I told a couple of them about my pistachio cream “theft” and asked if they had anything pistachio for dessert. “How about some pistachio gelato?” My response: “Perfetto!”

When dessert arrived, I was sure they had taken pity on me. Not only was it the largest serving of gelato I had ever seen, it was covered in chopped pistachios. Who cares what else I ate that night, I was in pistachio gelato heaven. I ate the entire HUGE serving and went to bed smiling . . and stuffed!

The next morning, I pack for the last time & head downstairs to check out. As I come up to the desk, I see my friend, Francesco (see my “27 Hours to Rome” post if you haven’t already read it). I get in line, but he looks up from what he’s doing and I smile and say “do you remember me?” and he excitedly says, “yes Madam” and waves me over. We are so excited to see each other and he starts to tell his associate all about my story. He remembered my long trip over, my Sicilian itinerary and my quest to find some ancestors. When I told him that I’d found a cousin, he got so excited and wanted to hear the details. I told him that I had put him in my blog and gave him the URL so he could check it out. I found out he was over his failed relationship and was already dating (if you saw how cute he was, you’d wouldn’t be surprised at this news . . I’m sorry, I was so distracted that I forgot to take a picture of him for this blog). We said our good-byes and I headed back to the airport.

The 10 minute walk back to the terminal was followed by another 15 minutes of walking to get to the gate, after check-in. Along the way, I stopped for some breakfast and got a fresh OJ and a croissant. Both sucked! The duty free shops were plentiful and crowded, but I slipped into one to pick up a few chocolates & cookies for Scott. A refrigerator case held packages of salumi and at this point, the protein looked pretty good. I selected a package & went to the counter to pay.

Five more minutes of walking and I finally arrived at the gate. I did a little stretching in prep for the long flight & sent some text messages to my new friends. I hear back from my friends Marty & Lynne (Australia, via Santa Cruz couple) that are in Honduras, but are wondering if I’ve seen their luggage in Rome?? Oh no! Ana sends a message from Occhipinti that they missed me at breakfast. After what I’ve eaten this morning, I feel the same way!

I board and find myself sitting in the middle seats with a guy with a big pack of anti-bacterial wipes. He hands me one and says we need to clean off all the germs so we won’t get sick and then he takes out all his “comfort gear”. Once we take off, he puts on his headphones, his eye mask, his neck pillow and pulls a blanket around himself. He sleeps for most of the flight (and I swear he paid for that middle seat so he’d be comfortable as he slept his way across the Atlantic). That was absolutely fine with me!!

They serve lunch and it’s Shepard’s pie – strange choice coming out of Rome! I’m still hungry, so I pull out the package of salumi and chow down. Boy, do I love my protein! About an hour later, the flight attendants come around with ICE CREAM! It’s vanilla – and it’s delicious!

We arrive in Chicago and the customs area is packed. Multiple announcements come over the loud speaker asking that you identify yourself, if you’ve been on any farms or in touch with any livestock while traveling. Since I’ve stayed at three agritourism sites and petted more farm animals than I'm sure I remember, I select the button on the declaration screen & get back in line.

At customs, I quickly tell the officer about my farm stays and he seems completely uninterested. He asks what I was doing in Sicily, is happy with my response, and waves me through. I grab my luggage off the carousel and get into another line for the agriculture check point. I hear an announcement asking all the agriculture officers to report to the desk and I’m sure they’re going to want details about my visits. However, the officers are just waving people through. I don’t want to be arrested or detained if I don’t declare the farm stays, so I make sure to proactively stop & tell the officer. He asks me, “Are your shoes dirty?” I’m wearing the tennis shoes that I’ve worn almost every day of my trip and I lift up my foot to show him the soles. Then he asks if I want to have my shoes cleaned. I ask if he thinks I need to have them cleaned and he says, “they’re your shoes, you have to decide if they need to be cleaned”. At this point, I decide that he really doesn’t care and frankly, I’m too tired to care either. So I say, “no, they’re fine” and he waves me through. Whatever!

I get on the train to transfer to another terminal for my Alaska Airlines flight and call Amy to check in. I tell her I’m dying for a hamburger and while I’ve already had 3 meals “today” – it’s only 4pm in Chicago and I won’t arrive in Seattle until 10pm (local time) that night. 8 hours to go before I’m home? Yep, I’m having meal #4 and the hamburger I’m craving. After passing through security, I see Publix – a pub that I’ve eaten at many times in the Chicago Airport. I order their classic burger and an ice tea and am feeling a little punchy at this point (I have to add - it’s like 1am in Rome and I haven’t slept at all). The burger hits the spot BIG TIME. I’m full . . and happy!

I move to my gate and find that the flight is delayed. It will be at least an hour late. About an hour & a half later, we’re boarded and off to Seattle. The flight is full, but uneventful, but I still don’t sleep. We arrive about an hour late and Scott is patiently waiting at the cell phone lot. I text him that I’ve got my luggage and he pulls up to the curb with a big smile & a big hug! We talk all the way home, so still no sleep. We arrive home , I’m exhausted and ready to sleep.

27 Hours to Rome . . . 25 Hours to Home! **I just realized that rhymes 😊