Sicilian Seductions: Chapter 1

FOREWORD

I’m blessed to have lived in the Mediterranean for almost two decades, but I’m even more blessed to enjoy the simple pleasures of life, wherever I am. This “Happily Ever Now” series is my love letter - not only to the Mediterranean - but to life in general. 

I hope to help you escape a little and inspire the wanderlust that has kept me curious, energized, spirited, and engaged throughout my life. Travel opens your heart, your eyes, and your mind. 

I also hope to inspire you to live your fullest, most authentic life, my “secret” to happiness and inner peace. I’ve lived life; that comes with its share of heartaches, but its “heart-ups” as well. 

I forever believe in fairytales, but the one where the “princess” is her own “heroine.” After a life of chasing “Happily Ever After” with others, I found “Happily Ever Now,” within myself. My fervent wish is for you to as well…

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HAPPILY EVER NOW

SICILIAN SEDUCTIONS

Freedom, 

“La Dolce Vita”

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

The Departure

 

CHAPTER 2

The Arrival

CHAPTER 3

The Sanctuary

CHAPTER 4

The Valentinis

CHAPTER 5

Contemplations

CHAPTER 6

Inadvertent Flirtations

CHAPTER 7

Falling in Love

CHAPTER 8

Seaside Reflections

CHAPTER 9

The Chef’s Table

CHAPTER 10

Sweet Dreams

CHAPTER 11

Market Day

CHAPTER 12

Dolce Far Niente

CHAPTER 13

Embracing Change

CHAPTER 14

Seaside Temptations 

CHAPTER 15

Damsel in Distress

CHAPTER 16

Channeling Buddha

CHAPTER 17

Seductive Taormina

CHAPTER 18

Captivating Cefalù

CHAPTER 19

Willy Wonka Meets Modica

CHAPTER 20

Peace Amid Chaos

CHAPTER 21

Magical Marsala

CHAPTER 22

Nonna

CHAPTER 23

A Delicious Evening 

CHAPTER 24

Crushing on Leo

CHAPTER 25

Channeling Dr. Seuss

CHAPTER 26

Treasured Friends & Other Masterpieces 

CHAPTER 27

Crushing on Noto

CHAPTER 28

Venetian Hospitality

CHAPTER 29

Green Eggs & Ham 

CHAPTER 30

You’ll Never Be Alone

CHAPTER 31

Preparations

CHAPTER 32

Flirting with Love

CHAPTER 33

Celebrations

CHAPTER 34

Too Good to Be True

CHAPTER 35

Volcanic Meltdown 

CHAPTER 36

The Departure - Again…

“When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us."

• Helen Keller

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CHAPTER 1

***The Departure***

Well, this is it, I thought. Either the start of a glorious adventure or perhaps a reckless disaster. Either way, it’s not going to be boring, I assured myself as I looked out the airplane window with creeping trepidation. I hated boredom and anything in the ordinary. My soul craved the extraordinary, desperately needing to live, not merely exist. I embrace the opposite of “better safe than sorry.” If “safe” equals mediocrity, I’ll pass. Hard pass. I always risked more than others thought wise but I always felt more, experienced more, and indeed lived more as well. 

Seemed fitting that it was pouring rain with dark clouds. An ominous start? Perhaps a reflection of the dark history I was about to relegate to the past as I embarked on my new journey. I silently consoled myself, being the eternal optimist.

“Business or pleasure?” the gentlemen seated next to me interrupted my reverie. “Pleasure,” I responded with a timid smile. “Well, at least that’s the goal,” I added, chuckling nervously. “And you?” I asked politely in return. “Business,” he curtly replied, apparently more interested in my response, which he seemed to deem a mildly enigmatic one. “How long are you going for? I frequently travel to Sicily on business, but it’s rare to see someone traveling there alone for holiday. It’s not the best of places,” he paused, “for a single woman,” he added for effect. He scanned my eyes for confirmation of my solitude. I’m sure his perspective was well-intentioned, even if unsolicited, but he wasn’t exactly helping to usher in this new chapter of my life. I didn’t particularly appreciate his pointed reference to my solitary status. I was still grappling with my novel “aloneness.”

I knew he was probably just trying to be polite. Indeed he was echoing the cautionary sentiments I had been hearing ad nauseum for weeks now from family and most friends, despite not being familiar whatsoever with Sicily or anywhere outside the US for that matter. Indeed, a few of them were shocked to learn Sicily is part of Italy. Even if this stranger had familiarity with my destination, it didn’t make his commentary any less unwelcome and I found his opinion about Sicily intrusive and inaccurate.

Fortunately, the protestations from family and friends had not caused me to waiver one iota. Instead of deepening any of the obvious, though tacit, reservations I had about moving to a foreign country - where I had no family, friends, or even acquaintances, with a mere kindergarten-level (if) grasp of Italian - I had become emboldened. It was as if the more my so-called “plans” were questioned, the more determined I was to make sense of what everyone else deemed apparent lunacy. 

Others tended to ask “why?”, an interrogatory pause that often ended in remaining quagmired in the bane of ordinary existence. I, on the other hand, preferred living by the catapulting spontaneity of “why not?” My determined persona had kicked in with particular ferocity. Deep down, I knew I was up for the challenge - always. I’m a “try me” not “why me?”-type, a steely persona with a fierce belief in myself, particularly when challenged. 

I pride myself on being the living embodiment of the fictional character, “Katniss,” from “The Hunger Games.” I’m not burdened with the knowledge of having seen the movie or read the book; the thought of competing for food instilled too much fear in my foodie heart. Nonetheless the quote by the protagonist, “Throw me to the wolves and I will come back leading the pack,” resonates with me deeply. I’ll take a solid belief in oneself, accompanying a leap of faith, any day over meticulously, endlessly planning, a strategy that frequently ends in paralysis for far too many in my humble opinion.

My seatmate leaned over, realizing that it was taking me a bit long to answer his seemingly innocuous and simple question about the length of my supposed vacation, as I was lost in my thoughts. “Indefinitely,” I replied. “I have a one-way ticket.” In reality, I planned to move “there” - “there” at the moment being imprecisely Sicily, or Italy, or somewhere else in the Mediterranean, or frankly anywhere other than where I was coming from. I hoped, however, that a more vague response would nip this line of questioning in the bud, so to speak. A girl can only take so much as I wasn’t in the mood to try to explain the seemingly inexplicable, especially to a nosy stranger. 

As he responded with a confused frown on his face, I turned my head to look out the window, grateful for a diversion. I was truly grateful when, to my surprise, at that moment, the rain abruptly stopped. The most vibrant, brilliantly-colored rainbow pierced through the formerly gray bleak sky. Perhaps, it was a good omen, reflecting my determination to move past the recent dark past into the bright light of a new chapter in life, filled with potential, if not promise. I’m not big on predestination, whatsoever. I'm more of an existential, create-your-destiny type, but I will happily accept a supposed “divine sign,” like a well-timed rainbow any day. It felt like a smile from heaven, assuring me I had chosen the right path. I gratefully smiled in return, feeling my trademark spirit and optimism for my future rekindling.

“You’re married?” my seatmate probed, challenging my efforts to ignore him and my determination to repress my past. He was glancing down at my wedding ring, awaiting a response as if he were entitled to an answer. “Ahh,” I paused, struggling to answer the simple question, squirming, disappointed in myself that I didn’t respond that it wasn’t his business or that I simply wasn’t in the mood to chat. “Separated,” I finally chose. I had no interest in discussing the abrupt demise of my second failed marriage to my second self-absorbed husband. 

Indeed, had I even been inclined to explain, how could I when I was still grappling with figuring out an explanation for the seemingly inexplicable? “Separated” was technically true even though “divorced” was the more apt, and legal, description. I didn’t want to contend with the inappropriate “why?” query, the inevitable response whenever I admitted  I was divorced. I was fundamentally struggling with the “why.” My narcissistic ex had simply said he no longer wanted to be married - as if that were a sufficient reason to break his marriage commitment and sufficient explanation to soothe my broken heart. 

The reality was no more gentle - I had been used and callously discarded when no longer needed. He felt like my presence somehow dimmed his light, hence, he summarily dispensed with me. I was uncomfortable with my divorce and my single status, it was why I still wore my ring. I really wasn’t comfortable rehashing the crushing end to my marriage, particularly with this overly inquisitive stranger. Way to harsh a girl’s buzz to determinedly move forward I thought, my annoyance increasing with my discomfort from focusing on my ex. 

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I shifted uncomfortably in my seat before opening my backpack, pulling out three of my greatest treasures. My new journal and two of my all-time favorite books I was rereading - the “Art of Happiness,” by His Holiness, the Dalai Lama, and “The Story of My Life” by Helen Keller. I put the books back, deciding to make the most of my time on the plane, keep my mind engaged and journaling. I hoped my preoccupation with writing would nip this guy’s line of questioning in the bud, the journal gave me a courteous excuse to not continue the conversation. My people-pleasing persona caused me to keep my annoyance to myself.

I looked down at the beautiful journal my best friend had given me to collect my reflections. Thinking of Olivia while running my fingers over the soft weathered leather cover comforted me. My mind was always racing and it was challenging to keep up with my thoughts. God love her I thought - this was Olivia’s subtle attempt to help me translate my disorganized stream of consciousness thoughts into some semblance of organization. She was my truest and longest friend and my biggest fan. I was inexpressibly grateful for always feeling my childhood friend’s support. Olivia was the one person who hadn’t questioned my trip. 

The gentleman persisted in trying to make small talk, leaning a little too close, and intrusively inquiring what I was journaling about. I told him I was writing a sort of travel and wellness guide to the Mediterranean region and pointedly shifted in my seat facing the opposite way. I wasn’t feeling self-assured enough to defend my one-way ticket, my single status, or my career change somewhat late in life. I wanted to keep my spirits high as I embarked on this new phase of my life. I didn’t want to try to explain my past - or the impetus for the trip - nor be interrogated about my non-existent plans.

I hoped my body language and curt answer sufficed to stop his line of questioning as I turned my focus back to my writing. The journal was perfect with a map of the Mediterranean. Olivia, my perfect friend, had chosen the perfect gift. I opened it and started trying to put into words the magnetic pull the Mediterranean had on me. I quickly got happily lost in thought; my contemplation helping to quell any trepidations that my companion’s line of querying could potentially prompt. 

Focusing on writing helped me feel productive - not thoughtless and reckless - as so many seemed to characterize my travel “plan.” Hmmm, ‘A Taste of Travel’ might be a good working title, I mused. It cleverly combined two of my favorite passions - food and travel. I decisively wrote it as my first journal entry with the beautiful pen Liam, another of my truest friends, had given me. I appreciated how my two best friends always seemed so close no matter how far away in physical distance. 

Next, I made a list of the several Mediterranean countries I had visited previously, in no particular order - Italy, Greece, Turkey, Spain, France, Malta, Croatia, Montenegro, Albania, Slovenia, Morocco, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Monaco. Although they all border the Mediterranean Sea and share some similar historical, cultural, culinary, and climatic characteristics, they all were incredibly distinctive. I was drawn to each for different reasons. 

My prior travels had been during a time when I was forever feeling rushed, running from place to place, distraction to distraction. My visits had seemed more superficial. Although I didn’t have anything vaguely resembling an itinerary, I tentatively planned on traveling to my favorite Mediterranean countries, Italy, Spain, Greece, Turkey, France, and Montenegro. I looked forward to revisiting some favorite cities and exploring some new ones. I was anxious to delve into their varied cultures and live life like a local to get a true sense of each.

I was determined to encapsulate the essence of the places I visited. To me, writing was like music in words. I humbly hoped to capture the distinctive melody of the cultures I explored. I knew the best way to do that was to record my sensory impressions in real-time. Merely relying on recollections always diluted the multidimensional experience of my reality and blurred my recollection of the nuances. Immersing oneself in another culture is not just a vacation, it’s a life-transforming experience to embrace. For me, travel is an integral part of my holistic wellness. The way we live daily has a profound influence on our overall health and the quality of our lives and I planned to write anecdotally and observationally about it. 

I started reflecting on my past general impressions of Mediterranean life and what had captivated me from my first trip to the region decades ago. People live throughout the Mediterranean, truly live. They embrace each moment, each other, and life in general. They don’t seem to take things, time, or each other for granted like so many people I knew. They are immersed in a captivating confluence of a wealth of history, culture, architectural splendor, multilayered cuisine, and natural beauty. 

Lost in thoughts, I hadn’t realized that my seat companion had dozed off until I heard him snoring. I was happy that the overly inquisitive man hadn’t continued his line of querying. I turned back to my notes trying to recall the chronology of my travels. I hadn’t started traveling extensively until after my first marital demise. I started getting restless and fidgety, anxious for the flight to be over, as my thoughts started drifting backward. I needed more distractions than the plane was providing to forget about my past.

I’ve never been good on flights. It’s the forced confinement with which I fundamentally and vehemently struggle. I used to think of it as claustrophobia, but I’ve come to realize it’s more of a reflection of my deep-rooted abhorrence to being confined, in reality, or virtually, by circumstances or people. This journey in itself, I realized, is a profound reflection of my general tendency to recoil from “confinement” of any nature, something I had endured for far too long in both of my failed marriages. 

This time after my divorce, I had booked my one-way ticket, eager to “get away” - far away - in part from the latest ex, but in large part in an effort to escape from the people-pleasing person I had been all my life. I had been increasingly unhappy with myself for living a subpar life. I had engaged in a pattern of co-dependent relationships, subjugating myself, my goals, and my desires, a voluntary servitude of sorts, driven by my low sense of self; self-love, self-respect, and self-esteem. 

Fortunately, the collective egregious nature of the behavior of the “exes” was what made me appreciate the irrationality of how I had been living - not for myself but for others. While others thought my former career as a corporate lawyer and prior adherence to social expectations reflected normalcy and “success” and considered my recent choices unwise, it was the exact opposite. I had spent a lifetime channeling my energies on behalf of others’ desires and whims. I had let myself be treated as a mere means to an end. 

I wasn’t foolish enough to truly think that a change of scenery could magically heal my heartache or my lack of “self,” but this was the first time in my life I was starting a new endeavor purely for my own sake. Failure was never an option in my head and I intended to make myself proud.

I had been to Sicily a couple of times before. Although I knew it was a treasure trove of history, culture, and natural beauty, my prior visits had been brief and superficial. I was looking forward to experiencing Sicily as it deserved - not just visiting. When I was deciding where I should go once I knew I wanted to leave the US, Sicily was more or less a no-brainer for me. Once I got something in my head, there was no stopping me and no interest in “thoughtful” planning. I had always been a dive-head-first and follow-your-heart type; the combination resulted in laser focus and almost immediate departure that made sense to me while causing consternation to others. 

Italy was my favorite country and Sicily offered the best of all worlds. Sicily is not only the largest Italian island but also the largest island in my adopted beloved Mediterranean region. It had been ruled for centuries by so many conquerors, resulting in an exciting mosaic of cultures that always beckoned to me. It was unique and endlessly intriguing even to my normally restless soul. The island had been invaded by, amongst others, the Normans, the Arabs, the Greeks, and the Spaniards, before being unified with Italy in 1961. These different conquests had left diverse influential imprints on Sicilian culture, architecture, historical sites, and, most notably, and of greatest interest to me, its cuisine. This amalgamation had left a rich, vibrant, unique conglomeration that distinguished Sicily and heightened its appeal to me.

Whatever one’s passion or interests were, Sicily was satisfaction guaranteed. Its culturally rich colorful cities were dripping with architectural gems, oozing charm and embodying history. Its plethora of well-preserved ruins begged to be explored. It also had an amazing lengthy coastline with sandy beaches, crystal clear waters, idyllic al fresco seaside dining, and glorious sunrises and sunsets.

What appealed to me the most was Sicily’s enviable multilayered, multidimensional culture from the centuries of invaders, conquerors, and explorers. Each of these influences had left an indelible mark on Sicily’s culture, architecture, dialect, and cuisine. Sicily was a prime example of the sum of parts being greater than the whole. There were endless opportunities for the curious to learn and the adventurous to explore. I envisioned visiting Greek temples, Roman ruins, Norman palaces, and magnificent expressions of Baroque architecture. History came alive in Sicily with centuries of cosmopolitan influences evident in everyday life. 

As a foodie, nothing excited me more than contemplating visiting the famous outdoor markets and delving into the unique cuisine influenced by the Romans, the Arabs, the Moors, the Greeks, and the Spaniards. 

I was equally entranced by the proud, passionate Sicilians themselves who manifested tenacity, resolve, and a love of life, all traits that resonated with me. The only other place that held such expansive, diverse interest to me was Turkey, another favorite country, which I would be visiting sooner or later on this indefinite trip as well. 

My spirits buoyed, I teasingly looked at my seatmate, still fast asleep next to me, almost tempted to awaken him to share my thoughts of Sicily and ask him what he thought of Turkey. Travel to me opened one’s eyes, one’s thoughts, and ideally one’s heart. Didn’t seem to me like travel had the same impact on this guy, I silently thought as I wisely left him asleep.

As we got closer to our arrival, I thought of Olivia gratefully again, wishing we were traveling together. I had trepidations about embarking on a new career as an author and freelance writer - one with no guarantees and no certain or steady income. I appreciated that Olivia’s thoughtful gift prompted my reflections. It not only had helped me pass the flight time, but it also had kept me excited about my trip and pursuit of my passion for writing. Although I had always been a happy soul, I knew that the story of my life hadn’t been as optimal as it could be. I couldn’t rewrite history, but I was determined to change my story and truly become the author of my life as well. 

As much as my ego was bruised and my heart ached, I appreciated that my most recent dramatic separation was the catalyst to set me down a path of truly living - authentically in pursuit of my desires and dreams. My trademark enthusiastic spirit and my zest for life had been unleashed, no longer shackled by others’ self-centered, demanding expectations. I felt like a new butterfly, having just metamorphosed from the dark, confining parameters of cocoon existence. I knew my “wings” were still delicate and fledgling but I intended to embrace my new freedom and soar happily ever now…

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