the night before

 

"And the stockings were hung from the chimney with care..."

Suddenly it all made sense. I've been traveling for 9 days in a rollaboard, and was down to basically all filthy, smelly laundry. The humidity didn't help. But I knew my lodging in Palermo had a washer.

First I had to get to Sicily. I flew Volotea, a discount airline, from Napoli, which has a very nice modern airport where you can load up on panettone or burrata or pasta. They also have marble statues, like this portrait of Urania, astronomy goddess, carved in the 1st century.

The flight was half an hour late, because every seat was taken and everyone had a giant panettone or two. But it only took 35 minutes, so we were basically on time.

And Sicily, even on first glance, is breathtaking. Huge mountains. Bright sunshine. Really friendly people. There's a slick new train from the airport to downtown too.

Later I heard that Mt Etna was erupting, disrupting flights to Catania airport. But as far as I know, the morning Volotea flight went out.

I walked to the pizzeria and picked up the keys. Annika, who owns this apartment and the restaurant with her Sicilian husband, is back in Sweden, visiting her parents for the holidays. But she'd said was fine to do a load of wash. So I stripped down and threw everything—everything—in.

At least visiting my Aunt Barbara I could borrow a bathrobe. I managed to fashion an almost respectable outfit out of a dress coat with leggings and my last tank top and a scarf.

I've written before about European washers and trying to figure out the interface. This one was equally hopeless. So I set it (to 4 hours? what could possibly take that long?) and went out to explore the antica district.

Palermo is so quiet after Napoli, with smoother streets and many fewer people. Maybe they've all gone to the villages they came from.

I was ravenous, but nearly everything was closed. I took this Coast Guard photo thinking of Cousin Bill.

I finally found an open bar and ordered an antipasto assortment. I didn't expect they'd all be fried: fried rice balls, fried cheese, fried chickpeas. I swear one of the croquettes was fried mashed potatoes. Pretty tasty, but still. I really wanted a salad.

Next stop was the supermarket, my first on this trip. I had a kitchen available and no idea if anything would be open Christmas Eve or Christmas day.

Pretty cute pineapples, though I resisted.

In the end, I purchased breakfast and salad fixings, and got a great deal on 2 for 1 cannoli for 2 euros. And let me say, that supermarket cannoli was better than any cannoli I've eaten since I was a kid.

I came back to the apartment and waited and waited. Once I tried interrupting the washer, to no avail. I was worried it was going to add 4 more hours as a penalty. Ultimately my laundry took 5 hours. And then it was dark outside, and all my clothes were wet. No blow dryer. So I turned on the heat and strung up my socks and the festive clothes I hope to wear tomorrow. I am excited about having really clean clothes. (Otherwise I have a pair of shorts that double as a swimsuit.)

The piece de resistance was getting hooked on an Italian reality TV show. Each week a famous chef takes 4 up and coming chefs, and they visit and rate each other's restaurants round robin style.

It was kind of like Queer Eye for the Straight restauranteur. In Italian, which I don't speak, but increasingly understand.

Anyway, my pants are wet, so I'm staying in for midnight mass. I'll leave you with this giant Christmas tree, and memories of waiting up for Santa. Sometimes there's nothing better than a clean, dry pair of socks. And cannoli in Sicily.

Midnight mass starts in half an hour.