Licata

We girls had an argument, and Gerty won.  She got a new gennaker, and I got a splint.  The new sail is awesome.  It’s red, white and blue. 

My thumb was just blue.  The pollice schiacciato (crushed thumb) happened in early January, and now that it’s almost healed, I can write about life before and after.

We arrived in Licata, Sicily in November with no passerelle.  Therefore, we jumped from Gerty to the marina dock to get to dry land.  There was little debate about it; a safer way to get to the shower house was in order.  That’s when we found Giuseppe in his metal shop.

He cut the bracket we needed to size, and Michael did the rest. 

Now that we could get on and off Gerty with grace, bigger boat projects ensued.  Michael wrestled insulation onto Gerty’s ductwork.  We took down our sails and worked with Andrea to determine the repairs that were needed.  We consulted with Emmanuel when we realized the true wear on our dodger stitching.  There were minor maintenance jobs, like checking the rigging and changing out the lazy jack loops to avoid chafing on the sail cover,  and there were major adjustments, like securing the floorboards throughout the boat and building a partial cockpit enclosure.  In the end, she’s better for all the toil.

But Licata wasn’t all about climbing the mast and contorting in the bilge of our floating home.  It was about staying in one place long enough to watch the local produce in my favorite frutteria change with the seasons.  

For us, Licata was also about watching the men sitting in a line on the street drinking espresso.  I always wondered where the women were.

It was about having a favorite bakery.

It was about choosing between twenty different types of pistacchio pesto in the grocery store, and watching the promenade of people walking the waterfront in their Sunday best.  Hiking past the grand mausoleums, and the abandoned summer cottages in the brisk sunny morning became familiar. 

Running on the seawall and bringing treats to the stray dogs was our normal.

In the end, I got to read to the children, and we found the best pizza place of all. 

These are the things I promised Michael that I would write down. . . to help us remember what we hope we will not forget.

We know we will remember the sailors.  We could never forget the penis-butter, or the blinking sweater.  The roar of laughter over pizza and cheap Sicilian wine, the conversation cappuccinos, and the stories of your lives will stay with us. 

There were romantic excursions, just the two of us, to Siracusa, Ragusa, and Catania.

And there were spontaneous road trips with friends to Agrigento, Palermo, and Cefalu.  Like the Valley of the Temples, these trips will last through the ages. 

So how did it happen?  The pollice schiacciato?  I was polishing the chrome on her bimini frame.  I know it was an accident, but I can’t help but imagine that our girl didn’t like being left in the marina.  She was cross, so she nipped me like a puppy who hasn’t been taken out for a run.  She didn’t realize Dr. Marcovici, our Roman hand surgeon would have to put me back together.  She didn’t mean to be cruel.  She just wanted to feel the wind fill her main, and the spray of the ocean on her deck.  I understand.  Soon dear Gerty girl, we will take you sailing again.

Last remarks:

• Grazie mille to the Licata community for sharing your everything with us.  Your authenticity, and kindness has changed us for the better.
• Thanks to Diane and Tim for taking time out of your Roman holiday to visit us in Sicily.
• To our friends and neighbors, we never would say, “goodbye,” but, “arrivederci” (until we meet again) to: Yuka, Francesco, Eva, Frank, Janine, Craig, Birgit, Syd, Poppy, Mick, Melissa, Chris, Zjelko, Carolyn, Nafisa, Kevin, and all the others.   For Bruno, Lance, Jenni, Patrizia, and Giuseppe one can only say this, “a tout l’heure (wink wink) notre amis et merci beaucoup pour tout.”