November 1 - Yesterday we walked around Mazara Del Vallo, the closest point in Sicily to Africa, which includes a casbah section and the “Casa Tunisa.” We started at the ocean then visited a large square with a church, where a happy, older priest in collar and street clothes ambled towards us, smile broad and constant, like he knew something good. “Buon Giorno,” he said. There was a group of men smoking cigars, catching up, in chairs outside what looked like the entrance to a bird museum in a shady stretch along the edge of the square. What a lovely place to gather, but why?

I asked two men who were chatting around a motorcycle for directions to the casbah area using my very - very - limited Italian vocabulary. We mostly used pointing and repeated phrases in each of native languages. Another tourist joined us. He spoke English but didn’t know where the neighborhood was. It was a very happy conversation with a pretty successful result.

We wandered through narrow streets - me, my mom, her friend Jane. Lamps hung from above and we imagined the fun at night. There were many small shops with pottery, jewelry…the artisans inside, workshops visible. Ceramics were decorated with abstract fish, surprised faces. There were history lessons in murals painted on the stone walls. Succulents flourished in colorful pots (mine suffer so in our cold Connecticut sunroom! I’m investing in some artificial sunlight for them when I get home!)

It was quiet but not deserted and we kept on, very slowly, until we found our way out to the main street, busy with cars and mopeds. We watched a savvy dog - a real man of the town - expertly navigate two lanes of traffic, our hands covering our faces, until it became clear that he was an absolute professional, arriving at the other side not only unscathed but unconcerned.