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Crossing to Reggio
Sicily might be a land of fresh lemons and oranges and almond blossoms in early spring, but the weather aboard the car ferry across the Strait of Messina to the mainland is still cold.
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Messina by the Strait
From the dock of the ferry boat, everywhere in the port city of Messina, Sicily, seems to be facing the Strait.
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A fishmarket lamb butcher
In the way so typical of markets, the Catania, Sicily, fish market has grown to include meat, fruit and vegetables as well as seafood. This lamb butcher's stall is located in the shadow of one of the buildings that line the streets the market takes over every morning.
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swordfish
Some of the more established shops in the Catania fish market are built right into the lava-rock arches of the city's architecture.
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Two eels, one octopus, not enough business
Cold, rainy weather makes for a slow sales day at the Catania fish market -- though with fewer tourists in the way.
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business as usual
Doing business the way it's always been done -- and communication the way it's done today.
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sea urchin seller
Every sea urchin at the Catania fish market gets individual attention -- especially if you want to eat it right away.
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a view down the centuries
From the balcony of my room in the Hotel Isabella on Taormina's Corso Umberto, where you can buy all the Versace and Dolce & Gabanna that you need to bring home, I could have looked right, to where the sun had risen over the Strait of Messina. Instead I looked left -- first to see where the morning light fell, and then across a few centuries of apartments and churches to the Greco-Roman theater, a reminder of just how new a newcomer to Sicily I was.
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Italian morning
Somewhere between Milan and, let's say, Salerno is a vast world of mountains and mists in which we have managed to leave a mere tracery of our passing, roads and railways that hug the deeper valleys, small towns that venture short ways up the slopes. The rest is as ancient as ... well, as the hills.
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a botany lesson, somewhere in southwest Saskatchewan
A few kilometres or so east of Kindersley, we turn south onto a sideroad -- some 30 kilometres of dead straight, sometimes loose gravel, it turns out. It's a slow drive if we don't want to nick our rental van with flying stones. Farmers collecting roadside haybales wave at us; not many tourists come this way, and in a white van, we can't be anything else. We make our drive even slower by stopping, in the middle of our "lane," to find out what's growing there, close up.
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Stephanie Fysh has been a member since 5 January 2008 and goes by StephanieFysh.
Currently in Toronto, Canada.
Subscriber since April 2008!
I am a Toronto-based editor and photographer with a thing about the erotics of the built world, of our selves, and of the photograph. And I am going to see the whole world before I die.
You can also find Stephanie at htpp://www.stephaniefysh.com.
