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A couple months ago, my true blue amico Peter asked me and Howie to play at his BIG Birthday Bash in Sicily. Peter lives in Baltimore, but his peeps are from Sicilia.
And you can't deny a request from a Sicilian on his birthday. It could be lethal!
The last week of September, I left Palm Springs, caught a plane to San Francisco, and then?
A 12-hour flight to Rome. Twelve hours!
After a quick flight to Palermo, I picked up my luggage and took a taxi to the Airbnb.
I should have brought my football helmet because that mad dash through the winding streets of Palermo was one swervy curvy, herky jerky demolition derby.
Horns were honking, drivers were hollering, and nobody seemed to be paying attention to lanes or lights or speed limits.
When the driver finally dropped me off, I understood why there are so many churches in Sicily.
I arrived at the Airbnb and discovered it was on the fourth floor. The elevator never arrived, so I took the stairs. My suitcase weighed exactly 46 pounds, according to the scales when I checked in at the Italian airline, Genitalia.
After four flights (63 stairs!), I was breathing so hard I thought I might need a respirator. Or a priest. I unpacked and went to bed...and slept for 10 hours.
The next morning, the sun was shining, and it was glorioso. Howie—bongo boy in the Slim Man Band—arrived from Baltimore with his lovely daughter, Lex. They went upstairs and immediately went to sleep.
I strolled around Palermo for a few hours. I wanted to check out the Teatro Massimo, an old opera house across the street from the party.
Molto impressionante!
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