I just got back from a pilgrimage to Agrigento, Sicily, and finding the answers to everything in Madonna songs and floating on a Dalek-inspired raft in the sea like whatevs.  If you have the opportunity to do likewise, my suggestion is to go all out and invest in the experience, as it will make you a richer, more exciting tapestry as a person, et cetera.  I feel a little guilty as the only thing I purchased was a keychain that said Il Padrino and some pasta; that’s how you quantify a good holiday though, isn’t it – by the magnitude of crap you buy, right?  Sorry Agrigento, but your knock-off Guggi didn’t do it for me in the ‘fulfilling my needs’ department.  Maybe next life

Usually when I travel I’m offered creepy touching and occasionally desserts, but disappointingly, no one offered either (except for YOUR MOM).  Apparently, though, in Sicily the ‘done thing’ is to offer rides to complete strangers. This is kind of weird because the only thing that really seemed to really cost money was transportation (and by that I mean taxis), and using the wisecracking street smarts I picked up from Whoopi Goldberg in every movie ever, I quickly deduced that I was probably going to enter into a Divine Brown type situation.  Which would actually be pretty well in line with Sister Act/Fatal Beauty Whoopi, but would also be hooker-hiking (fusion hooking and hitchhiking if you’re not following – take your pills, keep up).

I had one exciting/hilarious moment when the Sicilian-born-and-therefore-missed-the-opp-at-being-a-Jersey-Shore-castmate Giuseppe followed me in a 1993 hatchback sedan with no glass in the windows, and kept pointing at himself then making the steering-wheel-in-a-tiny-car gesture that is the international symbol for “I drive you!”   I tried saying “no thanks” a bunch of times, but when that faltered (on day two – it was a small town) I broke out the technology and said Grazie ma non vuole accettare un passaggio da sconosciuti, si prega di smettere di seguirmi in auto. Of course, by ‘said’ I mean ‘held out for him to read off the screen.’  Then he said – without saying a word and instead going “Ahhhhh! I fix it!” with the pointing-at-the-sky gesture of Eureka – “Okay, I totally understand,” and pointed to the name ‘Giuseppe’ tattooed on his forearm, then gestured again for me to get into the vehicle.  Boy, you so cray! 

I realise there’s way more to Sicilian culture than that, but I was on a limited time-budget, so I spent most of the time being the whitest person on the beach and listening to amazing megamixes of all the songs that kicked so much ass in 1992, followed by realizing that I only ever take advice from Madonna and that’s IT. My favourite part of the trip was when I did this:

Essentially nonstop. Oh and also I can totally Sophia Petrillo everything I ever say by prefacing it with Picture it – Sicily, 1938… which is something I’ve been looking forward to since God was a boy.

Also, the whole trip (which you can see more of on Instagram) made me think of my previous assessment of The Godfather and how right I was then (and continue to be, now), which some of you noobs may not have skulked out of the nooks and crannies of this blog. So you’re welcome – I’m reposting it here for you. And by ‘reposting’ I mean linking it here.  OMG as if you’re lazing about clicking a link! 

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