#30 Words from Sicily

Souvenirs

My brother and I used to have this game we played. We'd seek out the tackiest souvenirs we could find every place we visited and either buy them or take a photo of them. It was just about having a bit of a laugh and trying to outdo one another on family trips. It could have been a tacky postcard, a sad-looking ashtray, a terrible fridge magnet, a wall hanging or shot glass.

Over the years, my brother has sent me the most random things to remind me of this game we used to play. And I have quite a cute collection of magnets. I'm sad sometimes when I think how long it's been since we've played this game. We have both hit our forties and now live in two different hemispheres, so sending things by mail is no longer practical.

I find myself, even now, randomly browsing souvenir stalls on the hunt for the tackiest thing available whenever I visit a new place. There are plenty of touristy spots in Sicily, filled with sun-faded magnets, deformed ceramics, gaudy key chains and other similar stuff. Occasionally I'll become intrigued by how they may be displayed. Colours or patterns often catch my eye, and I take a photo.

It's pretty poignant how much money is spent manufacturing and selling such a wide array of tacky tourist-based material. It's sad to think how commercialised certain places in Sicily and Italy have become. Hell, you could say the same thing about Europe and the world.

Once, the 'Grand tour' of Europe was undertaken by the wealthy (usually male) class and was seen as a rite of passage or a life experience to see the world's most significant monuments, art and history. The grand tour was a way of completing an elite type of education and somehow experiencing life in a much more mature way.

Travelling was seen and was often an adventure, a slow undertaking that changed your worldview and educated you. Some even managed to sow their wild oats and behave terribly. But it was mostly about making the transition into adulthood.

Even though the Grand Tour was an elitist and sexist relic, the idea was noble. So far away from ticking off items on various bucket lists and competing with others to post it all on social media, that's so common these days. So often, people are simply tourists rather than travellers.

A tourist is just blindly led by fashion, popularity or boastfulness. Today if you have money, you travel. Once travel was difficult, it took time and money. A grand tour could take years. You would have to travel by foot, horse, carriage and sea. You weren't tucked away safely in coaches, cruise ships or first-class suits.

Travel was done hand in hand with everyday people; you were living with locals, forced to speak the languages of each country, and it was a challenge. Once to travel, you need to be a good traveller, be more knowledgeable than anyone today, and be more resourceful and adaptable than you could ever imagine.

Travelling worldwide in past centuries was an exceptional undertaking, filled with expense, untold dangers and delays.

For example, D.H. Lawrence and his wife Frieda decided to travel with the world in the early 20th century, and his travel journals were filled with fascinating insights and experiences. Getting anywhere took weeks, if not months; there was little help for foreigners, and anything could happen. Yet once Frieda and David made it to places like Sicily and Sardegna, they stayed long enough to get to know the place well enough to experience it like a local. The result of these travels produced some of the most exquisite travel literature ever written, including Twilight in Italy, Sea and Sardinia and Etruscan places.

The souvenir you would bring back home from a grand tour would be the experiences themselves or something exceptional that you wouldn't find anywhere else.

As travel became more accessible, take-home keepsakes became less remarkable.

I still like to browse the stores; I occasionally think about buying something for my brother. I know my Sicilian relatives insist on getting a souvenir and are offended if you don't get them something. I know it's hilarious.

But if I'm travelling alone, I see the patterns of little trinkets that talk to me. Sometimes it's their shapes, the way they have faded in the sun, the strange way the designs have become deformed. It's a quirky thing to take a photo of the souvenirs as a keepsake. But I find I can't help myself.

I hate to be long-winded, so I will stop here now.

I'll keep trying to write something worthwhile, well thought out and new here every week, perhaps more often if I get in the zone.

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Mille grazie

with love from Sicily

Rochelle