In Taormina
July 24, 2015
One of the pleasures of every trip is coming home and looking at a map to see where I have been. Yes, sometimes this can also be a disappointment, when I find out about spots I haven't visited because time was short, and realize that a few extra steps might have taken me to this hidden gem or that famous statue, or to a location I had not considered or known about when I planned the trip.
Looking at a map of Taormina now, I am sure I saw what I had set out to see. I walked Corso Umberto from Porta Catania to the point where Via Teatro Greco took me to the Greek Theatre, my main interest. I had taken a "do it on your own tour," a one and a half hour bus ride from the harbor in Catania to the bus depot in Taormina, at which point we transferred to an elevator that spilled us right near one of the town gates, where our guide, Number 27, explained we would meet again three hours later. I was, after that, on my own in a sea of people that moved slowly along the narrow shopping wonderland that is the Corso Umberto.
Teatro Greco is one of the ruins that has long occupied my mind. Not only because Herr Goethe visited in 1787, or because Richard Strauss was there, or Thomas Mann, Oscar Wilde, D. H. Lawrence, not only because the amphitheater is a Unesco cultural heritage site; Taormina resonates from deep within, from a childhood story or a romantic book I read as teenager, I can't remember the source, but I keenly feel the beauty of the town, the historical relevance, and the natural fortress-like setting between mountain as if I had been there before. This is the reason why I spent almost two of my three hours there.
Goethe was sitting on one of these steps in May of 1787. He had come with the painter Kniep, by mule, and he climbed to the highest seats, later to sing the theatre's praise in the "Italian Journey," claiming that it was an enormous masterpiece of nature and art and that one would have to admit that no group of people could find the same anywhere else.
And D.H. Lawrence once said: "One feels as though he has lived here for a thousand years ... not that Taormina is waiting just for me, it waits for all men."
I had that feeling, a humbling and yet happy feeling. Yes, Taormina had waited for me, too. Since my balance problem did not let me navigate to the highest spot, I sat on one of the stone seats about one third up and reflected on what I had read, what I imagined, what was in front of me. When a mother daughter pair took photos close to me I asked the young girl to take a picture of me and though she included a heap of trash bags behind me I am glad she stamped me into the unforgettable scenery. Looking at loudspeakers and other miscellaneous equipment surrounding the podium I wished I could be here for one of the nighttime performances of Carmen or La Bohème in September. Or listen to Il Volo sing "O sole mio" under the stars.
On my way back to the meeting point I stopped at Piazza IX Aprile, the town square, to gaze into the beautiful blue sea below and just before I reached Porta Catania I stopped for a quick ice cream, observing that the sun melted it faster than I could eat it.
The crowd had not thinned; it moved just as slowly as it had earlier, and I, who could spare no time to linger, found it hard to push through, almost stabbing people into their heels with my cane. I arrived with three minutes to spare and the elevator took me back down to our bus. The number 27 flag was waving back and forth announcing that it was time to leave.
"Oh dear Herr Goethe" I thought, almost saying it out loud, "what would you say to the changes Taormina has undergone."
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