Two days ago I landed in Sicily. No glimpses of Turi Gulliano just yet. And so far no friends-of-friends have gotten hold of any of my fingernails. As yet, I have met a number of friendly Catanians and one Bagnino (lifeguard) from Palermo, with whom I'm sharing an apartment. We're living in the tiny town of Letojanni, which is basically the northern section of Taormina. It’s a borgo molto carino (a cute little town), for the most part untouched by tourism, which means its still possible to buy things like water and shampoo for reasonable prices. There are stunning beaches a fifteen-minute stroll (down a mountain) from my house where the water is invigoratingly cold, clear, and blue.

On work: So far I haven't really done any. Unless you count carrying a few drinks, lighting some candles, and setting a few tables. I have done a lot of standing around practicing my Italian and trying not to yawn. But this is all about to change in a few weeks when the vacationers really start to pour in.

My new boss is an interesting guy. For some reason he's decided that I don't speak Italian. In spite of the fact that I speak Italian to everyone else: waitresses, bartenders, cooks, his finance (who functions basically as service manager). Whenever he tries to tell me something, he mumbles a few words in Italian, and gestures indeterminably. So I stare back at him blankly. Which is more a result of the fact that he didn't actually say anything than it is a function of my lack of language comprehension. Then he starts spouting off the few random English words he knows. Speak. Receptionist. Ashtray. Oh ok, now it's all very clear. I ignore him and go ask someone else.

My little apartment- and I do mean little- in spite of its general state of chaos, bears many unique charms. For example, the shower is not so much a shower but more a tap, high up on the wall over a drain in the floor. Really it's quite convenient: when in a rush, one can shower and use the toilet at the same time. The TV doesn't really work but who needs one with the sun and sea always close by? But the fridge, oh the fridge. It is wonderfully and marvelously cold. People other than myself who have lived with a functional fridge for the last year could not possibly realize the beauty of this. On the size of the place: picture my apartment at Winston Avenue (those of you that remember it) and then picture an apartment noticeably smaller. With five people living in it. Personal space has become a long forgotten notion. But I think its good practice for the big Italian family I am one day going to have. And what it lacks inside, it makes up for outside with a huge wraparound terrace and a gorgeous view of the Mediterranean Sea. Yes, I did say Mediterranean Sea. Every morning I get to wake up and look out at the Med. And this is no half-assed, stretch-your-neck-around-the-corner-and-peer-with-one-eye-closed type of view. We're talking about a full-on, spread out before you like the centerfold of a travel magazine type of view. So what if I have to climb up a massive hill to get there? I've already decided to think of this absurdly steep and dangerously curvy road as simply a lengthy driveway to my hillside villa. Plus by the end of the summer I should have buns of steel from climbing it. Either that or calves of a mountain goat.