We let out the sails and start to head along the southern coast of Sicily. Joe and Loren from California joined us in Ragusa to share this adventure. We know Joe from Burning Man and got to know Loren while sharing this part of Sicily. The wind and waves are at our backs, so we split the sail and get good speeds over 10 knots. There is a new marina at Licata which we hear is offering berths for free during the month of May. It is a great place for us to spend some time, so we decide to take advantage of the offer.
Situated between two ancient commercial ports of Gela and Agrigento, this little piece of real estate has its history of battles and occupation that dates back to before the Greeks. We happen to stumble into town in the middle of their biggest festival of the year celebrating Sant’Angelo’s day, the patron saint of the town. It is a four-day affair that includes music, traditional dance, street fairs and lots of homage to this beloved saint. On Sunday the town church held the blessing of the donkeys. The donkeys are adorned with peacock feathers, foxtails, flowers, beaded material and anything else they can do to make their donkey the most ornate. You can’t be blessed by the church dressed in nothing but your finest. Often the donkeys are hitched to detailed painted carts and pulling cherry cheeked children with proud smiles
.
After evening Sunday mass, there is a somber procession carrying Saint Angelo’s relics through town in a magnificent silver ark. The brass band plays and the participants carry lit candles marking the way. Throughout all of this there are about a hundred barefoot teenage boys dressed as sailors milling around the plaza in front of the church for their part in the pageantry. It comes at the end of the procession. While waiting the impatient boys make their own fun by creating human towers and chanting what sounded more like soccer cheers than anything religious. Occasionally they would take one of the younger boys and throw them as high as they could in the air and catch the flaying boy as he came back down.
The procession with the sacred urn eventually stops at the other end of town. The police clear the streets and the young sailors take their place in front. After some chanting and a few false starts, these hundred or so barefoot sailors all break into a run back to the chapel with the silver urn carried along at the same speed. Carrying this heavy ark holding the relics of Saint Angelo is not easy. At one point it precariously tips, but is rescued by the running sailors. Ok, I have no idea what that is about, but it is certainly a fun part of the celebration.
The next day, the festivities continue as the young men of the town show their bravado by first trying to walk to the end of a narrow beam on the stern of a fishing boat that is greased to capture the red flag that is at the end. Numerous failed attempts are made with the young boy sliding off the plank and plunging into the sea before one is able to make a valiant leap for the flag as he too slides on the slippery surface into the sea. A cheer goes up from the quay as the town witnesses the bravery.
Then in mass, the whole crowd surrounds a tall pole that has also been greased to watch a different group try to climb to the top. At the very top waving in the wind is another red flag taunting the participants below. They also attach a hoop at the top and hang stuff animals, soccer balls and treats. The young men make attempt after attempt to reach the prize. Getting boosted up and climbing on shoulders of those already clinging to the greased pole, they try and reach the top. But it is not all that simple. Part of the tradition is to also pull and rip the clothing of those above you. Pant legs are torn off and tee shirts ripped before someone is able to make it to the top. From there the stuffed animals and soccer balls are thrown to the crowd below before the red flag is finally captured.
This is a celebration not for tourists, but for the town itself. This time of year there are very few outsiders clicking their cameras for those photo opportunities. We were one of the few. This is a celebration of what binds a community together. The young and the old come together to play an important role in the long traditions that have uniquely defined this town along the southern coast of Sicily.
Situated between two ancient commercial ports of Gela and Agrigento, this little piece of real estate has its history of battles and occupation that dates back to before the Greeks. We happen to stumble into town in the middle of their biggest festival of the year celebrating Sant’Angelo’s day, the patron saint of the town. It is a four-day affair that includes music, traditional dance, street fairs and lots of homage to this beloved saint. On Sunday the town church held the blessing of the donkeys. The donkeys are adorned with peacock feathers, foxtails, flowers, beaded material and anything else they can do to make their donkey the most ornate. You can’t be blessed by the church dressed in nothing but your finest. Often the donkeys are hitched to detailed painted carts and pulling cherry cheeked children with proud smiles
.
After evening Sunday mass, there is a somber procession carrying Saint Angelo’s relics through town in a magnificent silver ark. The brass band plays and the participants carry lit candles marking the way. Throughout all of this there are about a hundred barefoot teenage boys dressed as sailors milling around the plaza in front of the church for their part in the pageantry. It comes at the end of the procession. While waiting the impatient boys make their own fun by creating human towers and chanting what sounded more like soccer cheers than anything religious. Occasionally they would take one of the younger boys and throw them as high as they could in the air and catch the flaying boy as he came back down.
The procession with the sacred urn eventually stops at the other end of town. The police clear the streets and the young sailors take their place in front. After some chanting and a few false starts, these hundred or so barefoot sailors all break into a run back to the chapel with the silver urn carried along at the same speed. Carrying this heavy ark holding the relics of Saint Angelo is not easy. At one point it precariously tips, but is rescued by the running sailors. Ok, I have no idea what that is about, but it is certainly a fun part of the celebration.
The next day, the festivities continue as the young men of the town show their bravado by first trying to walk to the end of a narrow beam on the stern of a fishing boat that is greased to capture the red flag that is at the end. Numerous failed attempts are made with the young boy sliding off the plank and plunging into the sea before one is able to make a valiant leap for the flag as he too slides on the slippery surface into the sea. A cheer goes up from the quay as the town witnesses the bravery.
Then in mass, the whole crowd surrounds a tall pole that has also been greased to watch a different group try to climb to the top. At the very top waving in the wind is another red flag taunting the participants below. They also attach a hoop at the top and hang stuff animals, soccer balls and treats. The young men make attempt after attempt to reach the prize. Getting boosted up and climbing on shoulders of those already clinging to the greased pole, they try and reach the top. But it is not all that simple. Part of the tradition is to also pull and rip the clothing of those above you. Pant legs are torn off and tee shirts ripped before someone is able to make it to the top. From there the stuffed animals and soccer balls are thrown to the crowd below before the red flag is finally captured.
This is a celebration not for tourists, but for the town itself. This time of year there are very few outsiders clicking their cameras for those photo opportunities. We were one of the few. This is a celebration of what binds a community together. The young and the old come together to play an important role in the long traditions that have uniquely defined this town along the southern coast of Sicily.
