Spring Break: Italy & Tunisia, part II

So sorry Spring Break has taken so long... I had this written and then my internet quit and lost this entire section--sob.
So, let's try this again, shall we?
Stop #2, Palermo.
We were, of course, late on our flight from Rome to Palermo--it seems everything rungs a little bit late in Italy, but it forces relaxation, so it didn't kille me. Upon arriving, my first impression was a strong reminder of Tucson, Arizona due to the dry high new mountains. You know, good volcanic mountains that don't look like they're about to roll into the sea (i.e. the Appalachians). MC thought that it looked like the Lord of the Rings and I think she was hallucinating, but think the hills near Rohan + Tucson mountains. Got me?
So then onto Palermo--we have to stay in a lovely little bed and breakfast, which we were promised was a wonderful place my numerous reviewers. Oops--not so much. Instead, we walk a little stroll down the road and dodn't see it, but know we're in the right area. No big deal. So we go to the bus/train station, where that classic Italian "Sunday shut down" philosophy confronts us like a brick wall--the only people there are two ticket-sellers who a)have no sense of direction and b)are uniformly harsh and unhelpful. So we think, "maybe it was on teh other side of the road and we just missed it, no big deal". And then there, on the corner of the road, we see the right road! And more, we see a sign with the B&B's name. Excellent! Except as much as we ring their bell, no one comes to the door to assist us and this door could easily render impenitrable a medieval castle. Instead, I finally decide to be evil and pull someone else's bell; the poor man was rather confused, but let us in and we pass up to the correct floor. We see a sign, pull the doorbell, and... nothing. Not a sound or a movement. So screw that--we walk about 200 feet down the road, see a hotel, and find a little place where the owners speak Italian and a little German, we speak English, French, Arabic, and Spanish, and everyone is equally confused, but we get a really fun balcony, so no matter. With a precious few remaining hours of daylight left, we wander out in search of dinner and an internet cafe. Dinner taken care of, we try out the "cafe". Only it's not a cafe, it's an Australian bar, complete with koala crossing signs, Aussi beer, Ayres Rock, Brit-rock on the LCD, test-tubes full of what claims to be 98% alcohol, which we wisely steer clear of, and a few computers. While MC and Will tend to family-contact business, I order up drinks and get my first taste of limoncello--sour, sweet, potent, and very nice. Dad can have his conac and Grandpa his scotch, I'll stick to this stuff. Naturally, one must always follow up alcohol with caffeination, so we head up to Cafe Antico Spinnato, which receives great acclaim from the guidebooks. Oh my god! It was amazing! I ordered a cone with chocolate and pistachio and thought I'd gone to gelato heaven. This stuff is better than that in Rome (don't tell Haley!); the next day I will drag my friends back and gorge myself on an imperial cone with coconut and raspberrry. To understand the imperial cone, you need a visual. See Jonah the whale (Moby Dick, got it?). This is the ice cream cone--it's enormous and covered on both sides in chocolate and one side in pralines. It's filled to the brim with white and pink (pink tongue, white whale) and so large it could possibly come alive and eat my face; don't you worry, I showed it who'se boss.
After round 1 of gelato, we visit La Kalsa, an old area near the port that still bears the scars of World War II bombing. We get hopelessly lost without an adequate map and then we get a little scared off my a creepy pack of dogs, though on the way we find an ancient monumental gate built amidst rubble and heavily-leaning row houses.
Day 2: Begin at the Museo Archaeologico Regionale with a brief stop for a macchiatto and ricotta filled pastry. If I could eat this every morning, I would be a whale, but a very content whale. I love the museum, with its random bits of statuary, lush gardens with naked cherub fountains and amphorae planters, the walls and walls of mosaic and case upon case of Etruscan and Roman and Greek and Norman pottery, statuary, and broken who-knows-what. This museum is a true testament to Sicily's geographican location as the crossroads of the Mediterranean.
If all else fails, I got some great shots of color if Mom wants them for house decoration ideas. Unfortunately, they're still on the memory card as the next day my camera would stop working and remain unhappily stuck on the "zoom" position for the remainder of the trip.
After a couple churches and a fountain full of naked greek gods, we stop to view La Martorano, a mosque-turned Byzantine-turned Roman Catholic church--a true Mediterranean medley. As I leave the church I hear "MAX!" And there is Max, a West Point student abroad in Cairo with us. With our new travel partner for the day set, the four of us venture off in search of lunch, more churches, badly-dressed and ill-behaved Italian teens, their beautiful and fashionable 20-something counterparts, the Sicilian parliament and an Etruscan wall or two, random discussions about the merits of engineering programs at various universities, more gelato, groceries and limoncello for tomorrow, and dinner and wine at a little restaurant where the seafood is excellent, the housewine is good, and I daringly ordered the Sicilian national dish (sardines with raisins and pine nuts).
And tomorrow, the ultimate adventure... involving how exactly one gets on a boat to Tunisia, why rain really sucks, linguistic misunderstandings, and why I am incredibly glad to be an American.