Stone upon stone: an Italian sojourn: Finding gold in Monreale

Today started out with dark skies, then decided to dump it all as rain, heavy at times, so this was one of those days--extremely rare for us, we rarely encounter rain in our travels so we are careless in our preparation for it--when rain decided the pace we moved, where we went, and how we travelled.

Busses to Monreale-- and the cathedral just ten kilometres up a small mountain in a pretty village there, was our plan for the day--leave from Piazza Independenza, so to catch connections you have to walk. We stopped for delicious coffee enroute, popped into a series of homeware stores that called to us, so dawdled, really, until the rain bucketed down: then we scampered. Not always finding shelter.

Luckily the apartment has a stand filled with umbrellas. Unluckily, we took one: sadly, only one: thinking rain, if it came, might be like the rain in Malta: more mist than moisture. But, no, these were serious drops and this was wet. Even Palermitan on motor bikes were riding up, out of it, on to the sidewalk awnings looking for shelter. And that all must have made the traffic jam, so the busses were deathly slow to top it off.

We took over an hour to go that short distance in a steamy bus its glass windows dripping with a mixture of cold moist air and still body heat, but any window that might have offered ventilation and a view appeared to have been firmly screwed shut. No air was allowed in. When we arrived it was lunchtime, and as we were so high up and the clouds so low down we could see nothing of the view of olive and orange groves dropping down to Palermo, so we turned into a cafe, shook off our sodden gear, then lazed in the dry warmth over a long lunch drooling over delicious strips from a long-seasoned leg of prosciutto served with shaved Emmental on the freshest baguettes that were simply delicious. The cafe was designer perfect. Even the loo doors were entirely of black glass, the loo walls trimmed in black mosaic tiles, some that glinted: a preview of what was to come in the cathedral.

Our first sight of the Monreale Cathedral was a view down a narrow lane to the heavily decorated apse. Already amazing: no wonder it is a celebrated UNESCO site and one of the most beautiful cathedrals in all of Italy, if not the world. Normans built the Cathedral. Somewhere around 1170, or a little later. It has stood for a long, long time.

Like Malta, Sicily has a history of invasions. Entirely different races ruled Sicily at different times.

Normans, 'men from the north', originally hailed from Scandinavia; they were Vikings. They eased themselves over land and sea and time, and took hold in northern France: Normandy. From there they invaded, as in England, thanks to William the Conqueror; or muscled in, as in Italy, and built themselves fiefdoms and became princelings with much power.

Power bought them trade. Trade bought them money. Money paid for some 2,200kgs of pure gold to be cut into mosaic shapes and inlaid at Monreale.

"Oh, wow!" said Miss Bec, as she walked from the gloom into the gold. Angels and dieties, the Virgin and the apostles: images were everywhere, with the omnipotent Christ in a blessing rising up from the altar. Gilded. Every arch, every niche, every pillar, every altar has gold inlay somewhere, thanks to specialist Byzantine craftsmen brought in from Constantinople for the job. Well paid, I hope. Not like the low wages for hard work on offer these days.

We sat for ages. There is so much that it is hard to comprehend. You cannot really look at it as a whole: it doesn't really make sense. You have to absorb tiny bits at time: Noah, too long on the Arc, reaching out to a dove he had sent forth returning with an olive twig, a signal of growth, a sign that the flood was abating, and he might return to land. Jesus, breaking bread, with two of his disciples. The Virgin Mary and Child on a throne, angels on both sides. And so on. This way, only, did it make sense to me.

All heavily gilded. Even the ornamented capitals, thick with decorative acanthus leaves have a liberal application of gold and coloured mosaic stones atop the columns to emphasise their beauty. Then there are geometric patterns in the roof and long thin panels down the stone walls.

The legend is that William 11, the Norman king of Sicily, fell asleep under a carob tree while hunting and thence dreamed an apparition of the Virgin, pointing out a pot of gold for him to build a church.

William, the Good--as he was called because his subjects considered him a just and fair king in contrast to this father, William, the Bad--built his church on top of a hill-a symbol of power, even today. And the pot of gold likely came from war spoils and taxes, as it usually does.

But still, it is magnificent. There is no other word for it. We have seen lots of churches, in many many countries: none so beautiful. And William, who died childless, is buried here.

It was getting dark as we left the cathedral; the rain was still threatening and occasionally falling heavily. The next bus was a good hour away, so we found a convenient cab and in a remarkably short while were dropped off on via Maqueda, where the night lights had come on in the gloaming.

A lovely sight to finish our day: wet, wet wet, but wonderful.