Erice

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This city is laid out in a weird way. Streets so narrow, that sometimes it is not so difficult to touch both sides with stretched arms. People still live here, like in a normal other place.

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They sometimes have their apartments inside the defensive wall, because – yes – there is such a wall around the whole city. A town which indeed is a true fortress. Arabic mosque, romanesque church and baroque basilica exist side by side in peace, but constructed also with unbelievable density, on the foundations and ruins of ancient Greeks, Phoenicians and Romans.

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The myth is omnipresent as much as the Mount Etna that is visible from the streets. The myth of war and peace, hatred and envy, love and glory of heroes. Like the universal history of humanity. Our common history, regardless of our ethnic origin or religion. It’s Sicily – multi-ethnic and multi-colored: Latin, Greek, Arabic, Norman, Anglo-Saxon, Germanic and African. The melting-pot.

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And here I am – in the Castle of Venus, close to the “Wall of Dedalous”. It looks like medieval fortress constructed on the rock impossible to reach, hanging over the precipice. Amazing.

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There is a girl sitting on the big stone or piece of ruin in the Courtenay. Young girl with uniquely pale skin and long hair reaching her belt. These hair are impressive, thick and bright and let loose. The girl has a little slanted eyes, but only a little bit. And there are delicate freckles on her cheeks. She looks here like not of this world. As being a mythological nymph…

– Or siren! – saying this she suddenly burst out with laugh so loud and spontaneous that I start to laugh with her…and did not even wonder how it is possible that I just heard the answer to my own thoughts.

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