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Me: You landed okay?
Rhia: Yep. Just in a taxi to the office. Send me some more pics, so I can live vicariously through you while I work my butt off. Can’t believe I was in Sicily mere hours ago… seems like a lifetime already.
Me: I know! I miss you.
Rhia: Ditto.
I move on to the Greek theater that used to hold up to twenty thousand people. Imagine this place filled with people in tunics and sandals, enjoying the performances on the stage down below. What a spectacle that would have been.
I run into Alonso again at the Altar of Heiron II. He smiles at me as he explains, “Ara di Lerone, also known as Great Altar of Syracuse… it’s the largest altar known from antiquity. It dates back to the third century BC. It was dedicated to Zeus and used for animal sacrifices.”
I screw up my nose in distaste as I gaze along the length of it. “How long is it? It looks enormous,” I say in awe.
“It’s nearly two-hundred meters long.”
“That’s about two-hundred-and-twenty yards?” I ask as I touch the stones in reverence.
“Maybe. I’m not great at converting measurements.”
“Why the need for such a huge altar?” I wonder aloud.
“They held festivals here and sacrificed over four-hundred bulls each time.” My eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, and my stomach turns at the thought of how much blood would have flowed from these tables. I retract my hand on instinct.
“Oh… that’s just awful.” My hand goes to my heart, tapping my chest as I think of the poor animals.
“It was common practice back then.”
“How come you know so much about this place? Are you a history buff, too?”
I think of Tiero and Mateo and how much they know about the history of this island and Italy in general. Do all Italians have a love for the history of their country?
Alonso laughs and looks approachable for the first time. “My entire family is passionate about history. I grew up with all the stories.”
“Are you from a big family?”
“Yes, my family is very traditional. I’m one of five. I’ve got three sisters and a brother.”
“And where are you in the pecking order?”
He chuckles. “I’m right in the middle.”
“You’re lucky to have a big family. I don’t have any siblings, and since my parents passed away, it’s just me.”
We walk along the rocky path in silence. My thoughts automatically return to my parents. They had been to Sicily long before I was born. Did they come to Syracuse and wander the same path as I am now?
But this isn’t the moment to get sentimental. I don’t want to be sad today. I shake my head as if this simple movement had the power to push away the thoughts—time to think about something else.
I glance over at the man walking next to me with strong, confident strides. He’s scanning the perimeters, ever alert to his environment.
“How come you’ve never been back here before now?” I ask.
He hesitates for a moment. “To be honest, even though I drive past often, I never thought to stop.”
That makes sense, I never stop at historic sites around my home either.
“Where to next?” I ask. Alonso is turning out to be a valuable and knowledgeable tour guide. I might as well make the most of it.
“Orecchio di Dionisio,” he says, and I stare at him blankly. “The Ear of Dionysius. It’s an old limestone quarry over twenty meters high. Its name comes from the entrance shape, which looks like the inside of a giant ear. Legend has it that Denys, the tyrant of Syracuse, went there to listen to the conversations of his prisoners.”
