Sicily III - I Become an Invalid Abroad

All in all, there was quite a bit of climbing involved in this trip to Sicily. The one who handled all this exertion the best was a man in his middle 80’s. Hardly anyone offered to give him a boost, because he was obviously doing so well on his own.

I at first didn’t give a second thought to how I was managing. I was normally healthy –sometimes even able to imagine myself gazelle-like. Until one member of our group took me under her wing. She started to make a habit of rushing forward and assisting me whenever I stepped off a curb or got off the bus. She took my elbow and, cooing encouragements, “helped” walk me down the steps of the forum. “You’re doing great,” she all but patted me on the head.

This woman wasn’t a great deal younger than I am, and not obviously less fit. I had no disabilities that I was aware of – at least I had none when I started the trip. But her incessant ministrations and concern soon began to make me feel positively decrepit. She was a truly kindly woman – so it didn’t seem likely that this was some elaborate game of one-upsmanship she was playing, calculated to make me wilt on the spot. Therefore, I soon began to suspect she saw some infirmity in me that I hadn’t realized. Her caution that I be assisted over every cobblestone (while the 86-year-old was assumed to be perfectly capable) might have become a self-fulfilling prophecy. It got so that I paused on the bottom step of the bus every time we stopped somewhere – waiting for a wheelchair to be pushed forward to scoop me up, poor invalid I.

Actually, I was one of the few to stay in good health throughout the trip. Almost everyone else, including my nursemaid, eventually came down with a bad cold or flu. I think those long, grueling airplane flights might have been partly to blame. I don’t know how I avoided catching anything. Maybe it was because I kept popping Vitamin C pills, although I’d never really had much faith in that preventative before. But two members of our group got so bad, they had to be confined to their rooms for several days – and they had to call a Doctor. One reported that this was a cultural experience in and of itself. An avuncular man came to her bedside, looked at her tongue, prescribed antibiotics – and charged a hefty sum.

(An aside on health care – an ordinary Italian wouldn’t have been charged for a Doctor’s visit. The Country has long had socialized medicine. However, our tour guide said that the average citizen pays about 43% of his/her income in taxes to cover all the services received. But most of the people don’t grumble about that – they think they are getting a good deal. Also, there are no overt sales taxes levied in Italy. At least, no sales tax is ever added on separately. When a restaurant menu says an entrée is 10 Euros, 10 Euros is all you pay. Your bill doesn’t end up being an irritating and unwieldy 10.90. So generally, I found food and shopping to be a bargain around Sicily. It seemed I was spending less than I would have spent for comparable items here at home.)

At any rate, if I ever do truly become an invalid, I might consider moving to Sicily and applying for citizenship. All my expenses will be covered!