A magical encounter in the small town Naro, Sicily

It was late October and the eighth day of our eventful tour through Sicily. We had already enjoyed many fantastic (the Greek Theatre in Taormina, Monreale Cathedral) and adventurous (the crater of Mount Etna, the traffic in Palermo) experiences when, one afternoon, we arrived in the southern part of the island. Once again, Sicily offered us a glimpse of its incredible cultural and historical wealth: the ‘Valley of the Temples’ near Agrigento, a Greek temple complex dating from the 5th century BC, spectacularly situated on a ridge near the sea.

We were already feeling a bit ‘overwhelmed by culture’, so we agreed not to visit every single temple or church from then on. With this in mind, as the day drew to a close, we made our way to our next accommodation at an agriturismo (Coscio di Badia). Here, the incomparable Antonella was in charge, looking after every guest with a special blend of endearing ‘Italenglish’, excellent cuisine featuring produce from her own farm, and above all with a rustic warmth that brooked no objections – a truly genuine Sicilian Mama!

From our little house, we had a fantastic view of the surrounding barren hills. In the distance, you could see the sea, and to the north, the silhouette of Mount Etna was clearly visible. The late afternoon sun cast the landscape into a lovely scene, with the little town of Naro perched like a swallow’s nest on the top of a nearby hill.

There was nothing about Naro in our travel guides – presumably this town was too small and too insignificant. Nevertheless, we spontaneously decided to pay a brief visit to the place. We quickly reached the first houses along a winding road in our little Fiat Panda. Once again, we felt disillusioned: what had looked picturesque from a distance turned out to be a rather bare, haphazard little town with façades in need of renovation, poor roads, and bin bags lining the walls of the houses. Perhaps this was the real, unvarnished Sicily? The streams of tourists were evidently taking other routes, for example to Agrigento with its polished old town centre, which lies just 20 minutes away. Along narrow, bumpy streets, we finally reached the sloping, almost deserted square (Piazza) in front of the church. Only a handful of boys were playing a noisy game of football in front of the church steps. And the church itself – well, a Baroque façade, shimmering golden in the evening sun – but even there we’d already seen more magnificent buildings over the past few days. Still, we wanted to have a look, since we were already there...

Il Doumo di Naro

The interior of the church was modest, hardly spectacular. We thought there were probably no artistic treasures to be found here. There was a smell of damp masonry in the air; the nave was rather bare and gloomy. Apart from us, the only visitors, we spotted an elderly priest a little further down the central aisle, standing facing the altar and bent over a stack of scriptures. It felt as though he was meditating – we didn’t want to disturb him. Without a word, we turned around and closed the heavy door behind us as quietly as possible. Carefully, we made our way down the steps – some of which were dangerously uneven – towards the car park in the piazza. Our visit to the church had lasted barely half a minute.

When we were almost back at the car, we heard cheerful shouts behind us: the little football heroes were gesticulating wildly and pointing up towards the church. There, in front of the wide – slightly ajar – church doorway, stood the old priest, beckoning us with sparing gestures to come up to him. For a brief second, we felt a sense of dread, but we probably had no choice...

Once back at the top of the steps, we realised just how old and small the priest was. He smiled and invited us to come closer in a friendly, soft voice in Italian! Oh, this was going to be a struggle, with our very rudimentary knowledge of Italian! Completely unaware of this, the priest invited us into ‘his’ church. Taking small, quick steps, he led the way and guided us to various images of saints and statues. Patiently, he explained the story behind each image over and over again. He beamed every time he realised we’d understood what he was saying: a date (1520), an event from the New Testament (Mary Magdalene weeping as she washed Jesus’ feet with her tears), the type of wood the pulpit was made of (oak). We were ourselves surprised at how our understanding of the language gradually grew, and we were even more moved by the way in which the elderly priest brought us closer to the unique features and beauty of his church. To him, it was special; to him, it was beautiful; to him, it was the pride of his life to have served in this church!

And lo and behold, the church had yet another surprise in store for us: at the end of the aisle, the priest opened a door we hadn’t spotted in the dim light. We stepped over the threshold and found ourselves in a new church! Our surprise clearly delighted the priest, and he walked cheerfully ahead, pointing left and right as he continued his story. He was now heading towards an impressive, 3-metre-high oak door with beautiful carvings. Almost reverently, he opened the two door leaves for us so that we could look into a third church (much like a Russian matryoshka doll – a church within a church within a church)! This one was much smaller than the previous ones, almost just a chapel, but certainly the oldest of the three buildings. We could tell this from the Romanesque arches, the small window high up in the nave, and the ornate mosaic floor of white and red marble. We’d already admired the same pattern a few days earlier in the Norman cathedral in Cefalù, and that cathedral was nearly 1,000 years old! We stood silently on the threshold, not entering this chapel, just gazing in wonder. Hardly any tourist had ever had the chance to see this! Eventually, the elderly priest turned round, smiled at us and began to tell us about the marvellous and evidently very old carvings on the wooden portal. They depicted various events from the life of Saint Augustine.

We then slowly made our way back to the exit and noticed that there were many damp patches and water stains on the church walls. There was no doubt that there was an urgent need for renovation. But how much would it cost, and where would all the money come from, here in this poor part of Sicily? It was a painful thought for me – but how much more painful must this situation have been for this kind and solitary priest! Perhaps he feared that no one after him would really care about ‘his’ church. Perhaps that was why it gave him such great pleasure to tell us a few stories and reveal the true beauty behind the façade to us two simple-minded and spoilt tourists! We felt honoured and a little embarrassed as he accompanied us back to the exit after 30 moving and unforgettable minutes. Waving and with great warmth, he bid us a verbose farewell as we walked down the steps to the Piazza.

In silence, we walked back to our car – we were speechless at what we had experienced. Just as we reached the car, the church bells suddenly began to ring! We looked at one another and shared the same unspoken thought: it was a farewell greeting from the priest to us. Now, this may sound a little presumptuous, inappropriate and embarrassing, but the whole experience – with a personal guided tour by this friendly man and the finale with the bells – touched us deeply and continued to resonate for a long time afterwards...