Two Very Different Adventures in Palermo: Capuchin Catacombs and Mondello Beach

Sicily has a way of throwing the unexpected at you—sometimes literally. Case in point: the pigeon that left me a "gift" on our walk to the Capuchin Catacombs in Palermo. (Un segno di Dio, perhaps? Yes, that's a quote for one of my favorite movies.) It was one of those outings we hadn’t planned. It was a Sunday, so I figured the catacombs would be closed, but we needed a walk, and I wanted to scope out the location for a future visit. Lo and behold, not only were they open, but the line was short, and before I knew it, we were stepping into one of the most hauntingly fascinating places I’ve ever been.

The Capuchin Catacombs are tucked away in the middle of a very local, very non-touristy neighborhood, which makes the experience feel even more surreal. Entry is just 5€ per adult, and for that price, you’re treated to a macabre yet oddly humbling stroll through corridors lined with skeletons and mummies in various stages of decay. Men, women, children, priests, monks, nuns, professionals—they’re all there, divided into sections that speak to the social and religious order of their time. There’s no artificial lighting, but enough natural light filters through high, street-level windows to guide your way.

As I wandered, taking in the sheer number of entombed people, I overheard a couple of older women mutter, "You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. I’m ready to go." I’ll admit, it ruffled my feathers. These were once living, breathing humans—people who laughed, cried, worked, loved, and eventually met the same fate we all will. The idea that someone could dismiss them so casually felt deeply disrespectful. I resisted the urge to point out the obvious: "What you’re seeing is what’s going to happen to you." And honestly, wouldn’t we all be lucky to have someone, even a stranger, acknowledge our existence long after we’re gone?

No photos allowed, so this part of the post will remain slightly stark less the photos from the internet.

After that heavy dose of mortality, a beach day was in order, so off we went to Mondello Beach some days later. Getting there was an adventure in itself. We hopped on the 806 bus around 10:10 AM, only to find it so packed we could barely move. (Pro tip: Enter through the back door if you can—we didn’t pay on the way there because, frankly, staying upright was challenging enough.) The bus ride took about 25 minutes, and we arrived at a beach that’s as picturesque as it is chaotic.

Mondello Beach has a very small public area, so renting chairs and an umbrella was a no-brainer. For 35€, we got two chairs, an umbrella, and a little peace of mind. (There’s also a 3€ reimbursement when you return the bracelet they give you—a tiny but satisfying bonus.) I went into the water three times, relishing the cool, crystal clear Mediterranean. D, on the other hand, was perfectly content under the umbrella, headphones on, podcasts in full swing. He claimed he wasn’t up for swimming because Monaco had set the gold standard for beaches. And honestly? He’s not wrong.

The ride back was less chaotic but came with a twist: a fare collector appeared. We paid 4€ (because, of course, he didn’t have exact change), bringing our total beach-day transportation cost to 36€. It reminded me of Rio de Jainero, where it cost a similar amount for a beach day. Comparisons aside, it was a perfect day—a refreshing contrast to hustle and bustle of the city.

In Palermo, every day feels like a balancing act between the profound and the playful. One moment, you’re contemplating the inevitability of death; the next, you’re floating in the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean. And somehow, it all fits together beautifully.