My wife and I just returned from a vacation in Sicily! As always when I travel, I’ll be writing some pieces related (and semi-related) to our trip. Here, I’m sort of introducing my trip-related writing, having a little fun with this series, and asking a question I think about frequently.

But first, of course, today’s building(s):

The first picture is from Siracusa, the second one is from Ragusa. Both are from the older areas of these cities.

Now, I know nothing about any of the buildings in these photos. But I’m pretty sure they’re all older than just about everything I’ve featured here before. But while there are onerous preservation codes in Italy to keep the old towns intact, these places don’t feel like museums. They’re still heavily inhabited by locals, and they really don’t look all that different from the newer areas (many of which are still old by U.S. standards).

So my observation here is that any random photo of many parts of most cities in Sicily (or mainland Italy, or much of Europe) will capture at least some buildings which could easily be 100, 200 years old. Many will have been standing for longer than the United States has existed.

We were reading the plaque on a city hall, which was a monastery in the 1300s, and had undergone quite a lot of alterations and changes in uses, but which was in part the same structure. I turned to my wife and said, “That’s not so different from a doctor’s office that used to be a Pizza Hut, is it?”

Is it?

When does something become history? When does a story of change over time become worth telling? The point of this series, where I look into the history of ordinary buildings, is basically that it’s always worth telling. History, like antiques, is a description we give to things, once they reach a point where they’re old enough to feel like curiosities to us. But by that point—unlike in these old cities in Europe—they may be gone.

And if you’re talking about a fast food structure on a four-lane commercial strip, that’s okay. But in a young country, the definition of history has to be more generous. Yes, the centuries-old monastery is in a different category from the converted Pizza Hut. But we’re observing the same thing in different forms. We’re simply seeing people adapting to the environment they find themselves in, and using it in a cheap or efficient way.

That’s why, despite the beauty of an old city, I see so much in the boring, sometimes dreary landscapes here at home, which in some sense conceal the vibrant life underneath.

Related Reading:

A Little Bit Of Motel

How Far to the City That’s Not on the Map?

Sacred Downcycling

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