I loved Palermo so much the first time I visited—just for two weeks in 2018—I returned when I became horribly ill in 2019. I stayed six months, mostly bedridden, unable to walk and unable to eat. In any part of the world, severe illness is a crucible. In Palermo, all the same, there was fish and there was belief. This is a poor city, a fervent city, a corrupt city, an impassioned city. I could not speak, whether due to illness or to language, but people would reach out to me regardless—a foreigner, a stranger, just someone—to shake my hand in greeting because I was part of the neighbourhood, to embrace me as one of them. This must be why Palermo is among the most progressive cities in Europe to embrace refugees. I met such people, even persons who adopted refugee children, and was awed—moments that were not for photographs but for living and celebrating the parlemantino spirit. This is the goodness in the world.