Who am I, really?

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When I was growing up and I asked where we were from, it was always, "We're Italian." Nothing more, nothing less. Grandpop, my Mom's father, lived with us when I was little. He was the only one of my grandparents who I knew. 
The others had all passed by the time I was old enough to remember so there was never any family discussion about "the old country."
Italy, to me, was my mother's spaghetti and meatballs for Sunday dinner, homemade Sicilian pizza on Friday nights, and special occasions celebrated with dinner at Sabatino's Restaurant in Baltimore's Little Italy. 
Italy was the house on Bank Street in Little Italy where my father grew up, one of 11 children in a house without central heating, the house we went to visit my Aunt Rosie and Aunt Vicky when I was growing up. 
Italy was my father growing Concord grapes and making wine from them every year, fresh tomatoes and corn from his garden every summer, with my mother's "putting up tomatoes" every hot and steamy August so we would have homemade spaghetti sauce all year long. Italy to me was those Saturday trips to Trinacria, the "Italian deli," and coming home with bags full of freshly baked loaves of Italian bread, still warm from the oven, sliced provolone, salami, and other Italian deli meats, olives, pepperoncini, gallon tins of olive oil, bottles of table wine, and the feasts that were those Saturday lunches.
I only many years later learned that the grocery store, Trinacria, was named for the three-legged symbol of the Island of Sicily. 
 (As I think back, most of my more vivid memories are related to food. I am looking forward to creating many new food memories during this trip.)

Several months back, I decided to have my DNA tested by My Heritage. 
These results were somewhat surprising to me even though I had learned that Sicily, through the centuries, had been a crossroads of many cultures: Greek, Phoenician, Arab, Roman, Norman, Spanish; in fact, "More than 13 civilizations have forged a deep identity." (https://timeforsicily.com/history).
It was interesting to me that the results showed 13.4% of my DNA came from western Asia, an area including Turkiye where we are right now. 
Earlier today, a man on the street even asked if I was Turkish. I can see the similarities between my face and many of theirs. I can guess this will be so much more so as we get to Sicily.

So yes, I am proudly Italian. I am 100% Sicilian in that all four of my grandparents were born in Sicily, but it seems I am ethnically more complex than that. While I'm not sure that fact would make my father happy, I think I like it.

Here are some photos from today in Istanbul: 
The Blue Mosque

The Grand Bazaar and some shops:



In a shop selling Turkish carpets, with a cat in my lap, drinking tea

One of many Turkish sweets shops
Mixed grilled kebabs and meats -- way too much food, but delicious!

Fresh produce and smoothies across the street from our hotel





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