Sweeping, Weeping in Sicily

July 12, 2010

The street sweepers here wear suits bright as orange rind and dance with twig brooms.

I see them in the early morning as I stumble across the piazza in the direction of a latte macchiato. They clear the streets of bougainvillea petals and the debris of summer weddings: hearts of confetti, bottles of Asti, handfuls of rice.

Street Sweeper in Sicily with Twig Broom, copyright Jann Huizenga

And every morning I pray, “Please Signor Sweeper, hold tight! Hold fast to those twigs. Don’t go all plasticky on me.”

I want to weep when I see the changes sweeping Sicily, her Americanization: the new shopping malls plunked down among the olives, the SUVs, the McDonald’s in Upper Ragusa (though grazie a Dio the one in nearby Modica went belly-up).

So I savor the twigs. Because someday soon they’ll disappear, never to return.

Twig Broom, Sicily, copyright Jann HuizengaClick to comment.

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Sicily is an Old Wall

March 17, 2010

Sicily is an old wall, pitted and crumby as stale cake.

Old Sicilian Wall, copyright Jann Huizenga

Burning with Pompeian colors.

Old Wall in Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga

Glowing with graffiti.

Old Sicilian Wall, copyright Jann Huizenga

Wrinkled as an ancient face.

Old Sicilian Wall, copyright Jann Huizenga

Yellowed as old newsprint.

Old Wall in Siracusa, Sicily, copyight Jann Huizenga

Fresh-plastered walls don’t have half the charm.

UNESCO money has poured into Southeast Sicily’s eight World Heritage towns. Let’s hope restorers don’t get too zealous.

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Spare Me the Bridge to Sicily

January 3, 2010

In early 2008 I met an American engineer at a moving sale he and his wife were hosting at their posh apartment in Rome. He’d been twiddling his thumbs for two years in Italy, waiting around to start work on the suspension bridge to Sicily. Prodi was in, Berlusconi was out, and Berlusconi’s plans for the bridge had been scrapped. I bought some throw pillows from the engineer and wished him well. I was glad to see him give up and go home.

Well, Berlusconi is in again—with what seems like a vice grip on Italy—and the bridge project is very much back. In fact, there was some shoving around of dirt at the construction site near Reggio Calabria on December 23, sort of a faux inauguration, and I’m sad. They’ll ravage the fragile Straits of Messina—home to the mythic Scylla and Charybdis—with tons of concrete and sludge, pillars tall as the Empire State Building, and the greed of developers and mafia bosses.

Sicily should retain her mystique as an island, remain physically and culturally discrete. OK, it’s true that I’m a reactionary here. I want to give the local populace a good shake and say, Stop, amici! Dust off your accordions. Don your native costumes. Bring back the public baths. Make Sicilian the official language. Return to the puppet theater of your vanished world.

But most of my Sicilian friends agree with me about the bridge. Yes, we know it’s a royal pain to wait in those lines for the ferry. Yes, Messina’s a mess to drive through. But doesn’t Italy have more worthy projects? Like finishing the A3 highway between Reggio and Naples? Saving L’Acquila? Improving rail service in Sicily and the rest of southern Italy? Solving the perennial water crisis of inland Sicily? Preserving Sicily’s endangered antiquities? Preventing landslides in Messina?

Is this bridge a monument to ego? Something like the Foro Mussolini or the Vittoriano (“chopped,” as Peter Davy wrote, “with terrible brutality into the…hill”)?

Ach! Spare Sicily, per carità, from mass tourism, environmental brutality, and what D.H. Lawrence called “hateful homogeneous world-oneness.”

Stop sign in Siracusa, Sicily

What do you think? I’d love to hear from you. Buon anno a tutti.

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