Dizzy in Southeast Sicily

June 10, 2010

There are rivers, cascades, torrents of steps in Sicilian hill towns.

Steps in Ragusa Ibla, Sicily

Steps in Ragusa Ibla, Sicily Steps in Ragusa Ibla, Sicily

Ragusa Ibla is a natural gym—better than a Stair Stepper. No wonder the locals live such long lives. It must be the steps (oh, and the olive oil that old-timers drink like water).

I gain no weight here, though I eat  like a monster: great bowls of pasta alla Norma, cones of toasted almond gelato, artichoke flowers, deep-fried donuts filled with sweet pistachio cream, wheels of cheese.

Steps in Ragusa Ibla, SicilySteps in Ragusa Ibla, Sicily Steps in Ragusa Ibla, Sicily Steps in Ragusa Ibla, Sicily

To the hundreds of steps in town, add twenty-five more in my house.  I lie in bed at night, head spinning and spinning. Legs aching and aching. And I’m happy.

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Does this life look fun to you?

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All Festa’d Out

June 1, 2010

They came and took away the festa lights today.

Thank goodness the fun is over. Three whole days of it.  The piazza resembled the midway at a Texas carnival: balloons, candy apples, cotton candy (zucchero filato).

Fireworks scaring to death—literally—the poor pigeons (carcasses all over town), large whorls of purple smoke ruining my laundry, wildly peeling bells at all hours of the day, our fêted patron saint (San Giorgio) paraded again and again through the tangled streets, three evenings of piped-in You’re Nothing but Hound Dog, three nights of blinding explosions that screeched like anti-aircraft fire—with sparks so close I was sure my house would melt. Via San Giorgio!

Great fun! See for yourself!

Porters Who Carry Saint Giorgio in Sicily, copyright Jann HuizengaExplosives for Festa di San Giorgio, Ragusa Ibla, Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga

Roman Candles at the Festa di San Giorgio, Ragusa Ibla, Sicliy, copyright Jann Huizenga

Fireworks at Festa di San Giorgio, Ragusa Ibla, Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga Vendor at Festa di San Giorgio, Ragusa Ibla, Sicily, Copyright Jann Huizenga

Man with Balloons, Festa di San Giorgio, Ragusa Ibla, Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga

Lovers at the Festa di San Giorgio, Ragusa Ibla, Sicily, copyright Jann HuizengaAltar Boys at Festa di San Giorgio, Ragusa Ibla, Sicily, Copyright Jann Huizenga

San Giorgio, Patron Saint of Ragusa Ibla, copyright Jann Huizenga

You can’t accuse Sicilians of lacking enthusiasm or the grand gesture.

And tomorrow’s another festa (della Repubblica)!

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Restoring a Damp House in Sicily, Part 11

May 29, 2010

I’ve cooked up the idea of installing in my kitchen a tile baseboard (called battiscopa, literally hit-broom) with a floral design. It’s going to be more than twice as high as a normal Sicilian baseboard.

When I explain my brilliant idea to the project manager, he knits his shaggy eyebrows into a scowl and gives his head a sad shake.

No, Gianna.”

I get a whiff of his strong aftershave.

Perché no?”  Why not?

He shoots me a look you might give a very slow learner.

“Non si fa in Sicilia.” It’s not done in Sicily.

Oh.

I search for the right words. I tell him the ceiling is very high “e a me piace i fiori.” And to me pleases the flowers.

“Non si fa,” he repeats with steely authority. It’s simply not done.

Does he think one non-traditional battiscopa will throw the whole island out of whack?

This isn’t the first time I’ve run smack into the Wall of Tradition. Sicily is a culture that values the Old Way, the Way of Granny.

I adore this about the island, really I do. In fact, I’m restoring my house in the Way of Granny. Mostly. I’m preserving and enhancing whatever is old. The floor tiles I’ve chosen for the kitchen are traditional Sicilian ones made in Palermo. The floral tiles are also an old Sicilian motif.

But I just want to tweak things a bit here and there, add my own little spin.

In the end, I defy the project manager. The new stonemason masterfully installs the butterscotch-colored daisies while crooning Sicilian love songs.

“Beh, non e brutta,” the project manager concedes when he sees the battiscopa. “It’s not ugly.”

Sicilian Floor Tiles, Copyright Jann Huizenga

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Readers, can you help me? Will you consider voting for my Sicily photograph in the Islands Reader’s Choice poll? Here’s the link. The link will bring you to a photo I shot of a Sicilian woman in Capo Passero (in the extreme southeast corner of Sicily). You can vote by clicking on *My Favorite* underneath the photo. (I could win a photography course and you could win a camera!) GRAZIE MILLE! (To see thumbnails of all 22 photos in the competition, click this link.)

Restoring a Damp House in Sicily, Part 10

May 17, 2010

Doing the bathroom twice was not fun.

In the aftermath of Round One, I was tempted to give up and flee Sicily for good.

Results of Round One

“You get no respect from your crew,” noted a friend. She persuaded a local bigwig to throw his weight around, Sicilian-style, as my proxy.

That did the trick.

Early one morning a new piastrellista, tile setter, showed up on my doorstep smelling of cologne and rubbing sleep from his eyes. He toiled away in a no-nonsense fashion, furiously attacking his predecessor’s work. Glass shattered kaleidoscopically.

Io sistemo tutto,” he kept repeating. I systematize all. (Sistemare is one of the highest Italian virtues.)

To fuel his fury, I ran to the local bar for tiny cups of thick black coffee and sweet ricotta tarts.

Round Two produced an apple-green bathroom. The tiles are ceramic and plain—not the pricey designer ones of yore. But you know what? Good riddance to those fancy-pants glass tiles. I like the brighter cheap-o ones better.

Results of Round Two

I hate to trivialize Andre Gide’s words by using them in this mundane context, but I’ll do it anyway: “One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.”


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