baroquesicily.com - Sicily Stories and Travel Tips from Jann Huizenga

Three Stripes of Color

January 31, 2013

Passing by this wall today, I was reminded that in Sicily, when you renovate your house, you don’t just pick an exterior color and slosh it on.

Your neighbors get to weigh in first.

You paint three color samples on a wall, then wait a few weeks for their feedback.

In this case, the owners obviously (!) have their heart set on bright yellow, but the exact hue is up for negotiation.

A few years ago, my mason painted swaths of ripe peach, yolk-yellow, and Parmigiano on the side of the house facing my neighbor S’s house.

“Don’t choose the garish yellow,” S said one day. “Ti prego.” Indeed, it was she who would be most affected by the color choice as she stares right out at a large blank wall of my house.

“Which do you like best?”

“The light yellow.”

So Parmigiano it was. I was happy to let her choose the color of my house, as good neighborly relations are key to my survival here.

***

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I generally hate airports in the US, full of stale air and rushing hordes. Mouths chomping on burritos big as birch logs. Eyes glued to the Screamers on CNN or bright laptop contraptions. (OK, OK, I’m guilty, too.)

But the Rome airport? I’m in love.

First you hear: Signori e Signore, Benvenuti a l’Aeroporto Internazionale Leonardo da Vinci. (Is there any other country in the world that would name a major airport after a Renaissance artist?)

You step off the plane and inhale the sugary elixir of caffè latte.

People nibble away at the bars–they’d never be caught dead taking their food to a gate. Brutta figura!

The airport is steamy, even in winter.

Of course there were some americani at the Rome airport, and I eavesdropped on them for you:

1. Woman in coffee bar: “I waited at the counter for five whole minutes, and then they told me I had to go pay first at the cash register, where I waited another five minutes. And after all that time, look what I get! A teeny cup with a few drops of thick black stuff on the bottom.”

Husband: “It’s called Italian coffee.”

***

2. Texan in line behind me: “I’ll be so glad to get home.”

Woman in her tour group: “Really?”

“I didn’t like the food here.”

“Oh????”

“Not spicy enough.”

***

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Sicilian Walls: Fine Art?

January 17, 2013

The walls here are spattered and dripping with great splotches of color. Canvases of abstract expressionism.

I’ll tell you something: studying these walls is as much fun for me as visiting a museum-ful of Rothkos, Motherwells, and Pollocks.

Che ne pensi? Whaddaya think? Are these walls in urgent need of repair? Or are they A-OK just the way they are?

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Old Slippers

January 10, 2013

Sicilians like to air things out: pillow, mattress, rug, featherbed, broom.

On balconies. In windows.

Worn shoes. Old slippers.

The year is new, and I’d like to air my life out on the balcony, and let a jasmine-scented wind freshen it up.

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The Sicilian Heart

January 4, 2013

“In Sicily,” the locals always say, “You’ve got to have friends.”

So true. Without amici, I would not know where to find wild asparagus, or how to dry tomatoes in the sun. I would not have heat in the winter, or olive oil in autumn. I would not have had books or lipstick during my hospital stay, or the best doctor in town. I would not have known how to get a codice fiscale, open a bank account, or buy a house.

I have learned a lot about the Sicilian heart in the process.

To FRIENDSHIP in the New Year!!!