January 28, 2014
There’s something wonderful about being in Sicily on winter mornings: you have the piazza all to yourself.
Oh, there might be a mutt or two coiled in a corner… but otherwise there’s a deep calm, far from the clamoring crowd. You’re free to breathe in the empty island air and indulge your inner lone wolf.
(Is it the decade of a too-busy life in NYC that’s made me crave solitude? Shoving my way on and off the 6 and 7-train every day?)
This is Marzamemi, a honey-colored fishing village on the east coast of Sicily (south of Siracusa and not far from Noto). I won’t set foot there in summer (crowds!), but in winter I could linger for hours. I hope heaven is as nice.
Won’t you join me for an open-air caffè? Now I’m feeling a little lonely.
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January 13, 2014
Welcome to Caffè Italia in Upper Ragusa, a swanky place on Piazza San Giovanni. But swanky in Sicily still means coffee for 90 cents, and a petit four for 50 cents–less than the cost of a Snickers bar.
I’ve ordered coffees all around, and four teeny cakes.
Ready for a tasting? Let’s tuck in.
 
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January 5, 2014
Happy New Year my friends!
On a normal New Year’s Eve, after a hot cup of tea, we’re snoring by 10pm under a layer of duvets and quilts. But not this year.
This year we pushed and shoved our way into Piazza San Marco in Venice as the moon and the stars spun above. While the countdown proceeded–10.9.8.7.6.5–merry-makers in glittery masks shook bottles of bubbly Prosecco. At the stroke of Midnight, the crowd howled, sparklers flashed, and the fizzy stuff boiled up into the night, showering us with a icy spray.
The next day we rode the ferry to the quiet fishing village of Burano, a perfect antidote to the chaos and glamour of Venice.
Do it yourself to Burano:
If you go to Venice, don’t pay for an expensive tour to Burano. Just walk to Fondamente Nove and hop on a vaporetto (Line 12). They leave every half hour and the trip takes about 40 minutes. My best advice: Go early!!! By 11 am, the tour boats have arrived.
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December 27, 2013
Early Christmas morning, Ignazia G., born in 1915, welcomed my husband and me into her home. I had come bearing this photo of her.
 I’d snapped it back in November, startled by such a vision of deep calm.
When I hand it to her, Ignazia’s magnificent eyes blink on and off. “She looks like me!”
“She IS you, Signora.”
“Really?” She breaks into a giggle. “But I am not Signora. I am Signorina. I had a fidanzato once.” Her eyes are suddenly looking far away and she pulls her shawl closer. “He went to America. He wanted me to go with him, but I was afraid.”
So gentle Ignazia lived out her life next door to a parish church in Sicily, where she threw herself into keeping church floors polished and teaching all the little Antonios and Antonellas the rules of their religion in catechism classes. She is proud of her story.
Church bells shatter our conversation, and Ignazia hands us a bowl of candy. Then off we go, chewing on lemon drops, with Ignazia in our hearts.
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December 19, 2013
Stars burn. Leaves whisper. The village is waiting for Natale, waiting for 2013 to run out.
You can sometimes catch a glimpse of a Christmas tree behind shutters. Boxes of panettone crowd out everything else in mini-markets. Poinsettias shimmer red on the piazza. But otherwise, no hoopla in the village. Just a quiet wait.
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All photos and text on BaroqueSicily are Copyright of Jann Huizenga ©2009-2015, unless otherwise noted. Material may not be copied or re-published without written permission. All rights reserved.
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