February 13, 2012
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February 9, 2012 He was sitting in the piazza in quaint little Monterosso Almo, Southeast Sicily, out in front of a bar. I like your beret. Did you get that in France? He pulled it off his head to study it, revealing a thick mop of hair the color of sheep’s wool. No, no. It is from Siena. Siena? Si. Siena, Siena, he muttered. Tanti anni fa. So long ago. Ah! (I could think of nothing better to say.) The man got very quiet and a faraway look came into his eye. I slipped into the bar for a coffee. When I came out, his eyes were still on the horizon and his cigarette unlit. *** Click to subscribe to BaroqueSicily. ***
February 5, 2012 Winter in Pozzallo, Sicily–all the way down at the tail end of Italy. Alone under a black sky. Beached. Marooned. Missing the glint of the sun. ‘N the bob of the sea. Know the feeling? *** February 1, 2012 Buscemi, Sicily. Who is crying? And why? Please leave a comment if you have a hunch and I will in return leave you a happy face if you’re close.
January 26, 2012 They are the charmingest of men, with a hint of mischief. Not that I have a wandering eye or anything. Sicilian men favor cigarettes, cool sunglasses, and brilliantine. Many accessorize with gold and maybe a crucifix, or a corno–horn amulet–to ward off the evil eye. When my sister Linda visited Sicily for the first time, she took a look around and her jaw dropped. “We should be Hollywood scouts! Take these pretty boys to Tinseltown!” “Linda,” my Sicilian friend–a divorcée–replied, “Are you insane??” Dear Reader, I’ll let you be the judge. *** You asked for this, girls. Hope you enjoyed it! For more, see Beauty Boys of the Polizia or Sicilians in Speedos. |
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