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September 3, 2011 Pazienza. A Sicilian mantra. For one full year, I had the patience of a saint. My favorite al fresco coffee bar sat at the foot of this scaffolding. Each morning the sandblasted stone let loose an angry flurry of grit, turning my laptop a dusty gray. Eyes stung, ears hurt. Paradiso lost.
But now the church of San Giuseppe has been unveiled. Life is back to normal. Splendor in the morning sun. Dustless coffee. Noiseless pastry. Paradiso regained. August 28, 2011
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So after obliging me with a mini photo-shoot, the signore in the pink cap takes off. I walk up and down hills to another part of town.
 Note the wrist and waist decor. I find a house dripping with flowers–some real, some plastic. I start poking around, trying to separate reality from illusion. It’s still early morning; the light is gold.
Out steps a man from a doorway. That man. Still in his pink cap. Ciao, he says. Do you like this building? Yes? Wanna have a look inside? I hesitate for a split second then follow him in. The first room is dark, lit only by an enormous psychedelic fish tank–a swirl of purple lights and brilliant tropical creatures. A few chairs line one wall. Salla d’attesa, he says. Waiting room. Waiting for what, in God’s name? We enter another room. It is festooned with masses of plastic red roses, vines dangling from the vaulted ceiling and curling over the walls. In the center of the room stands an examination table. A stethoscope hangs from a hook. “Are you a doctor?” “Sí, internal medicine.” I try to hide my surprise. “You’re an interesting man!” is about all I can muster. Then I’m back on the street, regretting that I haven’t even asked his name. *** August 25, 2011 I was stalking photos in Palazzolo Acreide, a sweet town in the hinterlands of Southeast Sicily, when I spotted a pink coppola in the distance. I needed a picture of that cap. I ran after it. “Scusi, Signore!” I caught up to it as the owner was putting a key in his car door. “Can I take your photo? Put it on my blog?” He smiled and nodded good-naturedly. Odd that he seemed to know what a blog was–many Sicilians don’t. I shepherded him away from his car and posed him in front of a blank wall. Snap, snap, snap. Bella figura! A fine specimen, indeed.
Note the jewel-studded lizard crawling out of the pocket. The bling around his neck? Greek masks, he said. (Just above Palazzolo lies the ancient Greek city of Akrai.)
The man in the pink cap sped away, and I continued stalking photos. Thirty minutes later, something a little odd happened, and I discovered what this man does for a living. Can you guess his job? *** August 19, 2011 Here’s what they’re wearing this summer, those stylin’ Sicilian gals.
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August 14, 2011
Wouldn’t you love to own this baby? “I’ve been trying to persuade him for a long time,” says the man in green, “but he won’t sell.” We’re in the main piazza of a hill town called Vizzini. “How old?” I ask the owner. “1969.” “Forty-two years old,” says the man in green, wistfully. “But he won’t sell her.” “You have to be a mechanic like me,” says the owner, “to have a car like this.” “He won’t sell her to me,” the man repeats. “I keep offering more and more money.” “I wouldn’t sell her for all the money in the world.” The mechanic runs his hand over her curves and grins.
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