Sicily: Men, Mischief, Motorini

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.

Sicilian Man Riding Scooter, copyright Jann Huizenga

Scicli

Sicilian Men Carrying Saint in Ferla, Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga

Ferla

Sicilian Man Carrying Religious Robe, copyright Jann Huizenga

Siracusa

Sicilian Men in Ferla, Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga

Ferla

Sicilian Man at Market in Catania, Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga

Catania

Sicilian Man in Noto Leaning on Motorcycle, copyright Jann Huizenga

Noto

Sicilian Vendor of Bathing Suits, copyright Jann Huizenga

Giarratana

Sicilian Man at Fair in Ragusa Ibla, copyright Jann Huizenga

Ragusa Ibla

***

You asked for this, girls. Hope you enjoyed it! For more, see Beauty Boys of the Polizia or Sicilians in Speedos.

Click to subscribe to BaroqueSicily.

Don Juan in Sicily

July 29, 2010

I pick up Signor Giovanni at the beach, on the golden shores of the Ionian.

Take a picture, he commands, seeing my camera.

I oblige.

He draws a tattered poem from a pocket. Per te, for you, he says, already addressing me with the familiar form. The poem has lines like this:  You’re a beautiful table, so bountiful I barely know where to begin.

I thank him and return to my caffè-shack “office.” He follows and pulls from his breast pocket a chapbook of poems.

“Mine,” he says. “I wrote them all.”

Opposite each love poem is a black and white photo of his younger self in various poses: flexing biceps on some long-ago beach, posing in a smart sailor outfit next to some long-gone naval vessel; rowing an antique wooden boat. “Look at those addominali, he says, pointing to his youthful six-pack.

I scan the poems, charmed that this man—who says he’s had a hard life farming tomatoes and only four years of school—has produced this work.

He says his poetry has opened doors, including to the nearby Club Med, where he’s met oh so many foreign women.

He writes down his phone number and asks about a husband.

C’è ne uno,” I say. There is one.

He shrugs. “Non importa.” And hands me another poem—this one called Paradise For Us.

Signor Giovanni reciting his poetry

Have you met Don Juan in Sicily or elsewhere?

***

Click to comment.

Click to subscribe.

Fine Fellows of Siracusa

July 3, 2010

The great thing about shooting in Sicily is that people beg to have their photo taken. Really!

Girls, this one’s for you. A look at real Sicilian men…

Fruit vendor:

Booksellers:

Fishmonger with stingray:

Drinking buddies:

Drinking Buddies in Siracusa, Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga

Three guys debating parsley:

Three men discussing parsley in Siracusa, Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga

Fishmonger in Siracusa, Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga

A fine fellow, too:

He’s the reverse side of the stingray seen above.

***

Click to comment.



Sicilian Stallions?

December 12, 2009

Girls, would you let this fellow…?

1

Well, I did. Not only did I let him sell me a melon far bigger than I could ever eat, I let him feed me some. Its November flesh was pinky-orange, perfumed, and so overripe and juicy that I was dribbling like a love-struck fool.

2

The man could have sold me just about anything—rotten apples, stinking fish, whatever.

When my sister, an Angeleno, arrived in Sicily for the first time several years ago, she took a look around and said,  “Very pretty men. We should be Hollywood scouts.”

They’re like stallions, Sicilian men—tossing thick manes and flashing wild black eyes, putting out cigarettes as if they’re pawing the ground with a hoof.

Not everyone is impressed. Seated at a cafe on a Sunday afternoon, while my sister and I murmured our approval of the preening Antonio Banderas-types trotting up and down the street, my Sicilian friends Giò and Rosaria, 30-something divorcees, pulled sour faces. “Horrid!” they cried. “Horrid!”

Leave a Comment

Site Meter BlogItalia.it - La directory italiana dei blog