September 15, 201
We’re the Three Best Friends
That Anyone Could Have
We’re the Three Best Friends
That Anyone Could Have…
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July 3, 2011 Summer is in full swing. The wind blows up from the Sahara. The sun burns; the Ionian cools.
We’re sitting at a kiosk at the “Aziz” beach, 2 kilometers east of Donnalucata in Southeast Sicily. “Three hours on the beach, the best coffee money can buy, two fresh brioches, and a turquoise view of the Mediterranean that extends to Africa,” Kim says, “All for five euro.” Happy Fourth! Are you on the beach? **** Directions: From Donnalucata, drive 2 kms east (following signs to Marina di Modica and Siracusa). When you see a (faded ) sign that says “Aziz” and “Pizzeria,” turn right and go all the way to the water, where you’ll see a white “kiosk.” Ask locals for help: everyone knows Aziz. Go early to get good parking: the bar opens at 9am and is peaceful until about 11:00. June 29, 2010 Assai megghiu addivintirai si a la morti pinsirai, goes an old Sicilian saying. You’ll be a better person if you think about death. The walls in Sicily are bulletin boards of death, so there’s ample opportunity here to think about it.
The black-bordered papers called necrologie are everywhere. Ciao Nonno Salvatore one reads. Bye Grandpa Salvatore.
A guy with a brush and a pot of glue rides around on his motorino plastering necrologie around town.
My Sicilian-American friend Mary, who has lived here for twenty-some years, says she was “freaked out” by the “morbid things” when she first arrived, but I find them endearing. They celebrate you all over the neighborhood for months, even years, while all we Americans get is a tiny newspaper blurb for a day. Li morti aprinu l’occhi a li vivi, say the Sicilians. The dead open the eyes of the living. ***
June 10, 2010 There are rivers, cascades, torrents of steps in Sicilian hill towns.
Ragusa Ibla is a natural gym—better than a Stair Stepper. No wonder the locals live such long lives. It must be the steps (oh, and the olive oil that old-timers drink like water). I gain no weight here, though I eat like a monster: great bowls of pasta alla Norma, cones of toasted almond gelato, artichoke flowers, deep-fried donuts filled with sweet pistachio cream, wheels of cheese.
To the hundreds of steps in town, add twenty-five more in my house. I lie in bed at night, head spinning and spinning. Legs aching and aching. And I’m happy. *** Does this life look fun to you?
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