Sicilian Diary

Aha! At last the music we play is starting to have its fans. Italians are usually pretty conservative where music is concerned, so I have dedicated much time since we opened to compiling playlists of music - world, jAZZ, Gypsy, flamenco fusion, hiphop, triphop, African, folk, singer/songwriter along with Italian, Sicilian and American/British/Irish songs which might be more familiar to their ears. While I was away mio marito had one of the playlists on and the DJ was fascinated with Amparanoia's 'La Fiesta que tengo'. He copied it and played it during many nights throughout the summer, but also at his slot at the beach. Next year he wants to do a 'Pachamama on the Beach' for sundown ... I have longed for the hip strains of flamenco fusion that gracefully accompany the puesto del sol on the playas de Cadiz .... but little other than Deep House seems to get through here. So it is a cause for celebration that Amparanoia is leading the way to more openminded appreciati...

August was a good month for Pachamama. We have a nice returning clientele among the seafarers: captains of chartered yachts and caiques come up to us for the third summer running; Milazzese who have gone to live in the north of Italy or other parts of Europe come to dine. Many compliments this year, not one complaint. Wish I had been around to hear some of that! At last, our travaglio bears fruit. It is fun to see lots of people enjoying their cocktails to the sounds of the DJ you have hired, the river of suntanned bodies doing their summertime thing on the road outside, nights drift on until 4 or 5am when the mint from the last mojito is thrown away and couple straggle off into the nascent eastern dawn. The polizia called once to deliver a hefty fine: it was 1.20am and the DJ was still playing. Indoors, it must be emphasized, since the four other locali in the neighbourhood had their live music on outdoors. But the police do not appear to differentiate between inside and out. Music m...

Been back a couple of weeks now. The heat still hasn’t let up. After the greeny fresh air of Ireland, the grit and dust and humidity is particularly hard to bear. The locals are feeling it too; people are starting to fray at the edges, tempers simmer, the elderly moan about whether or not to use the air conditioning, fa male , they conclude, and turn it off to lean listlessly in their doorways, hoping for a gust of wind to reach them. It’s the perfect clime for bichos of all sorts, and Via Montecastro has seen its fair share lately. On our first night back I hear shuffling; the merest hint of a noise, like paper being crumpled quietly – and nearly step on the cockroach as I enter the bathroom. A 2am chase after the scarafaggio ensues. I manage to daze it with spray then almost finish it off with a good whack from a brrom – but it is still alive enough to slither into the dustpan. I keep the lid on it until I get outside and shake it over the side of the terrace. But is that still more...