Sicilian Diary

Via del Duomo Antico no more A trumpet tune brought me to my balcony this morning. This scene greeted me: a little gathering of Milazzo notables (male) including the mayor and his driver, a few lawyer types, and one distinguished-looking lady, most of them around the 60s mark. A priest, all dressed up in festive gowns officiated at the ceremony, reading from a book that definitely was not the Bible. I strained to hear what they were saying but cars hooting at the photographers capturing the scene (from the middle of a dangerous intersection) impaired my hearing. A sect? I thought to myself. Ever since I lived in Arezzo and discovered Propaganda Due head Licio Gelli was one of my neighbours, I've been on the lookout for masonic activities; apparently Italy is full of them (and you thought Dan Brown made it all up? Ha!) But no, they were simply renaming the street Via Colonello del Bosco - some random Bourbon guy whose army the Garibaldini defeated in Milazzo in July 1960,...

Oh no ... it's sirocco again...  Sirocco, if you haven’t experienced it, is like spending an entire day on the London Underground. You feel irritable, headachy, sweaty and dirty, have a stuffy nose and dusty clothes. I was at the fruttivendolo this morning, popping veg from the outdoor stalls into my bag. "I hate sirocco," the grocer said. "And you're Sicilian!" I said. "In Ireland we don't get this wind. It drives me CRAZY." He said, "It's bad news for my vegetables. I can't leave them untended outside because they get covered in black, dusty sand." He stopped, as I hesitated, my hand hovering over some luscious green beans.  That's it: sirocco gets EVERYWHERE. You can't hang your washing outside, unless you want dusty dried clothes. I left a window open by mistake last time and found my piano - my most prized possession - with little piles of sooty sand in the corners. And you need to be careful how you...

Snake on the steps, poo in the piazza... Another thing that always strikes me when I return is the state of the streets. Steps lead from this beautiful fifteenth century Spanish church to the school below where my son attends pre-school. On my way to pick him up last week I almost stepped on a snake that was slithering off into the overgrown bushes flanking the steps. I know there are snakes in Sicily, but I just don't expect to see them practically on my doorstep. Also last week my son and I were playing ball in the piazza while bambina snoozed in the stroller. But we had to give up because the ball kept rolling into dog poo... Dear Mr Mayor, could you kindly clean up the crap (or fine the losers who let their dogs do their business in the piazza), and cut the grass? And while you are at it, resurface our street, the potholes have ruined my car's suspension and the stroller wheels get stuck in them... I love Sicily, I do ...

Milazz's beautiful castle stencilled against the industrial zone I returned to Milazzo mid-September after a long summer in Ireland - time enough to give birth to our bambina in the wonderful mid-wife led facilities in the north of Ireland - a far cry from local birthing options. What awaited me upon our return? Extravagant heat - still in the 30s in the shade, exhausting sirocco wind, mosquitoes and cockroaches galore and ... ... a HUGE FIRE at the oil refinery, located a mere five kilometres from the town centre. A westerly wind was blowing the night the massive refinery caught fire, sending huge plumes of smoke spiralling towards mountain towns behind. The people of Pace del Mela and Santa Lucia packed their cars and fled in droves as the flames illuminated Milazzo's Manhattan skyline. No one was hurt, and refinery workers managed to contain the fire so as to limit damage. But for several days after, mushroom clouds spread in the direction of prevailing winds, so...

I'm in Ireland for the summer, escaping the ferocious Sicilian summer heat. Mio marito came over to visit last week, just before the high season began. He had hardly been here two days when he got bad news from the restaurant: our main waiter had had a bad accident with his motorbike and was in intensive care. While we're all still very worried about him, he'll recover. He's young and strong, but it will take time, poor guy. This week mio marito tells me our barman has hurt his leg and can't work for a few nights - now that it is high season... It is very difficult to find good replacements at this stage because everyone has found work for the summer locally or on the Aeolian islands. "You've got the Evil Eye," I tell him, more Sicilian than the Sicilians. "You've got to get rid of it before more disasters happen this summer!" Luckily, a friend's mother can perform this healing ritual. She pours out the oil, salt and water in a ...

On Friday and on Saturday night two tables left without paying. On Friday it was about 21.15h when a couple sitting at a table upstairs asked if they could pay at the till and the waiter said, Yes of course. But he forgot that there was no staff member downstairs – the barman hadn’t arrived yet, mio marito was still at home and there was only one other waiter who was also upstairs. So they just walked out. This, despite the fact that we’re always telling waiters that someone needs to be at the door to meet and greet at all times.  On Saturday night it was busy and a table of four young people in the side room took advantage of the chaos to walk out without paying. €20 in cocktails. Not much, but that’s not the point, is it? Just when mio marito was feeling down about it all, a nice English couple dined at the restaurant during the week. They had the seafood starter, pasta with prawns and artichokes and fresh tuna steak in pistachio crust, and raved about it all. They came b...

In my favourite shop yesterday, called Sud Est ( I must find out why it is called that – makes me think of the Sirocco wind which comes from the South west). It sells the most beautiful clothes and jewellry, all of an elegant ethnic style, or boho-chic I suppose you would call it, and they have beautiful clothes for summer and seaside living. It is where I go directly when I want to buy a gift for someone. The owner recognised me and asked me if I liked living in Milazzo. I said I did, and she seemed curious. “Imagine, who would have thought it? Love brought you here.” Locals adore these romantic notions though I always point out that my husband and I met in Tuscany and coming here was actually a compromise! “From northern Europe to the very South,” she continued musing, nonplussed. I thought about that later. I never think it strange that I live here. I don’t say “ended up” because I’m not so sure our travelling days are over, my husband still has itchy feet, especial...

Escaping it all ... on the beautiful island of Salina, just an hour and a half away by hydrofoil.

We’re sitting outside a café in the centre of town. This is supposed to be a quality family moment after picking our son up from school (no rush hour, no traffic, just ice cream and coffee in the sun. Ah, Sicily…) Our three year old has his nose stuck in his father’s phone playing video games and my husband is meeting and greeting in restaurateur capacity, (the same suppliers, loafers and wise boys frequent this café by day as our restaurant by night) reducing me to arm candy. One guy greets my husband with two kisses on the cheek. After all this time it still reminds me of The Godfather, still gives me the chills. I don't know this guy. He talks most deferentially to my husband seeking his advice on an array of matters related to restaurant management and in particular the question of suolo publico or pavement space for the all-important chairs and tables outside. I could give the guy loads of advice but he isn't seeking mine. Pay the council rates for it, organise it ...

I was walking past the castle this morning and admiring the sea, still as glass, when church bells struck the air. It can be hard to tell the difference between joyful and sorrowful church bells in Milazzo, as the tone of the campane can be quite sombre. Wondering if there was a wedding or a funeral, I looked in the direction of the ringing, and saw the church, perched on a hill, festooned with streamers. Then I remembered: it was Saint Joseph’s feast day, which is Fathers’ Day in Italy. I decided to go and see what was going on. The parish priest was outside meeting and greeting in the sunshine. A couple of youths were selling raffle tickets at a table. Churchgoers arrived and stayed outside chatting, enjoying the beautiful morning. Inside was no less sociable. Most people approached a statue of Saint Joseph with his son to touch the statue and say a few prayers before taking a seat. Both the statue and the altar to the left were bedecked in yellow roses and white lilies, brighteni...