Sicilian Diary

"Ognuno sta solo sul cuor della terra/ Trafitto da un raggio di sole: ed è subito sera." Salvatore Quasimodo

They call it "cambio stagione" here, that time when you pull out your warmer clothes from under the bed, or the bag at the bottom of the wardrobe, when you need to drag out the winter duvet and pack away the summer sheets until Spring. I dread this moment every year for this reason: dust. No matter how well I pack the clothes, no matter how many plastic bags, dust gets there. So I sneeze and sneeze and sneeze. I'm not alone in this - several friends have remarked on having the same problem. This provides some consolation but how, we wonder, could we prevent it. There is not even half this amount of dust in Ireland. It gets places I'd never even think of, like the inner grooves of radiators, collects in dust balls on the lampshade of a terracotta lamp. I've even had to store all my books in drawers - in a chest of drawers! - because their pages are so full of dust. I blame it on sirocco, that nasty south east wind. So forget that tourist brochure image of sunny Sic...

We had to close the windows last night: the air stank of gas. That's right, like a chemistry lab when all the Bunsen burners are on. Or when the burner is slow to ignite on your gas cooker and some gas leaks into the air. Except that the refinery is several kilometres away across the bay. And the whole town of Milazzo was inundated with the reek of gas. People outside went home. You simply could not be outside with the chemical toxins in the air. The oil refinery, in the local newspaper the following morning, blamed the smell on an oil tanker (there is always an excuse). But: oil tanker, or oil refinery – who cares where it comes from? The issue is this: there should be NO smell in the air, no toxins released into the atmosphere, because thousands of people live nearby. Which brings us to the crux: there should be NO oil refinery in an area where thousands of people live in close proximity. I’m particularly aware of it because I have Norwegian friends visiting at the minut...

Vendemmia time is here. The wine harvest. I remember the first time I saw vineyards in winter in Tuscany. “What are those rows of sticks?” I asked my Tuscan friend. From the road we were driving along they looked just like that; it was January and the leaves were gone, the grapes all plucked from the vines in late October. My students then brought me a bottle of vino novella from their family vineyard for Christmas. In Sicily, however, the wine harvest starts as early as August for white grapes such as Chardonnay and Insolia, and early September for Nero d’Avola and Syrah grapes. Last weekend there was a wine-tasting event at the castle with samples of local products such as cheeses and “sott’olio” foodstuffs like pesto and sundried tomatoes. I tried a delicious wine from the slopes of Etna and when I went back to sample some more I asked to see the bottle: “Nerello mascalese” I read, pleased by the sound, the way it rolls off the tongue. “It’s the name of the grape,” explained th...

As if that wasn’t enough, just when things were getting under control, a table of 14 rocks up: seven huge basketballers and their glamorous lady friends. Plus a 5 year old that our bambino started swatting with the menu. He was very good that night, playing by himself and not getting in the way. My husband got the table together into an L-shape, but then had to get back to the bar. The waitress was still flying out of the kitchen with courses and clearing tables, so it was up to me to take the order. This crowd were from Tuscany, France, Spain/South America and well-used to fine dining – I’d seen them chatting with my husband and thought they might have been fun. I detected the Tuscan accents and the Hispanic Italian. But they were only interested in ordering their food – after all it was going on for 11pm. Don’t these people book? Apparently they called half an hour before but it was so busy that by husband didn’t have time to set the table up for them. What an order. Anti-pasti and p...

I enjoyed chatting to the customers: out front, there were two girls from near Rome, one of whom ordered a Guinness. But I told her it was bottled and didn’t recommend it. It tuned out she had spent a week in Ireland in August. She loved it and wanted to relive the ‘taste’ of Ireland with the Guinness. The next couple had had an aperitivo – ours is abundant, consisting of three different plates of antipasti bites. They saw the dishes arrive at the girls’ table and asked me if it was also a restaurant. Also? They had thought we only did aperitivi, and were most impressed with the menu – and the chocolate brownie and almond semifreddo which they had for dessert. Upstairs it was chaotic. The covered terrace was full and the room upstairs was getting busy, with a couple sitting on the balcony. As I went to take their order, the waitress muttered that aperitivo could no longer be served as the restaurant was too busy and the three-plate aperitivo blocks the kitchen. The lady on the balcon...

Monday night was pleasant. A lovely group from Ligura were waiting outside in the rain, under the awning, lamenting the weather before we opened. I brought them up to the terrace and they were delighted to be able to sit outside, protected from the rain. One lady said, “We’ve read such wonderful things about this place on internet,” while another admired the décor. It is so nice to see the expectation and anticipation on their faces when customers arrive via tripadvisor. So different to the circumspection and suspicion I’d come to expect in the early days, when we were not yet “established”. Tuesday was mayhem. One of those nights when customers just keep coming and coming. Even before 8pm a couple arrived. I’d gone over early to do some Siae forms, which never got done in the end. The waitress was still setting up things, stacking glasses at the bar. In came “the man from Torino” as I call him, with a ladyfriend. He comes each year in summertime to visit relatives. Tall and tanne...