Sicilian Diary

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...

"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...