Reporting from the OIB satellite office in Mascali, Sicily:
There’s this line from the Godfather film: in Sicily, women are more dangerous than shotguns.
That’s because they’re led by the gran dama of this glorious Mediterranean island, Mount Etna, Europe’s lava legend. She rises more than 11,000 feet above sea level along the east coast of the island and when she spews, oh madonna mia!
In 1928, my father, just a boy, did his best to face down mama’s lava ferociously approaching his tiny town of Mascali. Under the circumstances it seemed like the sensible thing to do was spit into the lava. My father’s saliva spew didn’t last long.
Amuninni! (let’s go) my grandfather Leonardo (I am named for him) beckoned my father in Sicilian. Mama Etna destroyed my father’s town that day, leaving the homeless Grimaldi’s of Mascali retreating to find a new place, farmers who lived completely off the land. No electricity, no modern conveniences, you did your bathroom business outside against a citrus tree for support.
Many Sicilians, like my father, ended up in Bridgeport, 4,500 miles across the sea.
I’ve come to Sicily on a journey to trace the roots of my father and share the radiant lifestyle of the Sicilian people, 90 miles from the north coast of Africa. Sicily is an extraordinary place in so many levels. For one thing it enjoys a language onto itself. Italian is rooted in Latin, Sicilian rooted in Arabic. See that word above shouted by my grandfather, amuninni? That’s Sicilian. In Italian grammar it’s andiamo. Now you know why I’m a little messed up.
My father shared this with me: Son, Sicilian is not a dialect, but a language. My cousin Nadia, my MVP for this journey, comes armed with validation. She is fluent in Sicilian, Italian grammar, dialects and English. For decades she taught English to Italian students in the Venice area mainland, well north of Sicily, traveling to England to learn English, coming back with a British accent.
Yes, my Sicilian cousin speaks English in a British accent.
Bloody right!
Now, let’s get back to Etna. She’s like the mama bear of the island looking after her cubs. Yes, she loses her temper every now and then (who doesn’t) but what she produces lifting her skirt is organic pleasure (some argue orgasmic) to the region, the ash enriching the soil in a diversity of ecological enhancement: fruits, vegetables, citrus, almonds, pistachio, grape vines.
Because of her everyone eats.
A little example of Etna on my trip.
There’s nothing like the evening burst of lady lava.
Etna leaves a gift of ash on my cousin’s porch.
Etna just doesn’t feed, she nourishes in different ways. It’s hard to get lost in eastern Sicily. Some follow the sun, some the moon, others the stars. Here all you need to do is follow Etna. Mama Etna guides you back. Often at night, the molten rock reddens the air, an organic fireworks display for your walk home.
Take to the streets for sardines. Fire up the grill.
A favorite local dish: chicken with fresh oranges, strawberries, arugula.
The people here live off the land and sea.
If you love church bells in this Catholic-dominant enclave, this is the place for you. Of course, if you’re worried your hearing ends up like Quasimoto, bring ear plugs.
Simple taste. Who needs a dryer when you can sidewalk-dry year around.
These are the local towns in the area. And just in case you need one, a pointer to the pharmacy.
Need a lemon, no problem, find one of the sidewalk.
In some places the citrus hangs over the sidewalks. Grab and go. Be a shame not to.
Sicilians have a mind of their own when driving. Speed laws? Forget about it. And they park wherever they want. Frontwards, backwards, sidewards, on curbs too.
Dining along the sea. Why are these tables empty at 6 p.m. local time? Because here they enjoy a culture of eating later in the evening. This place was packed at 9 p.m. Many diners don’t arrive until 10.
In the small towns such as Mascali the locals for the most part speak strictly Sicilian, not Italian, even among restaurant staff. The resort areas feature many English speaking. Because of climate and geography, Europe is not known for its beaches, but Sicily is a different story, the largest island in the Mediterranean. Europeans flock here during summer months.
The cost to dine in Sicily, like most of Italy outside the high-end resort areas, is remarkable for it’s low-end pricing compared to the U.S. particularly New York and Connecticut. And they don’t scalp you on the drinks which is the margins that keep restaurants alive in U.S. A healthy dish of spaghetti and clams $15 euros. A gin and tonic $5 euros. In CT and New York that’s double and triple the price. The exchange rate on the U.S. dollars fluctuates but current about 10 percent difference euros and U.S.
Also, tipping is not required. But if you tip wait staff you make a friend forever. The check notation for “coperto” is small charge that covers basic things like bread and condiments.
And, what is served in Sicily is natural, not processed which is why many Americans suffer from obesity. In Sicily, your tummy won’t feel like exploding after a dish of pasta.
My cousin’s car of comfort for 22 years, amassing more than 200,000 miles.
“Speed laws? Forget about it.” Been saying that for a while.