Its 32 degrees here in Sicily.
After a nightmare vovage from Tassie to Palermo I found myself sitting staring at a fresco in a beautiful villa called Boscogrande that featured in the film Il gattopardo. I thought I was dreaming. A plate of fish ben condito, and a timballo of patate e carote, a bicchiere di acqua minerale frizzante in front of me, surrounded by well dressed Sicilians, tanned and gorgeous. I was in heaven.
After two mouthfuls, mia amica led me down the staircase to the garden filled with loveseats and my mouth agape at the softly lit walls a golden hue.
I found myself being kissed on both cheeks, introduced to the whole family and offered a dessert buffet. A piccolo cannolo filled with fresh ricotta cream.
36 hours of flying and waiting for hours in airports and here I am.
I was whisked away in the early hours of the morning to the house of Rosie, sister. Its in campagna. We drove down an small dirt road, and found the right cancello. I dragged my bag and myself to bed. I woke up to find il papa smiling down at my from a hanging tapestry, above my head was the madonna with a rosary wrapped around her, and i found myself lying in an enormous bed, with a headboard decorated with swirls and whorls. A whisp of a curtain in lime green gently moving. I am in Sicily.
I woke up to hear the cicada chirping outside, the sun shining, a laden fig tree outside the kitchen door, and I was definitely back in Sicily.
Determined to get over the jetlag quickly and in my excitement in being back in Palermo I agreed to take a trip into the city centre. I forgot that when more than one Italian agrees to go somewhere, to get everyone to be ready at the same time, ci vuole tempo. I had time to eat figs, drink a caffe, shower, pack my bag, and still have time to gaze at the landscape with longing.
We drove around and around, with Rosie getting more and more incazzata because of all the one way streets. We eventually found Piazza Independenza and drove around the square searching for a parcheggio.The instant we got out of the car, a guy appears, asking for payment, apologising profusely, saying I won t be here when you get back, as its siesta time and I will be having my Sunday lunch. I laughed a lot.
A stroll around Palemo on a Sunday in late August is like no other time of year. There a few cars, no traffic, everywhere appeared to be shut and the city is incredibly quiet. We stop at the Quattro Canti for a quick photo and then down Via Vittorio Emmanuele, past the duomo which is of course shut. WE are spruiked by a guy offering to take us on a tour of the city in a horse and carriage.
We had missed the mattinata when everything is open. The only thing left to do I suggested was to eat somewhere.
I gave up trying to make suggestions, because with this group, no one seemed ready to make a decision on anything. We found ourselves in a bar, eating a range of food from a panino which I had ordered and was having difficuly digesting, to gelato in briosche which were enormous.
The whole point of coming into the city was to visit the cappuchin church dei morti. It was already 3 pm and we needed to get a move on to arrive in time to visit the streets of the dead. WE headed back to Piaaza Indipendenza and found the via dei cappuchini and we walked and we walked and wewalked up a slight incline to the church. I used to be a tour guide and had visited the church many times. the thought of inhaling more dust of the dead, was not on my agenda. I found a seat between an elderly Sicilian lady in black and a cappucchin monk, with a bottle of water in hand and I was happy to join them, sitting and watching.
