February 19, 2012
I do my utmost to hide my roots (read: American-ness) in Italy. Off with the ratty T-shirts. Off with the jean jacket. Off with the comfy duds. On with the crisp clothes and killing shoes. (I’ve written about this battle here.)
Il marito has been forbidden to wear his normal Paul Bunyon getup–no muck boots or plaid flannel shirts or baggy-butt Levis. Poor guy has to outfit hisself in a man-purse and taut Italian shirts (but they have no pockets! he wails) if he wants to chaperone me around the piazza.
And so this troika at the Catania airport caught my eye. No hiding for them. Look at those big Texas grins. Stetsons a mile wide. Old Glory purse. Rodeo belt buckles weighty enough to pull you to your knees.
I struck up a conversation as the barista whacked espresso grounds into the sink. Turns out they’re not from Dallas after all. Nope. Nor Amarillo or Waco.
They don’t even speak English because…
…they are born-and-bred Sicilians!
They run a Country Western Line Dance school (Etna Country Style) based in Catania, and are on their way to a dance competition in northern Italy.
Watch these Sicilians dance the tush-push here.