People of Palermo

February 6, 2013

A few people we’ve met in Palermo:

Minnie Mouse and her mother, in the gardens of Villa Giulia. The pink polka-dot child is all ready for Carnevale on February 12. After I took her picture, she grabbed my camera to see herself on the LCD screen.

Child Dressed for Carnevale in Palermo, copyright Jann Huizenga

Dorotea and Paolo, married for 62 years. They live in the Kalsa neighborhood of Palermo, the old Arab quarter. She knit the red shawl to keep Paolo warm in winter.

Dorotea and Paolo in Palermo, copyright Jann Huizenga

Sal and his partner in Palermo harbor. On a sunny day, it’s good to be a fisherman, but life can be hard, Sal says.

Fishermen in Palermo Harbor, copyright Jann Huizenga

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What We Saw on the Road to Palermo

February 2, 2013

We drove up from the south on a bright blue day.

“Let’s stick to the little back roads!” I said, and Kim raised his eyebrows.

We saw gorgeous villas abandoned to pigeons.

Abandoned Villa in Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga

We saw Giovanni, pastore, who has kept goats for half a century.

Sicilian Shepherd, copyright Jann Huizenga

We saw abandoned houses the color of persimmons, with trees shaped like corn dogs on a stick.

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And that is where we got into trouble.

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We had to turn around. (Only lost a few hours.)

Snow-capped Madonie Mountains, copyright Jann Huizenga

We zipped through the cold Madonie Mountains…

…and came out the other side to warm sea breezes. Palermo! Straight on!
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Ode to da Vinci

January 24, 2013

I generally hate airports in the US, full of stale air and rushing hordes. Mouths chomping on burritos big as birch logs. Eyes glued to the Screamers on CNN or bright laptop contraptions. (OK, OK, I’m guilty, too.)

But the Rome airport? I’m in love.

First you hear: Signori e Signore, Benvenuti a l’Aeroporto Internazionale Leonardo da Vinci. (Is there any other country in the world that would name a major airport after a Renaissance artist?)

You step off the plane and inhale the sugary elixir of caffè latte.

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People nibble away at the bars–they’d never be caught dead taking their food to a gate. Brutta figura!

The airport is steamy, even in winter.

Rome airport ad, copyright Jann Huizenga

At the Rome airport, copyright Jann Huizenga

At the Rome airport, copyright Jann HuizengaAt the Rome airport, copyright Jann Huizenga

At the Rome airportOf course there were some americani at the Rome airport, and I eavesdropped on them for you:

1. Woman in coffee bar:  “I waited at the counter for five whole minutes, and then they told me I had to go pay first at the cash register, where I waited another five minutes. And after all that time, look what I get! A teeny cup with a few drops of thick black stuff on the bottom.”

Husband: “It’s called Italian coffee.”

***

2. Texan in line behind me: “I’ll be so glad to get home.”

Woman in her tour group: “Really?”

“I didn’t like the food here.”

“Oh????”

“Not spicy enough.”

***

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How to Drink Oil & Impress Friends

 November 18, 2012

It’s olive oil season in Sicily!

A few years ago Giuseppe Rosso, an award-winning producer, taught me the proper way to sample oil.

Giuseppe Rosso, Villa Zottopera, copyright Jann Huizenga

Giuseppe Rosso stands in his ancient olive grove in Chiaramonte Gulfi

We were at Villa Zottopera, his family’s 18th-century masseria in southern Sicily.

Villa Zottopera in Chiaramonte Gulfi, Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga

The entrance to Villa Zottopera

Villa Zottopera, Chiaramonte Gulfi, Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga

Villa Zottopera is an agriturismo–B&B!!!

The old estate in Chiaramonte Gulfi has thousands of twisted trees. He handed me a tiny cupful of green liquid flecked with gold.

“Hold it tightly in your hands, and do like this.”

Rosso, a non-stop talker with a twinkle in his eye, rubbed the bottom of the glass back and forth against the palm of his hand, as if preparing a magic potion. “The oil must be at body temperature. Now sniff it deeply, toss it behind your bottom lip, and watch me.”

He drained his glass, then made like a human vacuum cleaner, sucking the oil back through his bottom teeth with a big whoosh. I followed suit.

“Now wait.” He went silent for a moment to let me concentrate.

The oil had a bracing effect, tingling my tongue before trickling down the throat in a fruity-pungent sizzle.

I half-coughed.

“What do you taste?” Rosso quizzed. “Tell me what you taste.”

“Pepper.  Sunshine. Grass. . . . Nature!”

My answer was much too generic for him. Did I taste the profumo of almonds, the piccante of tomato leaves??

Uh, no. But I knew delizioso when I tasted it.

Ogghiu comuni sana ogni duluri, Sicilians say. Plain oil heals every pain.

*****

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The Pooches of Southeast Sicily

September 29, 2012

My doggie died of old age just before my moving-to-Sicily (mis)adventures began.

I still miss him. The warm fur that smelled like buttered popcorn. Those runny, hound dog eyes.

So I pet and photograph every other pooch I meet—though none can quite compare!

Dog in Acate, Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga

Acate

Sicilian Dog in Fiat 500, copyright Jann Huizenga

Vizzini

Sicilian Kids with Dog in Siracusa, Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga

Siracusa

Dog against white wall in Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga

Chiaramonte Gulfi

Four Dogs in Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga

Giarratana

Have a great Sunday!!!

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