Journal entry from my lunch table:
“In piccolo Trattoria Tira Casciuni a Palermo. Stare qui in Sicilia, in Italia, e veramente una droga che mi sento in tutto il mio corpo. E perche no? Perche non prendere questa droga?”
In the little Trattoria Tira Casciuni in Palermo. To be here in Sicily, in Italy, is truly a “drug” that I feel in my whole body. And why not? Why not take this drug?
It’s intoxicating to be here, to simply have my eyes open. And the constancy of the dusty city traffic, the impatient accelerations, the gratuitous horns, prevent any sense of calm. There is a frenetic motion to this tight living, these close quarters.
Riding into Palermo from the airport I looked out to the tiny stamp-sized lots, some barren, some isolated garden oases, and thought about the luxury that is my own divine home in Seattle. I truly could not be more blessed by a gift of space, beauty, privacy and silence.
So, is it contrast that makes this energetic buzz so fascinating? It’s also quite exhausting, as I find in Milano. I find that I seek a pause after a time, a respite of stillness.
In this little Trattoria, the daytime TV is hardly a talk show, but rather a shouting match – truly – as scooters whiz by the open door 10 feet away. How is it to know little other than this relentless frenzy?
I ordered Spaghetti allo Scoglio, with mussels, sword fish, clams, squid, parsley and a light broth. The house wine, in this case, was pretty rank, but it’s often a good option.
Every car here in Palermo is covered with a spattered gritty film. Is it the air? Is it the surrounding countryside blowing in? Does the literal gritty nature give hint to a figurative grittiness?
(The restaurant owner just explained, in answer to my question, that they’ve been building a new train station for several years and will finish in 2012. Before the construction, everything was “clean”.)
How fabulous that I can HAVE such conversations!!! I’m thrilled.