Palermo

It’s evening and I’m sat aboard La Fulica in my underpants typing this at arms length to keep the heat of the laptop as far away from my body as possible.  I’m covered in sweat and every now and then a trickle rolls down my stomach and is caught by the barely perceptible breeze to produce a mild chilling sensation.  Christ it’s hot.  Too hot to move or even to think much, too hot to get up and pour oneself yet another drink.  So hot that at last we’ve started to keep proper Mediterranean hours – up reasonably early to get stuff done, then a siesta from about one until five in the afternoon, when the pitiless Sun begins to let up enough for us to start thinking about doing things again.  So hot that the Sicilian dogs have given up the struggle to do anything but keel over in the shade and pant.  Friendly or aggressive they are all the same now, all raising an apologetic eye as you pass as if to say “sorry mate, I would get out of your way, but that would mean I’d have to stop panting for five seconds” or “look, normally I would bite your fucking arm off, but I can’t bite and pant at the same time, OK?”  The air of parched somnambulance is reinforced by the fact that this is the weekend of Ferragosta, the national holiday to celebrate the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin, when anyone in the South of Italy with any sense has gone to the beach, leaving half the shops, bars and restaurants shut and the towns deserted. 

We have been holed up here for three days so far and will stay for at least another three, waiting for a friend to jet into Palermo airport.  Actually, we need a rest and as we have electricity and a water supply we can catch up on cleaning and laundry and other essential jobs, when we can summon up the energy.

So ... what about Sicily?  From our cursory inspection so far of the coastal strip from Marsala to Palermo, I’m beginning to wonder whether we’re on the right island.  Maybe there’s another Sicily just over the horizon that is actually home to all the myths I feel I’ve been fed about the place from “the Godfather” to the “Rough Guide to Italy”, because the Sicily we seem to be in doesn’t fit them at all.  For a start the culture is much less ”macho” than I expected and the respective roles of men and women actually don’t seem to be as strongly demarcated here as in Northern Italy.  We noticed this first in Marettimo, where the old girls seemed to be just as at home jumping in and out of the little fishing boats in the harbour as the old boys.  For another thing, although the Mafia obviously exists people talk about it and complain about its influence on the island, which it seems to me is a major step forward in curbing its power.  From our guidebooks we were expecting Palermo to be an interesting city, but marred by poverty and bombed out slums left over from the Second World War.  It is in fact an almost heart-breakingly beautiful place.  The old city comprises tall sixteenth and seventeenth century tenements, interspersed with cool parkland and an eclectic mix of Norman and Baroque churches.  There are slums and there is poverty, but there is also a lot of urban regeneration and the worst is still a sight better than Hackney or Dalston and less threatening.  Surprisingly the ambience of the city seems quite like London.  The people here are less style conscious than in the North of Italy, there is a big cultural mix and what looks to be quite a large gay community.  I have a feeling that Palermo will one of these days become a highly fashionable “city break” destination, in the way that Barcelona, Amsterdam, Galway City and even Glasgow are.  Ryan Air do cheap flights and I can only suggest that you come and see for yourself.