In the evening, after we have changed from our pool wear, we
do our passagiata or walkabout. Every
evening there are hundreds of people walking about, however tonight it seems
that more than half the town is out. Young girls
dressed in their very best – stiletto heels balancing on cobblestones, hair and
make-up perfect, they look very much as if they attending a film or art gallery opening rather than the requisite evening walkabout in a small Sicilian town. Young men, hair precisely quaffed
into a faux-hawk, crisp and clean polo shirts with the collars turned up. They eye the girls who pretend they don’t see
them but giggle anyways. Old men sit on
the benches outside the social club, discussing the problems of the world – young
people, politics, employment – finding solutions that only they will hear. Visitors – expats and ex-Ciancianese alike,
wander and admire the buildings, and discuss what a terrific place this
is. Occasionally you see a husband and
wife walking arm in arm. This is an
influence of the large expat community – it is most definitely not a regular
occurrence amongst the older Sicilians. Once we reach the centre of town we see
why so many people are out and about.
The Ferrari club from Ribera (a larger nearby city) has come to
Cianciana. The roads have been blocked
off to regular traffic and the drivers are giving the local kids (mostly boys)
rides up and down the town, engines roaring and tires spinning.
Later, they park their Ferraris, mostly
cherry red, on Corso Vittorio Emmanuel outside one of the larger bars in
Cianciana. The Ciancianese (and the
expats as well) flock around these machines and take pictures. Nick and I are not immune to the excitement
and we take our pictures with these powerful cars as well. On an island with an unemployment rate at
25%, I wonder how so many people in such a small town can afford a
Ferrari. Unsure, I guess that the answer
may lie in the ancient houses. Very few
of these houses have mortgages. They
have been passed from grandparents to parents to children. With no rent or mortgage to pay, it is
perhaps easier to live if one is under employed or unemployed. This is simply conjecture on my part. I really don’t know the answer.
Later we wander back in the direction of our favourite
bar. One of our newly made friends,
Gaetano, stops us. Are we going to stay
for the music? It is supposed to start
at 9:30 – in 15 minutes. There will be a
live band and dancing. Sit, sit! Have a caffe’! We join Gaetano at one of the tables set out
on the street. He buys us each il
caffe’, an espresso, and we sit and chat about Cianciana in the summer. Gaetano was born in Cianciana. Now he lives alone – no wife or children, but
his sister lives here too. He tells us
about the clock tower – built in 1908 – and how life here has changed over the
years.
He tells us how in the summer, people stay out until two or three in the morning and the bar doesn’t close until 4am. We chat for nearly two hours but there is no music. The instruments are set up and from time to time someone – presumably musicians – come to fiddle with the set up but no music plays. Finally, we take our leave of Gaetano.
He tells us how in the summer, people stay out until two or three in the morning and the bar doesn’t close until 4am. We chat for nearly two hours but there is no music. The instruments are set up and from time to time someone – presumably musicians – come to fiddle with the set up but no music plays. Finally, we take our leave of Gaetano.
My eyelids are growing heavy. I
obviously don’t have the stamina of the Ciancianese. As we walk home I hear thunder roll and see
lightening flash off in the distance.
Once in the house, we sit at the kitchen table to drink a glass of water
before we go to bed. In the distance we
can hear the music start. A rock version
of Volare. Later in the night I wake,
cold for the first time since we arrived here.
It is raining – hard. The water
drums on the terracotta tiles outside our window. I listen to the sound until it sooths me back
to sleep.
