Deliberate Triangular Leisure

William Hantzos

A casual walk not too fast, but not yielding for anyone. There was a destination but there was plenty of time to get there. I looked down at the brownish dog as he passed. Extending my hand quickly for an informal greeting. The dog nodded and continued on his way. Moving gracefully amongst the crowded cobblestone. People stepped in every direction, in search of food, clothes, or a day’s treasure. There didn’t seem to be a clock in sight. No one checked his or her watch; the fact that the sun was shining was good enough. Time was moving. Seconds, minutes, hours. The present was turning into the future leaving the past behind further; things seemed different. This progression into the future, into uncharted waters seemed to move leisurely through the streets. People stopped to take a good look at a window front and considered carefully what they would like to drink before ordering. No one ate while they walked. It must be unheard of here since most of the café tables were occupied with people.

I continued walking, changing my stride to try and fit in with this astounding slow pace. After all I really didn’t have a destination. As I slowed everything around slowed faster to get away from me. There is a thing is Sicily called a siesta, enjoyed by many in the Mediterranean. Between 1 and 4pm every day business stops, streets empty and restaurants close down. People hibernate. Just when you thought life couldn’t get any slower it stops altogether. With the absence of people you are able to gaze through the streets and see the environment Sicilians come from. Thousands of years of progression and digressions have molded the island to what it is today. What exactly turns this place? What keeps time? From the most remote mountain village of Polizzi Generosa to the faster, more intricate capital of Palermo, life on the island of Sicily moves slowly.

When we arrived in Palermo, there was a rush of people moving about quickly in the airport. They were speaking fast, walking fast and trying to get to their intended destination immediately. My first impression of Sicily was that this would be another fast moving European civilization, not yielding for the glances of tourists or the wanderer in the street. The cars zipped past us on our intimidating bus. Motorcycles with no regard for safety cut the road in half and tried to gain distance on us. The city itself reminded me much of Athens. A well lived in, gritty, don’t walk around barefoot type of place. People did business, ate, walked, talked, and moved quickly though the wide streets. A small metropolis in the middle of the Mediterranean. Old men sat on benches and conversed while children joined in a game of pickup soccer. The smell of history, of a place with much change and reformation filled the air. The rhythm of the town was a constant bass drum pounding the beat for us to follow. Garbage overflowed the stone garbage containers and pigeons feasted well on the disregarded scraps. Old men using the facilities the nearby bush had to offer with no regard for tourists peering at them with uncertainty. There was character to Palermo but there wasn’t tranquillity to the city. It seemed as though it never stopped moving. A perpetual mass never yielding to any onlookers. Was this Sicily? I returned to the bus and took a seat near the eccentric Paul Berube. He was reluctant at first to talk with me but after a couple of icebreaker “Weirdo” comments exchanged, he was full of stories and energy from back home. As Paul spoke of his experience teaching and living in the Pioneer Valley, I continued to listen and keep the original idea of my first impression of Sicily.

We make our way out of the capital city and our tour bus coincides with the ocean onto the historic fishing village of Cefalu. The hills start to reflect more green, and the air starts to clear of the exhaust and heat of Palermo. Ten kilometers out of the city walls and the tempo switches pace. The Tyrrhenian Sea is in plain view out of the left window of the bus as we’re flanked by the rocky foothills to the right. Goats wander the hills, their bells breaking the silence of the air filling my expanding lungs. Cefalu sits nestled between the sea and enormous rock outcropping. The first thing that catches your eye is the old Norman church presenting itself as the main focal point of the town. We arrive, settle into our plush ocean view accommodation and decide how the subgroups in our large group will form. I decide to explore this newfound town with a couple of other interested faces. I sit in Cefalu sipping a coffee and look around at the magnificence of the centerpiece, the Norman Cathedral. It was built in the 12th century by Roger II, laying claim to the historic value of the city. The streets are narrow, just barely allowing a small car to pass freely without getting caught on the elaborate architecture. The cobblestones line the roads impeding pedestrians, acting as speed bumps trapped in time. As you travel deeper into the old town the streets get more and more narrow, suffocation you would think, yet it is the exact opposite. The road winds down a small hill and opens to a four-way intersection leading to residences I assume. I look around the corner to investigate what happens on the other side of the wall, and I’m surprised to find a man cooking on his truck. It’s around 2 in the afternoon by now, well into the siesta, and here stands an older man with a makeshift grill, simmering sausage and a piece of chicken over hot coals atop the bed of his truck. I was amazed at the patience this man had to stand in the street for an hour slow roasting his lunch on the back of his truck. Was he nuts or just going with the pace of his surroundings? Maybe he knew something I didn’t. That the food actually tasted better when it was allowed to sit over hot coals and slowly come to an edible temperature. The fire is low but effective, the sizzling soft. A soothing way to pass an hour he must think, as I notice the traces of a smile at the corners of his mouth. For some reason there was more to this story, and from that moment I kept my eyes wide open to see if other inhabitants went about life in the same manner.

Time always moves slowly when you’re unfamiliar with your surroundings. When you have time to explore and take in as much as possible, days are longer and more peaceful. The first 3 days of our journey seemed like a week. The last 5 were one long day. The tour I signed on for met every morning at 7:00am, sharp. There was an itinerary but it was put together so loosely, that a rain drop may spark something new. Rick Newton, a photojournalism teacher at Umass-Amherst heads up a trip to Sicily every year with the help of Karen Skolfield, the travel writing guide. Every day we visited a new town, or ruins, or a strange twist would be in the mix. Today the weather was right and we traveled west to the mountain town nestled high above the clouds, Erice. It has been dubbed the name ‘The cloud city” due to its altitude and abundance of cloud cover. Like Cefalu it too prides itself on its preservation of historic landscape and values.

The juggernaut bus barrels its way up the winding, constricted roads carved into the mountainside. Our fearless driver Giovanni, cutting turns at 30 km, with the utmost precision. There are times when he must yield or take the corners slower for fear of slipping off the mountain into the clouds. The bus takes its time climbing, watching the clouds get closer and closer. We come to a halt to take a few pictures and slow our ascent. Peacefulness. The sea shimmers from the few escaping rays piercing through the thick clouds. The clouds take their time passing through, apparently in no rush to let the sun occupy the entire sky. Parts of the land shine while others remain dull. Grays and whites and shades of blue stand apart from the rich green of the hills.

The top finally shows its face and the bus comes to a halt perpendicular to the trail leading to the center of the city. We exit in our half-slow, half-fast fashion and approach the entrance to Erice. An old man perches himself at the gate entrance, his beat up older car filled with an assortment of nuts, fruits and dried goods. His trunk is his market and he sits patiently, not pitching us to buy as we move forward. His demeanor is rugged, looking as though he’s had a full life. Clothes old but well kept, looking towards us with his gaze fixed upon us. I look towards him and then enter his makeshift shop. I take a look at the trunk and spot a bag of pistachios, and some red chilies. I ask “Quantos” with my rough Italian and he responds “Cinque”, five for the pistachios. I let him know I’ll be back, hesitant to buy goods off a shifty character out of the back of his trunk. We walk towards the entrance and the town is deserted. There is grass growing between the cobblestones showing signs of neglect. The church is our highlight here, Chiesa Matrice, built in 1314. It has since been restored and resembles nothing to its original counterpart. The lighting is dim and we slowly glance around admiring the stone carvings that people must have dedicated their lifetimes to. The marble ceilings draw my attention and I set up for several of shots to document this glorious structure. I take my time looking at the altar and imagining what life must have been like here many years ago when the church was at the peak of its existence. After a good look and a couple of documents from my camera, the need to explore pulls me away and I make my way up the hill to the center of town. Flags blowing in the wind almost still at times. No one in sight. I can feel the vibe of the town with the absence of the inhabitants. There are old wooden boards blocking off entrances to doors, glass broken and spray painted. Small alleyways that showcase the sea when looked through at the right angle. I’m submerged with the peace I’ve found. Getting away from the group I’m able to realize where I am and how people aren’t out and about rushing around. It’s still the height of siesta and people just start to materialize from their dwellings to catch back up with time. Shopkeepers fill their doorways to exchange with other merchants on the commotion of tourists passing through, and to speak of the day’s happenings.

The time is up. I have no watch and neither do most people I’ve seen, but I feel as though I’ve paid my dues. Making my way back down the road, shopkeepers are out talking with each other, standing in their doorways watching us go by, not concerned with anything but the present moment. No rush they figure. It’s a nice day and why not enjoy the color of tourists eager to shoot anything that moves. The road leads back to the purveyor of fine quality trunk goods. He’s in his car by now, obviously not tolerant to the wind cast upon the mountain. I fire a quick glance at him and he responds by getting out and coming to his invisible counter. The pistachios I point and the peppers as well. The itinerary was thrown off guard today and apparently someone in the group was taken in by the slow moving pace of life. Marie, a member of our group was left behind in Cefalu earlier, and in all the commotion we forgot to stock up on food supplies before heading west to Erice. The invitation of fresh dried peppers and Sicilian pistachios was more than enough to satisfy my empty stomach.

Unbelievable. My taste buds go off in a million directions as I make my way through the bag of nuts. I spice things up with a pepper and my enthusiasm for food reaches a pinnacle. None of us have eaten except off the fruits of the old man’s labor and the thought of a gourmet meal is in everyone’s mind. In Sicily eating isn’t a quick stop to curb hunger, it’s a complete experience. Courses are usually 3 or 4 items all building up to a cappuccino to top things off. Red wine pours slowly from the carafe or bottle, not coming out too quickly, hesitating to spill a drop from the glass. The bread is tougher to chew here, making you work harder for its taste and forcing you to enjoy. The butter sweet yet bitter. Sicilian cuisine is a mixture of different traditions, with elements from Greek, Roman and Arab cuisine still used. Fish is the basic ingredient, both as a main course and in soups and sauces. Vegetable dishes are derived from ancient recipes using capers, olives and various herbs. Citrus fruit is very important and put to a variety of uses including salads and dressings for the main course of fish.

After a quick look towards the city, we reached back into Palermo. Warning was given ahead of time that we might never be able to enjoy seafood again after eating at our destination. A narrow corridor leading to an open dining room where a spiral staircase was situated near an open kitchen. The stairs restricted passengers to one at a time. Curving around entering a dining room at the top setup ready for our arrival. L’Ancora, the chosen restaurant to give us a taste of the service and seafood pleasures that Sicily produces. We knew we were in for a treat. 18 courses! Salty fish, octopus, swordfish, white wine complimenting. Calamari, whole crab, shrimp split with stuffing and whole fish pan-fried with lemon wedges. Each course slowing us further down than the last. The huge fish took each of us an ample amount of time to get to the meat. The tiny pin bones impeded our progress to getting the fish into our mouths. Our table kept the waiter the busiest, having him hustle back and forth between our party and the wine closet. We were enjoying the fish, each other’s company and the fluid to lube the gears was the bitter white wine. By the time we were on our last course drumming and singing had broken out, breaking up the dull sound of small chatter and forks scraping plates. We had life to us, all of us. The day had set the stage for our enthusiasm to be in Sicily and the unbelievable meal and wine brought out what each of us were feeling.

Timing couldn’t be any more appropriate. Given an ample amount of time to finish each course, there was no rush. The waiter never tried to pull away our plates before absolute certainty was made that we had completed our job to enjoy. In Sicily there is no such thing as dropping a check off before it’s asked. Meals are reserved for at least an hour and a half of one’s time. It’s a whole experience in itself. There is no rush to finish as fast as possible and move on. Fast food doesn’t exist. It can’t exist on this plane of living life. There is no room to not enjoy every eating and drinking experience. “People who drink beer live to 100. People who drink wine live forever.” It certainly seems like this aphorism fits appropriately here. Wine is a staple on the table of every meal. It would almost be like not having salt and pepper on the table. It controls the pace of the meal and encourages more social interaction between people. It is the life that gives the very essence that makes people Sicilian. The pure enjoyment from a sharp white or a mellow red invites delight into every experience. Honey takes its time pouring from the golden bottle. The wax untouched beauty of it makes the enjoyer wait for its pleasure to come into focus. The wait is worth it, filling your soul with pure sweetness. As I’ve heard it put before, “In some places the food tries to kill you. In Sicily it’s to die for.”

We visited at least six chapels during our tenure in Sicily. Each of them storing fragments of the different ages that existed here. Moors, Normans, Greeks and other cultures that once occupied the island all have mixed through the years to leave behind the people that we now refer to as Sicilians. The Sicilians have only been speaking Italian for about 140 years now, giving way to the idea that they just recently became Italians. Even the dialect of Italian that is spoken throughout the island is different. Someone from the northern mainland might have trouble deciphering what is being said at the markets in Catania. They might have trouble ordering a drink in Polizzi Generosa, or finding out where the best views of the sea are in Erice. Sicily beats to its own drum, taking in stride what the mainland does, but still living the type of life that all Sicilians appreciate and have grown to love. The environment has reflected this. When you live in such a beautiful place where fruits and vegetables can grow all year long, and seafood is always in abundance, why should you have any worries? The structures built in the old towns of Cefalu and Taormina have sunken into the earth over time and I appreciated how the people have molded their own lives around the history that has shaped them.

My whole objective on venturing to Sicily was to gain some more valuable life experience and to try and figure out why exactly the people live the way they do here. This perpetual harmony between the land and the food it yields. Why do people take their time and enjoy life? Even the children here grow up faster and have more of an adult presence on the streets than they do here in America. You will see a gang of kids running in packs playing soccer or vending on the streets with the wisdom that Sicily has passed down to them. They too understand the pace of life that they must follow. The idea that life is to be cherished and enjoyed and not rushed through to complete a meaningless task. To enjoy your surroundings and the people that populates it. To take time and realize the simple pleasures that are gained when we all slow down to the speed that life should be lived. I took this value with me back home and have been trying to implement it within my own life. It’s not procrastination, but simply living life to enjoy the moment. A beautiful sunny day, or the company of good friends and good food. Sicilian life can show those ignorant to relaxation how to live life in the present and enjoy every experience that presents itself. I Spent a little over a week there, and as I mentioned before, it was nowhere close to being long enough. The first couple of days that you spend somewhere unfamiliar, are spent entering into the culture and looking for the switch to turn on the light. Once you find the switch and turn on the light to the environment, you need to explore and find exactly what you’re looking for. I was only able to feel around a part of the area and didn’t get the entire tour. The short amount of time did leave me with a map and wet my appetite for the pleasures that still need to be sought. The pace of life coincides with the peace that I’ve been seeking and a return trip to complete my wonder and amazement will be in order in the near future.

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