…a number of you have written to say how enviably glamorous is my life in Sicily. I love it, but full of glam, it is not, and this post is meant to set the record straight.
Let’s consider a morning – THIS morning – for example…
Once I’ve had the courage to push off the heat-holding duvet, and the presence of mind to hit the red button, count to 15, while turning the dial once-twice-three times (highest flame power), The Bombola becomes my dear friend.
My day really begins with breakfast in front of the windows: except for the pigeons in the rooftiles outside, it’s quiet this time of day.
Within an hour, the garbage truck arrives (no picture, b/c even I won’t hang over the balcony to snap a photo of that). Today being Thursday, it was the “humid” waste (coffee grounds, banana skins — compostable, I think – hope! – this means). Tomorrow it will be “undifferentiated”, and as examples, the instructions suggest “old shoes…nappies…toys”
Today’s “humid” trash, tied up and ready for pickup.
The earliest Mass in town is at S. Antonio (“Il Convento”), and it’s not until 10 o’clock. I love Sicily!
Besides a statue of Padre Pio (who is actually everywhere, and I mean EVERYwhere: street signs, restaurants, side altars of every church), there is this one, which is San Calogero, patron saint of this area (Agrigento) of Sicily.
It’s now 10:30a.m. in my day, and I will leave you here, but not before sending along the men I see this morning and every morning, standing outside a bar up the street from Il Convento
mebtravelling 