Stories Of...Syracusa

Giovanni and Maria Vittoria are the bookshop owners of Libreria Zaratan in Syracusa, Sicily. We became friends 3 years ago when I threw an open mic night in their bookshop. Giovanni is a musician, a violinist. And Marie is a photographer.

Giovanni is like me. A lover of people with a childlike sensibility. Marie is more like my mom and brother. Calmer, a bit shy by nature, and notices everything. I love the way her eyes squint when she smiles. It’s a really pure smile and it makes me so happy. 

I hadn’t seen them in three years and had only known them for a few weeks before returning back home. Yet when I told them I was paying a visit, I was met with tight hugs and carbonara pasta. I was so hungry. For both. 

In the evening they played translator as we bumped into many of their friends along the street who were met with the uptempo energy of the “California Girl”, whose 10 capped lexicon managed to endear their hearts. 

                                                 “Mi Italiano molto piccolo y merda.” 
                                                     My Italian very small and shit. 

This place is my Garden of Eden:
I’ve had two cappuccinos—that’s two more than I’ve had all year. And I’m sensitive to milk. But throw me in the sea and spear me with a sword fish before I ask for oat milk and be that tourist. “Oat milk cappuccino.” Ha. Suicide. I’ve eaten ham and beef with almost every aperitif. I’m dying of heart burn but I don’t care. I’m so happy. 


The tempo is different. There’s a saying here. 
                                                             Comu veni si cunta
                                               "When it's time, we'll talk about it"


Don’t get me wrong. People work hard and friends my age have told me that there’s not much opportunity. 

But people eat well, indulge in the joys of good conversation, and live amongst  nature’s gifts, with the fresh sea breeze in each breath. The presence of people is palpable. 


I remember now. I promised myself I’d take a bit of  Comu veni si cunta with me when I went back home. I let it slip. I’m going to try again. In the meantime, America, you young eager country you, you could learn a bit or two from the Sicilians, walking on land thousands of years old, with the remnants of Apollo’s temple as living proof. 


                                                                                                                                              Stories of Syracusa  
                                                                                                                              Saturday, November 13, 2021