A HAPPY NEW YEAR (I THINK)

In Catania at the end of November

Every now and then, in this seemingly never-ending Covid situation, I get stopped in my tracks with fear and that is what happened in December when Omicron blared out its presence to the world. We were so near, we thought, so very near, to having a "normal" Christmas and to living in a way that resembled pre-Covid times. But it was not to be and, although triple-vaccinated, I'm still scared, especially with positive test results rising exponentially in Sicily and elsewhere in Italy - 947 in my town of 53,000 inhabitants today. Although we are not locked down or restricted as we were a year ago, masks are compulsory outside as well as inside again, we are supposed to be social distancing wherever possible, unnecessary mixing is discouraged and school reopening has been postponed from today until at least Thursday. It is not yet known whether teaching will be via distance learning or on school premises. In addition to these measures, you will have read about the Italian government's decision to bring in what amounts to compulsory vaccinations for the over 50s. We watch, we try to be careful and we hope, like the rest of the world.

At Christmas, I am glad to say, we were not required to fill in the hated self-certification documents in order to go anywhere at all or prevented from seeing friends and family and I spent a lovely Christmas Day with three friends who love books and dogs. Yes, I did consider staying at home but we are all vaccinated and at nearly 72 and with the virus raging, I wondered, and still wonder, if I will see another Christmas and whether we will at some point be barred from even small household mixing again, although the Italian government is doing everything it can to avoid having to take such a measure and Prime Minister Draghi has assured the nation this evening that he is not intending to take the country into lockdowns again. 

Having decided to accept the kind invitation, however, things did not exactly go to plan in the run-up and on Christmas Eve I nearly went into full hysterical mode as I was in the middle of making a cake to take to my friends' house when a domestic disaster struck. The recipe was for the wonderful Dame Mary Berry's Chocolate Cappuccino Tart, a cake I have made many times before and which has always been a success here. (I don't use instant coffee granules, though, because I don't buy them; I make myself an espresso and use a teaspoon of it in the cake and I use mascarpone in the filling.) If you look at the recipe, you will see that you have to make the base first, then refrigerate it while you make the filling. Well, I had just popped the base in the fridge and had the chocolate and coffee in a bowl ready to put over the saucepan of simmering water when I happened to look at the floor and beheld disaster in the form of a flood. The water, I ascertained, was coming from under the sink and at 1pm on Christmas Eve I estimated my chances of finding a plumber willing to come out as nil. While controlling my breathing, I did summon enough common sense to switch the hob off and then I went downstairs to warn the neighbour in the flat below. Luckily - phew! - her son was there and informed me that he was a plumber and would come. (I'd had no idea, either that he was home from the North or that he was a plumber.)  He fixed it but it took a while, not least because we had to wait a few hours for the shops to reopen for parts. Thank you, thank you, whoever is up there and to the kind man who happened to be down there!

I finished making the cake at midnight but didn't think the filling looked as smooth or as inviting as it had before (probably because I'd had to put that in the fridge too - I didn't have enough chocolate left to start again) but decided there was nothing I could do till it was set and I could inspect it in daylight. In the morning I came to the same conclusion though, and wondered whether to give up on it and just take some shortbread biscuits I had bought a couple of weeks before in Catania for Burns Night (the first time I had been there or anywhere outside Modica since my birthday in February 2020 - no need to tell you why!) I discussed it on the phone with a friend and his opinion was "cake, cake, every time" but I decided I had to check the taste. If it was OK, I would take the cake and just explain why a small slice was missing and that is what I did, but not before decorating it with some grated chocolate. Then later, at my friends' house, I added some candied orange peel to the top. Now, chef Carlo Cracco of Masterchef Italia fame says you should never garnish a dish with an ingredient it doesn't contain and I'm sorry, chef, but what else could I do? My friends thought it was all rather comical, by the way - which they wouldn't have if they'd seen the kitchen floor - and they enjoyed the cake.

On New Year's Eve I did stay at home, as I have for many years, because I like being at home with Bertie and because I would not risk leaving her on a night when there will almost certainly be fireworks outside. There were not many but when Italians decide they are going to have them they do not hold back! It didn't go on for long after midnight, to be fair, and there was only one episode that I heard of fireworks being let off in the street earlier. On New Year's Eve in Italy you are supposed to eat lentils, which it is believed will bring you money and my philosophy is why take chances and not do it? For years, to honour the Italian tradition while in Britain, I made a lamb dish with lentils, then lentil loaf, and here I have made Mary Berry's Cottage Pie with Lentils  (minus the swede, which I dislike and can't get here anyway and I only ever mash potatoes with butter) and lately Nigella's Bulgur Wheat and Lentil Salad, all of which I can recommend. But this time I wanted to make something different, so I prepared Claudia Roden's Rice, Lentil and Date Salad from her new book Med and I will certainly be making it again. To go with it, I made chicken escalopes with Parma ham and sage (from a very old Sunday Times cookbook I have) and for dessert a mini-semifreddo with candied orange peel. Well, to be honest I made the full quantity - I just put it in mini-tins! I don't believe in not spoiling yourself on special days just because you are on your own.

Then came Twelfth Night last week and Italy's good witch the befana brought treats to good children (that's all of them on that night!) On Thursday I carried out the sad task of taking the decorations down. Sad, for me at least, because I love that period of sitting at home with a book and reading it by the flickering lights of a Christmas tree and because we do not know what will happen in another year. (And it's just as well we didn't on New Year's Eve 2019-20!)  

Speriamo bene - "Let's hope all will be well", as Italians say and Bertie and I wish you all a belated but very Happy New Year. 

Buon anno a tutti!

TI AMO, TI ADORO......

Most Modicans have a house in the countryside or at the beach, to which they repair in hot weather, and my neighbour upstairs is no exception.  On the way up in the lift tonight, she insisted I go and get a bowl when we got to my floor, and proceeded to empty into it a great many of her pomodori di campagna [home-grown tomatoes]. 

"You'll see", she said.  "They'll taste better than any you've ever bought!" I'm sure they will and it was very kind of her.

"Ti amo, ti adoro

come la salsa di pomodoro."

"I love you and adore you

like I love tomato sauce."

Around here that Italian saying is regarded as one of the best compliments anyone could receive!

"Un piatto di pasta senza pomodori

è come un giardino senza fiori."

"A plate of pasta without tomatoes

is like a garden without flowers",

sings Gino Paoli in this song:




And finally, who could forget this?

A PATH FOR THE INTREPID

Last week, our street was closed for three days for lavori stradali [roadworks], much to the chagrin of my neighbours, who drive everywhere. [What anyone who was disabled was supposed to do during this period, I don't know - not go out, I suppose, it being assumed that they would have family to help them.]

The workmen helpfully cleared a pedestrian path around the hole

but the path came to an abrupt end here:

Several of my intrepid neighbours seemed to find clambering over the low wall quite normal

but take a closer look at the slope below it and you'll understand why I didn't take the risk!

However, I did make the acquaintance of several neighbours I hadn't spoken to before because they had never, to my knowledge, actually walked down the street and one day a kind workman carried my shopping right to the door.

Quannu a sorti ti voli aiutari, anfina a casa ti veni a truvari.

When Fate wants to give you a hand, it will come to your house to find you.

- Sicilian proverb

AN ARMFUL OF SUNSHINE

When I am strolling back home with my dog in the evening, I don't expect to return with anything other than our "poo bag" in one hand and the lead, firmly attached to my dog, in the other, so imagine my surprise on Sunday when a neighbour, whom I do not know well but who has always been kind, called to me and asked if she could give me a zucchina from her garden in the country.  Then another zucchina appeared from the boot of her car, followed by an armful of the freshest peppers, all for me! 

Such thoughtfulness makes sunny Sicily even sunnier.....

BEWARE THY NEIGHBOUR ....

.... especially if you are under house arrest in Sicily, seems to be today's message from the town of Agrigento.  There a 42-year-old man who was supposed to have no contact with anyone except his immediate family with whom he lived managed to have a quarrel with his neighbours whilst under house arrest.  The neighbours reported the man to the police, who immediately re-arrested him for attempting to escape.

I wonder if a certain high-profile Frenchman has similar problems with the neighbours?

A WATER DRAMA

It's a while since we had a water drama but of course, there had to be one on the day before the most strictly observed holiday of the year - ferragosto:

At about 3.30 this afternoon the water lorry arrived to refill the condominio's cistern.  The driver rang my bell as someone has to go down and sign for the load, though his arrival just as I'd put my weekly application of fake tan on my legs caused much cursing in every language I know.  I hastily donned a beach cover-up and went downstairs, only to find that some selfish person had parked their car right across our courtyard entrance so the lorry couldn't get in.  Despite frantic beeps from the driver and my neighbour's knocking on doors, no one appeared to claim the vehicle.

The lady from the fourth floor appeared on her balcony just as the driver was saying he would have to come back on Monday, so I shouted what he had said to her and she shouted it to the man opposite, who had interrupted his siesta to come out onto his own balcony.  He, in turn,  made that hands-in-the-air, hopeless gesture to my fourth floor neighbour, who then made it to her son, who was just returning from  his fruitless knocking on doors errand, he made it to me, I made it back to his mother and we all made it to the driver, who flung his own hands in the air and drove off.

Personally, I think he should have driven in and crushed the car.  Could it be that I am still suffering from a little Anglo-Saxon impatience? 

If the water runs out tonight, we face all day tomorrow without any - in 40 C.

Buon ferragosto!

DAILY DOINGS - 16

The lady who lives opposite had put her Christmas decorations up by the weekend. That is unusual for here as even most shops do not do it before December 8th, which is a holiday and the real beginning of the festivities in Italy.

Not to be outdone, I paid the excellent Rosa for an extra half-day to come and help me deck my own halls. [This task usually takes me about 6 hours when I'm perfectly fit, so I knew I couldn't manage it on my own this time.] It was good to have cheerful company whilst digging out all my sentimental bits and pieces and Rosa, quite fascinated by it all, kept exclaiming that no one else she "does" for transforms their entire living space for Christmas. In the end she really got into it so we have tinsel on everything now! Simi is happy because as the cards start coming she gets lots of nice envelopes to destroy noisily, Chris Moose and Mickey Moose are pleased because they are on their annual expedition out of the bedroom and into the sitting room and I am content to sit and read or contemplate in the relaxing glow of the tree lights.

Last night I was sitting here thinking how desperate I was to get to Raffaele's for colour, cut and cuddle when all of a sudden the phone rang and it was he! He asked how I was and I explained that I am on the mend but can't yet walk as far as the salon. "But why didn't you tell us?!" he cried: "I'll send a car for you whenever you want to come. " So guess where I've spent the afternoon, reader, and I feel much better for it!

Later when I took Simi out I found my nice neighbour from along the street waiting for me. [She is one of the ladies who came to visit me in hospital.] "I just came to repeat that if you need anything I am here. Do come and see me one day and we'll have tea", said she. Then she took my arm and propelled me along the road to meet her husband and make sure I knew exactly which house she lives in. - More proof [as if I needed it] that Sicilians are amazingly thoughtful and kind.

The day has been blighted only by the fact that we are, again, without water in the building: The comune had "suspended" their water deliveries for about 6 weeks as there was no public money to pay the drivers or anyone else involved so the last 2 deliveries to the condominio have been by private carrier and paid for respectively by the capocondominio and myself. [Everyone else, coincidentally, seems to disappear along with the water!] About 10 days ago a refill mysteriously appeared while we were both out; thus we knew that "service" had been resumed. I requested a refill on Monday but there has been no sign of the lorry all evening. No water at this time of year means no heating, as the pressure thing on the boiler just will not move up far enough. [Although the temperature has remained at a pleasant 18 C all day, it drops fast at night.] So once more I am summoning my pazienza, and am relying on all the cheerful cherubs, resourceful reindeers and smiling Santa figures which surround me for encouragement!

OF CISTERNS, WATER CARRIERS AND POST OFFICES

Imagine my despair when the water appeared to be off yet again this morning [after the 35 euros I’d paid for a lorry load last week!] I just about managed to eke out enough for a shower before it dried up completely, then, on my way out, saw that there were two men working down in the cistern area. One of my mottos is, “When men are working, leave them alone”, so I did. They were, in fact, putting the leak in the tank to rights by replacing the whole thing and I rejoiced about that, but I did wonder how much precious water might be lost in the process. Anyway, upon my return, the water was gleefully gushing from all the taps in the apartment and at the time of writing we still have some.

Earlier I saw my kind and gentle neighbour the “water carrier” and he asked me how I was off for mineral water. [James has been carrying packs of six up the road whenever he can, but this is onerous in the heat, obviously.] The neighbour has just kindly brought us four packs and I am very grateful for this thoughtfulness.

Today I could put it off no longer; a visit to the dreaded post office was necessary. As the place was packed when I went past with Simi on our walk this morning, I decided to try my luck at around 2.30 pm ., when most people have started their siesta: This time, the only seat I could find was not next to one, but between two old souls who were fascinated by the changing numbers on the display board, so I have bruises from being nudged on both sides of my ribcage every time these changed, reader. Another little old lady was darting, at amazing speed, from one counter to the other, insisting on drawing her pension right there and then. Each time her son, who could hardly keep up with her, managed to convince her that she had to wait her turn and gently persuade her to sit down again. No doubt the lady could remember better days.

All of life is here in this very street, dear reader!

AND NOW THE DOWNSIDE...

Regular readers will know that this has to be about the Post Office or the water supply and today it's the latter that has driven me to distraction:

Our water ran out at around 11 am but at least we had both had showers and a main wash had gone through the machine. I wasn't too worried, as I had ordered a cistern refill yesterday, but by 5 pm, with a lot of cooking ahead of me, I was beginning to fret.

First I called the usually sympathetic driver, as he will normally bring a tankful a day or so early provided you have made the request to the Water Office. Today, however, he did not seem pleased to hear from me [to put it mildly] and claimed that the last time he had done this [a week ago last Sunday] he had subsequently found out that I hadn't put in the request! [I am not completely mad, reader, and I do know that I had!] So he rather gruffly stated that he could not possibly help me today, as he had no bolleta [authorisation] in his hand.

Next, I went to see the only fellow-tenant in residence at the moment, the lady upstairs. She was almost as upset by the situation as I was, but declared that she is off to her property at the sea tomorrow, so was unwilling to pay a private water carrier.

I then called our capo-condominio [tenant in charge of administrative matters] who, although away in the country until October, had left me her number for just such a purpose. "Ah, signora, there's a problem with the motore in the cistern - that's why the water is running out so quickly", she explained. [Why did I have a sense of "Been here before?"] "I will call the landlords, to see if they have had it fixed. Otherwise there is no point in your calling a private water carrier as the water will just leak out. I'll let you know." This was at 5pm. By 8 pm, I was sitting here suffering from a "Sicilian summer tummy" problem and worrying about the loo arrangements for the night, so decided to call the private water carrier anyway [thinking that if I left it much later he would not come].

No sooner had I made the call, than the capo-condominio was back on the phone, informing me that she had just called the original water carrier to ask him to deliver on a paying basis, which he had agreed to do, but not until tomorrow morning. [The carrier I had called promised to deliver within the hour.] She was not happy when I confessed that I had called the other one and I think I have offended her Sicilian sense of honour: "Signora, why did you call me, then? When I take it upon myself to do something , I do it. Why do you not trust me?" I pleaded desperation, a stomach problem and the fact that it was already past 8pm but it took a lot to mollify her! [James listened to all this and seemed amazed.] Finally I was all apologised-out and the lady very kindly offered to call the first water carrier to cancel the delivery [an offer which I readily accepted].

Not a full minute had passed before we heard the chug-chug-chug of the private water lorry making its way up the street and I dashed down to open up and greet the driver. I am now 35 euros poorer - and it would have been 42 had I insisted upon a receipt - but we have water for the time being and I have only managed to offend 3 people in the process of obtaining it [the capo-condominio, the comune driver and the second driver, for refusing his receipt!]

LITTLE COURTESIES OF SICILY

Walking back from work with shopping in 37 C this evening, I must have paused a couple of times on the "home stretch". "Signora, it's heavy and I will carry it for you", uttered a familiar voice behind me and before I could reply a male neighbour had relieved me of my bags, raced up the road with them and deposited them at the entry door to the condominio. I not only reflected that this has never happened to me in the UK, but started thinking about the other "little courtesies" that I encounter during my daily life in Sicily:

When you enter Raffaele the hairdresser's, for instance, you are invited to "sit down and rest yourself" whilst you are served a refreshing cold drink; only when they consider that you have recovered a little from the heat outside would they dream of starting your shampooing process and that's fine with me! When I first started this blog and had few readers I also mentioned that, during that first, stifling summer when I was in the little house in Modica Bassa, I had come up to Raff's for my hairdo and he instructed one of his staff to drive me back, as he didn't want me waiting for a bus in the heat. His thoughtfulness at that time is something that I always remember at this stage in the year.

Recently, at the Altro Posto, Giorgio the manager has been filling up my ice bag for me almost daily so that I can put it on my ankle at work and get through the afternoons reasonably comfortably. I wouldn't even dare to ask in a UK bar but here you are assured it is no trouble at all.

Then there is the other helpful neighbour who always asks if I need some packs of mineral water and brings them regularly. Believe me, when you don't have transport, such a gesture is really appreciated! [In such a case, it is not so much that people in the UK would not help you if they realised; it is , rather, that sometimes those who have transport simply cannot visualise that being without it can be a problem .]

Last week I told my neighbour upstairs that I have a British friend staying with me and she immediately offered to drive us around to all the nearby beach locations so that we can take photos, enjoy them and, of course, blog about them. And we shall go, reader, just as soon as the weather cools a little.

At the deli down the road Mr T.... is always concerned that the carrier bags into which he loads my purchases are comodi [comfortable] and he stretches the handles to make them so. If I've bought a bottle of olive oil, he gets very worried and double-warns me each time not to just dump the bags on the tiled floor in relief when I arrive home, thus breaking the container of the precious substance. [Sometimes I think Mr T.... would make rather a good psychologist!]

When James's missing suitcase finally arrived in Modica after a fortnight, the student whom I was teaching when I got the phone call from the carrier didn't hesitate to offer help. "Let's go now and meet the carrier in my car - we can't take chances." There was no comeback from either her or my boss later. Human needs at that time prevailed.

Of my long-term friends here I have written often and gratefully: they know I could never have managed without them and, as I approach the third anniversary of the day I moved into this apartment, I recall the summer of 2005 and all the help they unstintingly offered me. I thank them now, as then, from the bottom of my heart.

BEDSIDE MANNERISMS

If you have not already done so, do take a look at the jollifications regarding readers’ nightwear on James’s site: the “parade” really cheered me up and now it has got me thinking not only of what I wear in bed [perfume] but of what I keep beside my bed and how this has changed since I came to Sicily. Here is the list:

Mobile [which also serves as an alarm clock].
List of phone numbers of the “army of men” [all neighbours] who have instructed me not to hesitate to call them if I am disturbed like this again. [Not that the numbers aren’t keyed in; it’s just that in an emergency it can be as quick to look at a piece of paper and dial a number as to find it in the rubrica.] Mine is the last generation that can remember not having a mobile and it does make me feel more secure at night; there was always the fear, before, that someone intent on evil could cut the landline wires.
Lipsalve.
Foot cream. [Well, where else can you put it on but sitting on the bed? If you apply it in the bathroom you will slip on the way to the bedroom!]
Mineral water in one of those carafes with a conical thingie in the middle for ice. [You’re either a night-time drinker or you’re not and I always have been, though I suspect all of you would be during a Sicilian summer! In Britain I’d have the mineral water there but the ice wouldn’t be necessary.]
Asthma inhaler [which I rarely need to use since coming here].
Reading matter and one of those mini-lights you can clip to the book [for having even a bedside lamp on during the summer just makes it hotter].
Glasses.
A notebook for blog inspiration that comes in the night [as it will] and for shopping list additions I think of at 3 am!
A large torch in case of an electricity cut or – heaven forbid – an earthquake. [Regular readers may recall that I put the last early hours tremor down to amorous activity in the flat above!]
Handbag on the floor: a girl may have to do emergency make-up repairs during the night sometimes, you know and it is also there in case I have to scarper because of a quake. I’ve a pair of pull-on trousers and a top nearby for the same reason and also in case the water lorry turns up at an unearthly hour [it did so at 06.50 once] and we have to go down to sign.
In summer I rig up a fan by the bed but usually finish the night off on the sofa in the lounge, dozing under the air conditioner. [A student told me the other day that he sleeps on the floor in summer but I would surely bash my head on the tiles and be no more if I tried that.]

Simi’s bed [one of the three she has] is on the other side of mine but usually she sleeps on top of me so is not disturbed by any of this paraphernalia.

What’s your bedside list?

E LA VITA CONTINUA...

A returning private student of mine brought along this lovely candle today - something else to brighten my sitting room now that the Xmas decorations have been put away.

At the salon, Raffaele is delighted with his new mural.

This morning I go to the chemist's and receive wonderful personal service. There are times when I long for a Boot's [large UK chemist chain] especially on a Saturday when all pharmacies except the "duty" one are closed. Yet today they cannot do enough for me and I am pleased.

The broccoli seller along my street has put a CD player on his lorry so now strains of Bocelli greet you as you pass. I really must buy some tomorrow; it is true that I cannot use up three carriers of broccoli very fast [you have to buy the amounts a roadside seller chooses to advertise] but the music entices me and the man deserves my custom!

My "water carrier" - the kind neighbour who always brings me a 6-litre pack of mineral water when he visits the supermarket - greets me effusively this morning, and Simi too. He is a policeman and looks very handsome in his uniform, reader!

It's January 11th and at lunch time it was warm enough to eat outside at the Altro Posto. Nobody mixes a gin and tonic like they can over there!

Oh, yes, I got paid today, too: "So what's remarkable about that?" you may ask. "You do a job and so you would expect to get paid, wouldn't you? " Well, yes and no, for this is Sicily , reader and sometimes people wonder if they will ever be paid for their labours . It is not unusual to have to wait a year for your remuneration! Therefore I am more than a little relieved...

So once again, I add up the bilancia [balance] in my unmathematical head and reflect upon how lucky I am to be here.

A "SMALL" SICILIAN GIFT

Back in October - November I helped the daughter of a neighbour with some post-graduate research. She lives in the north of Italy with her husband and two babies so we communicated by email and phone. It involved me in quite a lot of work but, although she tried to insist on paying me, I didn't feel that it would have been appropriate to charge her as her father belongs to the "army of men" who have promised to rush round here if I am frightened by would-be intruders at night again. I could also sense the pressure the poor young lady was under and wanted to help.

Anyway, she is at home in Sicily for Christmas and called me this afternoon to ask if she could come round at 8pm because she had a pensiero [small gift] for me. At 8 precisely the buzzer rang and she staggered into my kitchen with this hamper, containing a nice novel to read, wine, several jars of antipasto and preserved vegetables, cheeses, dried sausage, salted peanuts, chocolates, 3 types of Modican chocolate and a Baci -flavoured panettone. Simi and I just gaped at it all in astonishment and, as I said to Simi later, I don't think we are going to starve in the near future!

Talking of gifts, Raffaele the hairdresser likes the packaging of mine to him, in this Xmas stocking which I bought in the UK in October. After I explained to him that in Britain Santa only comes to good children and that the gifts are placed in the stocking, he gave it pride of place on his tree and it fascinated his other clients for the rest of the day. Oh, I'm a proper redhead now, by the way!

A ROOM WITH A VIEW

Lady Mac has tagged me with the “What’s the view from your window?” meme. [Note: I will do memes only if they interest me and I think I can make a half-decent post from the idea; otherwise, I leave them and I don’t tag.]

The first question I ask myself is “Which window?” but I suppose it has to be the lounge one. From my study and kitchen windows [glass doors really] I can see only the long balcony of the house facing this block. The lady of the establishment is one of these energetic souls who always has her washing hanging from the balcony by 8am and between that hour and 10 am she can be seen dashing about, cleaning, sweeping and scrubbing the shutters, windows and the balcony itself. So I don’t look across there very often , lest I become infected with this “housewife” virus, though I think I am immune to it.

My lounge window, at the narrower end of the apartment, looks onto another neighbour’s house and, although I can see the balconies and windows, I cannot see inside, nor would I look if I could[unless Al Pacino or Tom Jones suddenly decided to use the space as a changing room]. My neighbours can probably observe my lounge activities, as their windows are higher, but they probably don’t bother and if they do I can only surmise that their lives are very unexciting! The garage of this dwelling has a flat roof and it is by looking down at that that I can tell if it is raining but sometimes in summer you think you can see raindrops on it then, like a desert mirage, they turn out to be only what a friend calls “gocce di caldo” – heat drops. I can also look down upon the top of my neighbour’s olive tree [which makes a nice swishing sound in the wind] and upon the run where he keeps his dogs [who have ruined my life. Yes, Simi still gets up at 5.30 am if she hears them. She has given up barking at them but does expect me to “rise and shine” with her!]

The left hand side of the street is obscured by the olive tree but to the right I can make out who is walking up and down and keep a look-out for my elderly “discerning shopper” neighbour: if he appears carrying a crate on his shoulder or grinning broadly I realise that he has found some beautiful, fresh, in-season produce and, as I know his route by now, I sometimes rush down to discover which roadside lorry he has been buying from. I can’t carry the crates, but if I decide it’s produce that will keep a while or that I can preserve in some way, the sellers will decant it into carrier bags, with which I can just about stagger back.

Sometimes I amuse myself watching all the motorists searching for parking spaces near the post office here. [In Britain no one would drive to a city centre post office.] Reader, if you saw them later, backing out of the street into lines of oncoming traffic, you would be anything but amused, I think!

At siesta time in summer, of course, the street resembles one from a ghost town: you see nothing and nobody during those hours. And when the shutters are open on summer nights, the moons I behold are glorious: that’s the time to put on some Bocelli and dream!

That is what I can [or can’t] see. What I can hear through my window is, I think, more interesting: at around 8 am the splashing of water as the women clean their halls and throw the contents of their buckets down the street; the man who comes around in a small fruit & veg truck announcing his wares on Wednesday and Friday mornings; the chorus of the cicadas on summer evenings and sometimes around midday if it is very hot; and when Simi and I hear “chug-chug-chug” we run out onto the balcony to see where the water lorry is headed. But my favourite sound has to be one I have mentioned many times on this blog: it is that of everyone opening up their shutters to let the cooler air in on summer evenings.

A SPOONFUL OF AGLIO

I have just discovered that, in Italy, your neighbours don't come round asking if you can lend them a "cup of sugar" as they do in Britain; they come asking if you can lend them a few cloves of garlic [and I was very happy to oblige, reader]!