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At Mario
And Salvatore´s
We are at the centre of attention whe -
rever we turn up in Sicily. Yaron, with
mini crash helmet and dummy, steals
the hearts of the proudest Italian
women. They are simply swept away
when he brightly waves to them
from the sidecar and loudly calls CI-
AAAAAO BELLLLA.
We are underway on the tiny
roads of the bleak, mountainous island
interior. The tarmac shimmers
from the heat. The extreme dryness
has faded all colours. The ploughs
have left deep wounds in the brown
earth. Chiuso al transito. Unfortunately,
many back roads that we have
marked as interesting on our map are
blocked. In view of the parching 40
degrees Celsius at this time, we cannot
possibly take the warning fango
in strada seriously and go around the
barrier. We‘re quite positive that one
landslide or another must have taken
place here not very long ago! The
road, or whatever is left of it, lies buried
under dried up mudslides. The
rest is either broken away or littered
with deep potholes.
As we find ourselves back on a
steep, eroded gravel track that runs
between farmsteads with loudly
barking dogs it occurs to us: Wait!
Didn‘t we want to start off slowly with the kids? But they‘re in
the best mood!
Because we are all hungry, we start looking for a restaurant
in Assoro in Enna province. A petrol station attendant sends
us to Mario. Just down the street and then left. „La Perciata“
is bursting at the seams with a hundred golden wedding anniversary
guests and a baptism celebration. The hospitable
Mario nevertheless doesn‘t have the heart to send us away.
A table quickly materialises and is set up on the terrace outside.
Bread, cheese, salad and spaghetti with tomato sauce
are dished up. He and his wife had been up until two in the
morning, then had a short nap in order to rise again shortly
after. But Sicilian tax policy keeps him from getting anywhere,
he complains.
Salvatore comes over to us from the next table. Like a few of
his compatriots, he spent some time in Germany. Now he is
living in his native land again. When he is not driving a lorry,
he works his small farm. Chickens, rabbits, 80 sheep – basta!
A donkey and a small horse were enough to secure the meat
supply for a year.
The other guests gradually depart. Only we still sit together
in a small group with Salvatore and Mario. He apologises
a thousand times over for not being able to offer us a „proper“
menu and gives us a bottle of red wine, which we store
in the sidecar.