Sicily’s Slower Pace

I love Rome. Like a first true love, I will always carry the Eternal City in my heart. But like that first love, the shine wore off, the adrenalin rush faded, reality hit home. So I headed south, far south, following the siren song of warm breezes and a forgotten way of life.

Wall Bill for Circo Acquatico

Tonight that choice bore fruit enough for a healthy harvest and more! I took our youngest son – who’s all of 8 years old- to the traveling Circo Acquatico which is in town for an incredible three-night run. Well, it was originally billed as a two-night run, but was extended – yes, by popular demand! – for one more night.

Let me back up two days ago when my son slammed through the kitchen door, breathless, sweaty and so excited he couldn’t catch his breath.

“Mom, Mom, Mom!!!! It’s HERE!!! WE HAVE TO GO!!!!”

Being completely ignorant to what ‘it’ was, I tried – without success – to calm my jittery offspring down enough to make sense out of what he was trying to say with a sloppy mixture of English, Italian, and Sicilian.

Circo Acquatico's "Tickets" tractor-trailor lighting up the Niscemi night

“The CIRCUS, you know, the CIRCO!!! It has SEALS!!!! We HAVE to GO!!!”

I must confess that going to a small-time traveling circus was one of the last things I had on my agenda this life so I was truly hoping that the next day would bring something even more exciting like a visit to one of the local farms to see goats. No such luck, however. According to my son everyone was going, EVERYONE! All of Niscemi’s 30,000 residents, every single one, was planning on going so we HAD to GO!

Then the homework grades came to light and the sky came crashing down. Being the horrible ogre mom that I am, permission to go was refused because homework and grades come first. Tears enough to fill every one of Circo Acquatico’s salt water tanks were cried and the head was hung so low I feared chin road rash. All was lost or so it seemed.

Then out of nowhere my son’s family hero, Zio Toto’, appeared and persuaded me that family peace was more valuable than mere homework grades. Firework bursts of happiness erupted from my son as I agreed that this time – only this time – I would let things pass and I would take him to the final performance of the circus (which we later discovered was the second to the last performance).

The evening's first customers buy tickets for the last performance

Stepping out of the car onto the blacktop of our local sports complex and seeing the ‘big top’ set up with a semi-trailer parked across the entrance, the word “TICKETS” spelled out in English in neon lights across the top, I felt like I had stepped into a black-and-white Jimmy Stewart movie or maybe an episode of “Leave it to Beaver”.

Kids were running everywhere while parents chatted, teenage couples held hands while their single peers talked about what the algebra test was like, circus performers were selling tickets, popcorn and cans of coke. Everyone was happy, relaxed and enjoying the excuse to get out and see something different. And yes, much of the town was out to see the show. Heads turned as I talked with my son – we speak English when we speak with each other. We made our way into the ‘big top’ – more an over-sized party tent with high peaked ceiling points – and found our seats in the front. As we settled into the slightly thread-bare padded folding chairs my son threw his arms around my neck and thanked me as only an extremely happy child can do. Life was good….very good.

Circo Acquatico's trailers and tent add a splash of sky blue to Niscemi's dry brown sports center

Yes, Niscemi is a long way from the glamor of Via Condotti, the history of the Forum and the majesty of the Coliseum, but here I can relax and enjoy a hokey one-tent traveling circus, let my son get his own cotton candy by himself without worrying about someone stealing his money – or him – in the process. I can chat with parents whose kids played soccer with my son last year who want to send their kids to swimming lessons while the kids themselves run around the parking lot playing tag without someone yelling at them or a car hitting them. I can drive home in less than the time it takes to roll up the car windows, no traffic, no stop lights, no never-ending lines of motorini.

Roma, Roma città del mio cuore…I will always love you, but I won’t miss you.

Sunday in Southwest Sicily

“Hurry UP!!! We’re going to be late AGAIN!!!”

Seems like the refrain never changes. Monday through Sunday I’m found yelling up the stairs at two boys who are decidedly slow only when we’re under the gun to get somewhere on time. The usual Monday through Saturday routine I can understand, after all, I was a kid once too! Getting up for school, having to bolt down breakfast, grab a 100lb backpack – or so it seemed – then race to school. Unlike Niscemi, however, I went to school Monday through Friday albeit for almost seven hours per day. Here the kids go Monday through Saturday for five and a half hours a day then it’s home for a true Sicilian lunch everyday and hitting the books until early evening. I can say that I do miss having Saturday lazy, roll-out-of-bed-when-you-want time, but we live here so we have to play by these rules.

No Frumpiness Allowed Here

What does this have to do with Sunday?! Well, Sunday here is a particular mix of religion and tradition with the separation between the two blurring until it’s almost impossible to see.

Unlike the vision of Italian women I grew up with – long-sleeved, cover-the-knees frumpy dresses with black opaque stockings and head scarves – Sundays mean high fashion and I mean HIGH fashion! My experience is the further south you go in Italy, the more fashionable the women – and men! – dress. Of course, the main social gathering place on a Sunday morning is….church.

Now, because the largest of Niscemi’s churches are on their own piazzas or near the main piazza, folks tend to use ‘going to church’ as an excuse to dress in their latest ‘best’, head out to the piazza, sit, have an expresso and catch up with friends they haven’t had a chance to talk with all week.

Everyone Enjoying a Sunday Morning

The mass and sermon are merely a means to an end. Kids run around outside the main doors playing tag, giggling and poking each other. Adults finish their expresso, head into the church to stand near the doors to make the quick exit when all is said and done. Then everyone congregates outside the doors to discuss what they’re going to do for the rest of the day – that is, of course, after the 1 1/2 hour lunch.

Starting in October catechism begins with all 2nd through 5th graders heading into the bowels of the church after mass to learn all about the traditions, saints, holidays, and history of Sicily, Italy, and the church – in that order. Confirmation here is a rite of passage, not just a religious ceremony. Everyone, even the

daughters of the Muslim Tunisian math professor who lives here, goes through catechism. In Niscemi the rite symbolizes ‘coming of age’, of growing out of childhood and entering adolescence. All 24 of my 8-year-old’s classmates are in his catechism class which is good and bad at the same time – good in that he knows everyone, bad in that he has to be there every Sunday.

Homemade pasta al forno - better known in the US as lasagna - on a typical Sunday

This, of course, means that I have to get up, get him and his 16-year-old brother up (my older son helps out in the catechism classes), get everyone in the bathroom, make breakfast and get both out the door to church by 10:00AM. If I really push I can actually get myself ready in time to go with them – it doesn’t happen often enough, but it does happen.

So, I’ve accepted the fact that for the next three years my stairway will continue to echo with screams of, “Get Ready before I get up there or you’re really in trouble,” seven days a week.