With Sicily my first stay (mid-Jan. to mid-Feb. 2022), I was coming off the long plane rides. My hostess was a powerhouse—Esmerelda, “Esmy”—with husband Francesco, “Francy,” always at her elbow (which is also to say, he didn’t work a regular job: unemployment is widespread, reportedly 17% then but seemed much higher). Esmy could work that phone like nobody—dictating rapidfire and then, “traduzione in inglese,” and turning her phone towards me, so I could read it. We did great. When I landed in Catania, she guided me by message to a little kiosk to catch the bus to Victoria—one of the astonishing Baroque cities built after the huge earthquake of 1693 (ravaging over 2000 sq. miles and killing 60,000 people). Victoria was the most prosaic of the gorgeous rebuilt cities and our county seat, maybe 25 miles away.
Distances seem MUCH greater in Sicily, since the roads are teeny and rough. After picking me up—and a market stop (whew)—they installed me in their upstairs unit, so perfect, and negotiated a car for me under the table in a day or two. Both were born and raised within about 30 miles of the house. The view from my porch:
Everything was new & different, that first time: navigating my 50 lb. suitcase, my heavy pack, and music case; not speaking the language much at all; finding/negotiating ground transport. The people are made of strong stuff for sure—proud and self-satisfied, like the mainland Italians except even more prickly, if less arrogant.
Sicily plunged me into what became both familiar and endlessly fascinating—cultural value systems that put people first, especially family. Gatherings, eating (deadly seriously, like the mainlanders), food, wares, chatter, seeing people out and about, socializing on the streets, in town, on the piazzas—in public, outside. Coming into the street, one old Italian gentleman put it to me.
With the car I was also off & about: first to what became my favorite city, Ragusa (esp. Alba)—but on the way I saw a sign for a castle, Donnafugata, with by far the best costume museum I’ve ever seen— spent the day until the cows (literally) came home. And I realized, saw—duh—how Sicily was a powerful kingdom for thousands of years. Lords and Ladies and Dukes and Kings—the lot—just smaller.
Exquisite cities in miniature (Montalbano shot in several) as one chugs up and down valleys and cliffs, ancient Greek settlement ruins, the Sea everywhere, Mt Aetna oozing—erupting significantly while I was there but they of course knowing to keep off its flanks.
And I was searching for a spot for my first concert (gulp!). Along the harbor seaward from Ragusa, I found the Montalbano house location: Punta Secca—with its Lighthouse, and perfect open space by the water to give a concert. I checked with my intuition, like I always did/do, and it came back, Yes! So I schemed and fretted about that. And went out sightseeing one or two days a week (took one road trip along the coast, Agrogento & up to & around Palermo). This is Scicli.
Mostly I just lived at home—working, writing, practicing/planning performing, working out, cooking—quiet. Walking along the water, or into town.
Covid still hung over everything then, no restaurants open in Scoglitti at first (long holiday breaks extended), masks legally required. The depressed economy used Covid as an excuse for doing little, for hanging out outside and talking. No tourists, except me.
Once I’d found my spot for my Pop-up Concert, I had to screw up the courage to tell/invite my family, find a time they could come. They got it immediately. He said, of course we’ll support you! and she carefully checked the weather (wind would not do!).
Truth is, I was anxious about the police—you know, amplified music in a public place. They wouldn’t arrest me but they could easily get me kicked out of the country, and very well might. So although I told some people I met (musicians, family friends, artists who made me flyers and cards:) about the concert, I was happy really just to have my family and some friends of theirs, and whoever was out on the point walking on a sunny cool Thursday afternoon. Pop-up, right?
And it was a joy. People who were out and about stayed to listen. My family brought friends. Their kids got up on the cement block-benches and danced!—they were good dancers, and I told them so! We stay in touch, a little~
I do like to think—and I think it's true—that some people in the little town of Scoglitti on the southwest coast of Sicily now feel more shared humanity with the folks from the US of A (or at least from California) than they did before.
And this first song of my new Prodigal Tomboy recordings, the core repertoire for My Kind of Tour—Lighthouse, by The Waifs—is perfect for Punta Secca, as well as these crazed and unpredictable times.
https://kaymartinmusic.com/track/2777551/lighthouse #ProdigalTomboy #MontalbanoHouse #PuntaSecca #PopUpConcerts #kaymartinmmusic #ConcertsFarawayPlaces #MyKindOfTour #FourSweets #Softly
