We were packing up to
leave our apartment in Palermo when the sound of a brass band, crisp and tight,
wafted in through the shutters with the morning sunbeams. Down in the narrow
streets, an itinerant band of around a dozen smartly uniformed musicians were
playing seasonal tunes in what I imagined to be a personal sending-off ceremony.
But it was a fond imagining and, besides, we didn’t want to leave. A week in
Palermo is barely enough to visit all the sites of historical interest,
especially when numerous coffee and/or Campari breaks are factored in to the
schedule.
I have not yet adopted
the Italian way of standing at the bar to knock back espresso, preferring to
sit comfortably and savour cappuccino. Nor have I the fondness for sweet
pasticceri that seem to be a national obsession though I was persuaded, on one
occasion, to try a little specialita, a cake filled with ricotta. I imagined it
would taste of cheese but, in fact, it was so heavily laced with sugar that I
had to put it aside and order more coffee to cleanse my palate. I have since
noticed that ricotta – a versatile substance – is used universally in all
manner of recipes. I suspect it even comprises the main component in the stucco
that is applied to most building exteriors – which would explain why it is
always falling off.
There are many grand
historic buildings in Palermo, so many that it is evidently quite a job to
utilise and maintain them all: even some of the enormous churches are closed up.
As for the abandoned palazzi built by wealthy families in years gone by, private
enterprise has stepped into a few, converting them to hotels, while others
await their fate. One of them, Palazzo Mori, remains fully furnished and open
to the paying public, in the manner of a British National Trust project, though
it is apparently under-funded and could do with a little State aid. But, as an
Italian acquaintance once told me, “Italy is a poor country, full of wealthy
people” and so it falls to the EU to step in and re-distribute some of its
massive wealth to the poorer regions on its fringes. (Wales, Cornwall and other
deprived parts of the UK, eat your heart out.)
The museums and
galleries that we have visited bear the EU plaques that tell where the money
for their establishment came from, as well as those other hallmarks of
kick-starter funding – lavish and perfectly executed renovations, staffed by
disinterested jobsworths for whom there is no on-going revenue to pay for
training. One exception to this was the Galleria d’Arte Moderne, where there is
a shop, a cafe and – unusually – a card payment facility. Elsewhere, the
typical experience is that admission fees have to be paid in cash – whether or
not credit card logos are displayed – and, mysteriously, there is never any
change. Payment in cash is a practice so alien now to daily life at home, that
I am out of the habit. Nevertheless, even I can work out that if cash is common
currency, change should be readily available.
We may go back to
Palermo, though it won’t be to look at any more grim paintings of religious
devotion and suffering: there is no joy that I can detect in that art form. The
glittering gold mosaic interiors of the Palatine Chapel and La Matorana,
however, are an exception: they tell the same religious story in an exuberant and
visually stimulating fashion that transcends the misery. For now, however, we
are in Syracuse, having driven through the mountains on the futuristic autostrada-on-stilts
(part-funded by the EU). Our host ushered us into our rental apartment and
presented us with a welcome gift – a ricotta cake large enough for a family
gathering. “Thank you so much,” I said. “We look forward to eating it later.”
Wonderman... Did you see that NYT did a 36-hours travel piece on Manchester this past Sunday? https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2017/12/21/travel/what-to-do-36-hours-in-manchester-england.html
ReplyDeleteI did. They should have asked me first!
ReplyDelete