Traveling here in Sicily, I’ve most enjoyed Palermo because of the people I’ve met, “just plain folks” going about their days. They’ve been open, expressive, engaging, willing to get into conversation about work and life.
Cerainly, there’s Riccardo, the owner of the B&B Kemonia who was so helpful and friendly that I changed my stay from two nights to four. He was right-on with restaurant and itinerary recommendations, such that that it was “worth the price of admission” to have him as a guide.
There’s Giosué, the knife and scissors seller. He took over the little shop from his father and grandfather – their photos mounted on the wall next to the saints – but has no one to pass the store onto.
Marilena and her daughter met me along the sidewalk in the “restoration district”. She drew in two furniture restorers and a city manager to the conversation and talk of Palermo’s history. (We were friends on Facebook by nightfall.)
At the Mercato delli Pulci, I stopped to talk to Bruno in his dusty, sparse, antique shop, one of those wrapped around the tree trunks. I picked up a crystal lamp’s tear drop and told him of a “worry stone” given to me by an elderly, veteran friend… That the stone is symbolic and nice to carry around. He gave me the crystal tear drop and I told him I’d remember him when I saw it. I shot his picture holding it.
Then there’s the young plasterer, feet on his desk, surrounded by white plaster on the walls, fallen to the floor and thrown to the ceiling. He makes plaster moldings and decorative cornices.
In my quest for old signs, I stopped into bright-eyed Vittorio’s sign shop to inquire. His workshop was old and oversprayed, yet tidy. He dug through his old samples and found a new elliptical sign to give to me, then posed alongside his old “pantografo” machine. We chatted, then I left and got l one block down the road when I heard my name being called. Vittorio had run after me because I had forgotten to take the little sign he had given to me.
Increasingly in my travels, my most treasured souvenirs are the faces of the people I’ve met along the way, and recollections of the conversations we’ve had. Without language, this would not be possible.