Meet me at the lower bar at Galati!

weekenders Sicilian style

Near Maria's secret mushrooming spot

delicious home made macaroni with tomato sugo

29^th March 2011 meeting Maria at the bar in lower Galati.

I woke up today with a job to do. I had to travel to a nearby town in the hills to meet Maria (not her real name), a lady with some “problems” that Calogero thought I might be able to help.

Calogero emptied the fiat Panda of some of its many contents (he could run a whole swap-meet from the Panda) and I set off direzione Palermo with some instructions on how to get to Galati. I was assured it would be facililissimo!

Initially I felt confident, albeit imagining I must look like a female version of Mr Magoo as I can’t adjust the seat of the Panda and am either in an almost horizontal position or otherwise have to sit upright gripping the steering wheel without any head or backrest. Panda and I settled into an easy communication, occasionally I muttered “keep right” to myself, especially as I crossed intersections and turned off into side streets.

My first task was to take the turn off for Rocca di Capri Leone…enough of a mouthful for me to spot it, or so I thought. It was only when I had travelled a good 20 km that I realised I must have missed the damn turn off….

All was not lost as the next sign still mentioned my destination, and although I think I took a very circuitous route, Panda and I finally started climbing the hill to Galati.

The hillside around me was breathtakingly beautiful and Panda and I seemed to be its only inhabitants. I passed olive groves, cactus plants and trees laden with lemons, oranges and mandarins. Here and there early stone fruit and almond trees are flowering and I can occasionally see and hear a stream flowing alongside the narrow road.

Eventually I spot Galati perched high above me and I stop to take a photo. (I keep glancing over to Panda as her parking brakes make little sounds and she shudders occasionally)   In the distance is another hillside town and dotted everywhere on the impossibly steep hills are cottages and summer houses of the people who work the land. I get back into Panda and manage a smooth hill start and we chug slowly up the hill.

The last few kilometres are blissful slow and relaxing (could have probably walked it faster) Panda manages second gear (the other day she had to be in first) and I slow to a dignified stop outside the first bar where I am supposed to ask for Maria.

The smoky bar is already full of men on their way to work, having their morning coffee standing up at the counter. They stare openly as I ask the bar staff whether she knows Maria. A long conversation ensues between the men and Maria (the bar staff’s real name) and they surmise that the Maria I am looking for must be Salvatore’s mother who lives next door to the butcher’s brother who is away on holidays… (not really but you get my drift).

I realise that I am 30 minutes early so decide to have my “stained milk” (latte macchiato) which I have been told I have to ask for. It arrives, a poor excuse for a coffee that most closely resembles the weak latte’ that I usually have back in Australia, so I sit and tap on my computer until 10am.

Suddenly it occurs to me that this is not the right bar. I ask again for Maria and reiterate the address she gave me. The bar staff shakes her head. Oh no lady, you are in the wrong place, THAT Maria lives further on, about 20 minutes away!

I race back to Panda and zoom up the hill trying to remember the lengthy directions I have been given and when I am sure I am completely lost I stop to ask an old lady if I am near the location. She assures me I am exactly in that place, but when I ask her for Maria, her eyes go blank. A workman hears our conversation and interjects. Of course, Maria…she is just around the corner and up the hill. When I look up I the direction he is pointing I see Maria waving excitedly and I am sooo glad that I finally made it that I almost stall panda as I forget for a moment that I am driving a manual car!!!  

Maria and I spend the afternoon together. She shows me her artwork, a glimpse into a creative and trapped spirit and takes me to her secret mushrooming place. She feeds me delicious home made pasta and somehow I manage to pull out some cross cultural counselling skills! I am thrilled when I manage to find words I didn’t know I had to explain to Maria about her amygdala and ways to self soothe and am even more thrilled when Maria tells me that what I am saying makes sense and she thinks it will help.

  

One incident over lunch reinforced for me just how easily you can come up against cultural and religious beliefs even when you are relatively sensitive to them. Maria was preparing some salad and told me to go ahead and help myself to some of the fresh bread. I cut myself a piece from the small loaf and asked her if she wanted some too. She turned to me, glanced down at the bread and a look of horror came across her face. I knew something was seriously wrong but I struggled to understand what I had done. I could see she was trying to regain her composure and she said “we never turn the bread upside down on the table. I know you didn’t know but it’s just not done” I apologised and there was no further discussion. I suspected and it was confirmed later that in the Roman Catholic Church bread represents the “Body of Christ” and my turning the bread upside down was considered disrespectful.

Back in Capo a few hours later, I hardly had time to catch my breath when I was summoned by Calogero to try some porcini mushrooms  under oil with some “first salt” cheese and local bread. This was followed by a lesson in making Crespelli (I suspect this recipe is actually from Calabria, as it resembles the Zipolli of my Dad’s home town-savoury fritters with anchovy) They were delicious!

I staggered back across the terrace to my little apartment, not surprised at all that Italy was the EAT part of Eat, Pray, Love! No wonder poor Julia put on weight there.

A presto

Mon x