Nosh: Sicily: Trapani: Sale, Vento, e Male Lingue

Sicily: Trapani: Sale, Vento, e Male Lingue

My aunt told me that people in Trapani say that their city is characterized by "sale, vento, e male lingue". Or "salt, wind, and bad tongues (gossip)".

The salt -- well, you can't miss it. The salinas stretch out to the sea, giving the appearance of low tide at sunset. Glittering piles of fresh sea salt line the landscape. It's everywhere. Trapani salt is the among the best (this is what they say); they are famous for it ... and proud of it.

Male lingue is not so apparent to the average tourist, because it is subtle, a quiet whispering, a judgement behind the back. When you're not a tourist, though, when you are part of a family, part of the community, when you walk at that specific time when people walk through the city, when you stroll down the main avenue or step into a shop, when you sit in church and feel warm eyes on the back of your neck ... then it is a different story. My family has luckily surrounded themselves with good, caring people, and I think most people are good. It is only when you step outside of this realm that you might feel the serpent strike your ankle.

Vento is also pretty obvious. The wind can be fierce in Trapani; it howls...I mean, really howls, you picture the ground opening up, flames licking the air and tormented souls when you hear it; it shakes the buildings. The night before I came back to Germany, the wind was so terrible that even as I lay under my blankets, in my bed, I was afraid of it. I couldn't sleep. It felt like it was in my head, just daring me to doze off so it could crash its way into my room. It sounds like terrible destruction is happening outside ... but occasionally, there is the bleating of a sheep that makes it way through as if to say, we're here, don't you worry, you'll be safe.

But there is so much more to Trapani and the local area that I think its people should focus on. The landscape, for the most part, is unspoiled. You drive, and hills of vineyards and orchards stretch to mountains that hang over a fantastic sea. The sky is like a landscape in itself...it takes form, it has shape and depth and intensity. The produce is fresh from the earth, it's all locally made. My uncle goes to a vineyard co-op to buy his wine; he chooses the olives that will be pressed into his olive oil. When you buy a fish, you go to the sea. You buy artichokes from the farmer who sits with his cart in the market or by the road. There's no pretention when it comes to food. After dinner you eat fennel (from your own garden) and fruit to digest. You just do, no matter who you are, whether you wear Gucci shoes or farmer's clogs.

It's a stunning place, it's fast, real, colorful. It's alive. You feel alive when you're there, as if the rich earth has seeped into your veins and empowered you.

Side note: People's comments were being mistakenly "junked" by Moveable Type -- sorry to those of you whose comments have not appeared until now. I'm on it.

Thanks!