Some everyday stories to share

Albert's account of his first visit to a Sicilian barber: 

We have found it very easy to adjust to daily life here in Siracusa.  Everything we need or want is within walking distance.  Behind every street level door-front is a shop of some kind, including the local Barbiere per Uomo that I recently had to visit for my first haircut in Sicilia: 

Caroline is with me. The shop is empty.  It's early in the day.  Aliaso emerges from a backroom and greets us as if we were old friends he hasn’t seen in years. He speaks almost no English.  He tells us he is a barber and a musician who has traveled the world.  He is a Sicilian folk singer. We tell him we are from Canada.  He says he has been to Toronto and Montreal with his folksong singing family band. He is very proud of his son, a young member of the group. He shows us a CD about a musical dedicated to Santa Lucia, the martyred patron saint of Siracusa. His brother composed some of the songs that the group performs on the CD.  He is devoted to spreading the story of Santa Lucia worldwide. 

Signore Aliaso sits me in the chair.  He feels miei capelli with his fingertips and suggests it's very soft and thin. He begins to spray and cut my hair. My back is to the mirror.  Caroline's expressive face is my mirror.  It reveals surprise, concern and maybe, alarm. The whole cut is done with scissors, a comb and a straight razor. Just like the old days!  Except for my beard, which he does with clippers but without an attachment.  I am now worried that Signore Aliaso has misunderstood my instructions and that I am about to receive the Inspector Poirot special as he plasters my hair with mousse.  But no, thankfully, Aliaso pulls out a hair dryer and gives miei capelli a fluff.   In the end, I look fine.  Though clearly, I been sheared.

 

Before we leave his shop, Signore Aliaso retrieves his guitar from the backroom and begins to sing, in a rich baritone, a sweet love song.  It is directed at Caroline, of course, and it has become clear to me that Italian men prefer to address women but that Italian women are more egalitarian.  Fine della storia!

 

Wash day and adaptability:

A little funny thing keeps happening with our laundry. We have to hang our clothes to dry on our balcony as does everyone else in Siracusa. It's amazing how people have gerry rigged clotheslines to fit even the smallest balconies so sheets are drying above the streets and traffic. For this story, we have noticed, that quite often whenever our laundry is out to dry, some bird or birds decide to poop on Albert's clothes. Maybe it's because they're good sized targets. I can't help but laugh and say "look Albert another bird pooped on your pants or shirt". Equally funny is that he wants me to take the clothes in before the birds do they're business. I have to remind him they're outside to dry and bringing them in before then defeats the purpose. We are having to adapt and be flexible.

 

Since then, I've had my comeuppance and been blessed with equal attention by said birds. Looked out the other day and lo and behold bird poop on my lovely new sweater. So this is life in Siracusa.