Sicily — On Confusion, On Community

On these streets everyone seems to know one another so I can never tell if they’re actually friends or just excited to meet somebody new. I’ve never understood how such a big place with so many people can feel so intimate but I’ve seen the same Palermitani over and over - recurring characters in the narrative of my time here. I’d like to think this community is unique to Palermo but I’ve found reappearing faces in Florence and Rome and even back home; perhaps inadvertent community is an everywhere thing that arises once the novelty of a place has worn off and you know it well enough to notice patterns.

But something unique about Palermo is the way the community fosters interactions. I can never quite tell when people do and do not know each other, simply because the manner in which Palermitani engage with strangers is exactly the same as the way they interact with their friends and families. I went to a bar the other night so I could sit outside and journal, all while enjoying a €3 glass of prosecco and live music from the band slated to play later in the evening. The bar was outdoors with a series of seats in a circle and there was only one empty seat remaining, between two sets of people - a man and a woman on the left, two older men on the right. I asked if I could sit - “Posso?”- which for me, was far more nerve-wracking than eating alone in a restaurant. I’d never been to a bar by myself. I’ve barely even been to bars, considering I only turned 21 a year ago. So when they let me sit between them, I smiled, relieved. I could check a solo night out off my travel bucket list. That wasn’t so bad.

But as I sipped my prosecco and watched the street unfold, I realized that the two groups were talking to one another over me, leaning over my seat to speak in rapid-fire Italian. Their accents were too heavy for me to decipher whether they’d just met or had come together. Only after sitting there for maybe thirty minutes, debating whether I should insert myself in their conversation, did I get my answer.

When all four of them took to the stage, lifting their instruments, I realized I’d made a fatal error. There was no place to hide from my embarrassment and instead I had to down my prosecco and watch my seat-mates also the evening’s band, play their very long set.

Yes, I sat in the middle of the band and not a single person said anything. They, like hospitable Sicilians, didn’t ask me to move. They didn’t care that I could hear their conversation. They probably didn’t even think my choice of seats was a faux-paux. Rather, they continued on with their night. The more the merrier, right?

While embarrassed, I didn’t let my mistake detract from the feat of going to the bar alone because this was the kind of situation I’d only find myself in in Italy. What amazed me was not that I sat between a group of performers but that had I spoken enough Italian, I easily could have made conversation with them. But as a result of my confusion and the insecurity of being alone, I tried to make myself invisible as a bystander of the bar rather than a participant of the evening.

So the next time something like that happens (lets face it - there will definitely be a next time) I hope I’ll remember that nearly everyone I’ve encountered in Sicily has been willing to include me in their conversations. Maybe then, I’ll be the one to close the space between stranger and friend.