Greetings

Italian greetings can be warmer than I for one was used to.

Do remember, and of course, I was brought up in this uber-uptight very ‘Anglo-Saxon’ household. A ‘for instance’ here: When I passed my School Certificate exams in the sixth form, my dad congratulated me by shaking my hand: There was none of that ‘suspect’ hugging going on. Not in our household.

If Marcello and Sophia can do it...

But then, you’ll get a warm greeting here from a local only if you’re lucky enough!
While f’sure the ‘standard’, and much more common greeting (with either sex), is still that firm handshake, with direct eye contact and a winning smile, there’s a ‘next level’ greeting.
Excepting for family, it’s one that you’ll only be offered, and it must be offered, if you’re considered a good friend.
Now we in the non-Italian community (I’ve never liked the term ‘expat’) now commonly do ‘the Italian thing’ of air kissing on both cheeks, but to be offered that privilege, and it is, of doing so with a Sicilian?
Now that is something very special indeed!
What’s it mean? Well, it means you’ve ‘arrived’! That the local offering their (usually left) cheek for that air kiss is a sign that from now on you’re considered to be a close friend: Not merely an acquaintance; not a drinking buddy; and f’sure not a stranger any longer.
Despite its name, “il bacetto” (“the little kiss”) is therefore a big, and not little, thing here in Italy.
Even more so in Sicily!

Term of Unendearment

I mentioned that I dislike the term ‘expat’ just now ... and several times before this too.
And that’s despite the term being bandied about freely within foreign-but-resident communities both here in Sicily and throughout Italy.

Now Wikipedia defines an ‘expatriate’ as: “A person who resides outside their native country.” Now f’sure we fall into this category as retirees who’ve chosen to live here.
But does that make us expatriates? I don’t reckon so: In my humble opinion, we should more correctly be labelled as ‘immigrants’. Why so? Well, because that definition better fits our small communities here, don’t you think?
Here’s Wikipedia again: “Immigration is the international movement of people to a destination country of which they are not usual residents. or where they do not possess nationality, in order to settle as permanent residents.”
For me at least, the term ‘expat’ can be (and often is) seen as implying wealth and/or privilege. It implies an ‘otherness’ that I don’t want to be particularly labelled with. Not when my future’s here.
Okay, originally the word ‘expatriate’ basically referred to exiles. Thankfully a meaning now lost. Unless, of course, you consider some of us at least to be in self-exile from the UK post-Brexit!
An example from the “Expats Ragusa Province” Facebook page: “This is a group formed for English-speaking expats from various countries…” Which so smacks of that 'otherness' I was talking about.
With all that said: I’m an ‘immigrant’ … and a proud one too!

Local Policing

Back in February this year, I covered the various Italian police forces.
Now I only mentioned the local police in passing, so it’s time for a deep dive covering our very own ‘Polizia Locale Modica’.

Mid-morning ... business as usual...

The local police must enforce any instructions received from the national Judicial Authority, the regional Prefectural Authority, as well as the local comune. So, as well as traffic duties, they’re also responsible for: Judicial and public policing; enforcing building regulations; carrying out residential checks (as for us); as well as enforcing commercial premises checks when requested.
However, here’s the ‘crux’ of the matter: Do they actually do their job?
After living here for over three years, and my humble opinion only: No, they do not!
For a start, I reckon not one of the uniformed staff will ever see 60 again. So, they’re hardly a ‘dynamic’ bunch. Three are due to retire shortly too.
And just what they do all day is totally beyond me!
I’ve seen ‘em attending civic functions in their nice uniforms; I’ve noted them sitting in their offices; observed as they chat to friends in the street; and scoped their patrol cars parked up outside their HQ.
Have also seen them all leave at lunchtime; totally ignore speeding motorists (especially those damn scooters!); never once seen ‘em controlling traffic or on foot patrol during busy market days; and noted their laments in the local press about being under-staffed.
In short, they’re about as useful as a (Modican) chocolate teapot…

More Soon...