Bagheria (Sicily) Through My Window: Observations on Life, Love and Community

Have you ever tried just sitting by a window for hours, watching what happens outside?
You’d be surprised how much life reveals itself when you stop rushing past it…

A little over two years ago, I bought that house in Bagheria, Sicily, remember? Since Harry is no longer with us, I’ve had to continue with the renovation and furnishing entirely on my own. I take my time with it—bit by bit. The place is perfectly livable as it is, and little by little you can really see it improving.

I also don’t have much of a choice but to take my time. First, I’m doing everything on a very limited budget, and second, I just can’t move very fast doing it on my own. On top of that, I’m learning as I go. These were exactly the kinds of jobs Harry used to handle, and he had a lot of experience with them.

One of the best little things I’ve done in the house is building myself a desk. I found a really ugly, rotten piece of wood out on the street. It was— I think—once part of a cabinet door or maybe a small interior shutter. At least, there are still hinges attached to it. It also had several layers of paint on it. Different colors layered on top of each other, so you could see it had been painted over many times.

What I did was order a sanding machine online and strip all those layers of paint off the wood until it was almost completely bare again. Then I realized this board was just slightly narrower than my window. I ordered some wheeled legs from IKEA, and now I have a really nice, very practical little desk that fits perfectly in front of the window.

When I’m working on my blog (which is quite often), I sit at that desk and look out over the street. In fact, I look out over a T-intersection, so I can see straight down the cross street. I end up observing a lot of what happens from that little spot. And it gives me a bit more insight into, and understanding of, life here.

One thing I’ve noticed is that couples—partners, married couples, whatever you want to call them these days—seem more closely bonded than in Amsterdam. I also see more visible expressions of affection toward each other. Of course, I can only describe what I see from the street. What happens behind closed doors, I have no idea about.

What I do see is couples doing a lot together. There’s an older couple nearby who walk their dog together every morning. The way they walk side by side, the way they talk to each other—calmly, continuously—you can tell they have a strong bond.

Then there’s another couple, the fishmonger and his wife. I’d guess they’re somewhere in their mid-30s or early 40s. They’re also together constantly. They interact in a very playful way, almost like kids who are best friends. They touch each other often. One puts an arm around the other. The other gives a kiss, sometimes a playful tap on the butt.

They have a dog, an older one—maybe around the same age as their eldest daughter, who I’d guess is about fourteen. The dog just kind of wanders around the street; it doesn’t bother anyone.

I honestly don’t see couples in Amsterdam interacting like this very often, except maybe when they’re still in that intense early honeymoon phase. These kinds of expressions of closeness just never really stood out to me there the way they do in Bagheria. In Amsterdam, a couple feels much more like two individuals. In Bagheria, a couple feels like a single unit.

And then there are my neighbors on both sides. I’m not great at guessing ages, but I think they’re roughly my age, maybe a bit younger. Both sides recently welcomed their first grandchild.

First it was the neighbors on the right whose daughter had a baby. It was a big event! Parents and in-laws all went out together to warmly welcome the new baby into the world, with balloons, flowers, gifts… the whole celebration.

After that, their daughter was at her parents’ house (my neighbors) very often, together with the baby. Everyone in that household was completely focused on the child. That baby really became the center of everyone’s world. The grandparents are extremely proud as well, walking behind the stroller like peacocks.

At first I thought this was just something specific to that family. But now the neighbors on the left have also had a grandchild, and I see exactly the same thing happening there. And not just there. When neighbors—left or right, it doesn’t matter—are out in the street with their grandchild, the whole neighborhood reacts as if that child is the center of the universe. People greet the baby first, with a lot of fanfare and excitement.

The way I describe it might make it sound like I disapprove, but that’s absolutely not the case. I actually find it beautiful. Honestly, it moves me deeply.

In Amsterdam, by contrast, it often feels like something like that almost isn’t allowed—putting a child so firmly at the center of attention. As if it might make them think too highly of themselves, become arrogant, or end up spoiled.

Whereas I actually think: how wonderful must it be to arrive on this planet like that, to be welcomed so warmly. And I think you can see it in those children too—they’re cheerful, always smiling, happy, content.

At least, that’s what I see from here at my desk. 

Photo 1: neighbors from a few streets away have hung their laundry out to dry.
Photo 2: the fishmonger’s dog.