On the foothills of Etna, the highest active volcano in Europe, Sicily lies in sweet summer sleep. Vineyards and olive groves stretch over the dramatic landscape, populated for 2,500 years by various civilisations, most of them now vanished. We flew to Sicily following the narrative of its proud particularity, to meet people rich in a different sense. On these crossroads of the Mediterranean, every aspect of life is amplified by a deep knowledge of death: the city mornings, the food and the sweets, the music, and an erupting volcano ready to bury everything under its burning lava, redefining the boundaries of our egos.
“With us, every demonstration, even violent, is a longing for oblivion. Our sensuality is a desire for oblivion”, says Burt Lancaster talking about Sicily in Visconti’ s “The Leopard”. And this is what Sicily gave us, oblivion amidst life in bright colours, as if the days of our trip belonged to another time-space continuum than our everyday lives, a continuum spanning through the centuries and moving with a sense of soothing temporality.