What can I tell you about this guest house on Via Garibaldi, on the edge of the Kalsa district of the city? I can tell you about the most striking, most memorable feature of my three night stay here. The sounds.
My room was on the second floor. The building opposite, like half of Palermo it seemed, was being renovated. Noisily. I got used to it. My window looked down on a little alley, where I watched – and mostly heard – the daily life of a Palermo family. In the little space outside their door they had chairs and a table covered with a patterned oilcloth. A shopping trolley, a stool and a plastic chair. And at least one scooter, though they came and went so frequently it was hard to tell. They might have had four. In this alley the adults met, sat and talked, and the children played hopscotch and dancing. The house next door was derelict, the roof a pile of rubble.
Throughout my time here, noise drifted relentlessly in through my window, like a soundtrack. The clink of hammer on chisel, the tap of hammer on wood. The whirr of a drill. A shrill sound, electrical, intermittent, which I couldn't place. It mingled with the laughter and shouts of the children, and occasional squeal of excitement or delight. A young man using the alley (regularly) to practise his moped riding skills. Shouts of men from one end of the alley to the other, loud and unselfconscious. The lower conversations of men standing on corners, planning... or plotting. Men singing. Women singing. Tap of utensil on pot. A dog barking. The moped again. The odd blast of incredibly loud music. Fireworks that sounded like gunfire.
On my last night here, there was some sort of party. Much talk and laughter, and the children were outside in the warm evening, shouting and playing, until midnight. Suddenly the proceedings were brought to an abrupt conclusion by two loud belches from the men. Followed by complete silence.
I could also tell you that the house is filled with old furniture and the owner's paintings, that the Bangladeshi housekeeper prepares excellent breakfasts and that the signora who owns the place, Paola Mendola, is hardly ever there. It's on the fringe of a fairly gritty part of town, which is fine if you've come to experience the sights – and sounds – of the real Palermo.
That soundtrack is going on even now, I imagine. Wish I could still hear it.
La Dimora del Genio, Via Garibaldi 58, 90133 Palermo
Tel 347 658764
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