Cloudy salt pans. Story of two lovers who haven’t time to go to beach…fortunately there is Calcara salt pan!

Trapani salt pans with Erice view

Se vuoi leggerlo in ITALIANO ecco qui.

If you have a relashionship with a man who works with tourists in a seaside resort, summer doesn’t exist! There aren’t holidays to melt yourself in the beach, your brain doesn’t evaporate while you read Cosmopolitan and there aren’t embarrassing situations in front of kids in beach….but the wrinkles by suntan are a problem only for your friends 3:D

In summer my relashioship with Giovanni becomes a sequence of (very) little romantic escapes, like in a clandestine love story the instant is fundamental, Latins said “Carpe diem“, the tiny “diem” in which the world forgets Giovanni’s mobile number, two fast little hours, during which people are with beautician, at tennis training or at beach with a friend and you, poor lover, very busy girl of which a fleeting thought slips into the realization of her impossible summer love, get that all desired phone call “I’m free until 19.00!“.

HURRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH finally we go to beach!!!!

Finally we can behave like a normal boyfriend and a normal girlfriend among unknown tan experts who don’t want anything for this summer because their cabana has been reserved ten months ago and their oily shaved eyebrows snub your worm skin.

I take out the swimsuit from mothballs, spread three litres of sun cream (kids protection), introduce the beach towel in the backpack, after a search of two hours because it was lost in a forgotten place, like a stupid I think “Hurraaaahhh we are going to the beach, finally we are going to the beach, hurrah! We won’t look like cadavers, hurrah, will I remember how to do it?

HURRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH

It’s in this moment that my boyfriend goes into a coma and recovers energies lost in the first terrible week of August and hours pass.

Dang! And the sea??????

Every adult knows that when kids are disappointed you MUST REMEDY, there’s no excuse. So we decide to run to Calcara salt pans in one hour and half.

Ok!

Also because the lights after 5 p.m. change and among water, salt, flamingos and sparkle it’s a very romantic little escape. So let’s go fast, direction Nubia up to Calcara salt pan gate. Once you can enter, now no longer, but Marruggio is our friend and so we can do it (it’s not indifference, it’s male confidence in the friendship 😀 )

And indeed when we’re surprised they say to go back, the entrance is forbidden, WWF ordered it. Optimistic guy goes back by car and I take some pictures easy and without ringing mobiles near. Only pools and water. Silence.

Calcara salt pans

Calcara Salt Pans View
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Silence Sparkle Soil Sun

Calcara salt pan in Sicily

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Trapani salt pans
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But silence becomes to make a noise. The water isn’t all fixed in the pools, there is a little salty river from the sea, where there are those few strange plants, green blots among salt and red soil desert. The water flowing is so soft that you can hear it barely but under the small waves the river is alive and something, maybe a fish, scares you with its sudden spurt, but you can see just the circles. It’ s the place or the moment or both in which you think nothing.

You just see.

You see and listen.

And enjoy it without thinking.

You feel it

Boat in Trapani salt pans

Insect in salt pans

Now birds let their voice be heard, desert is their and their calls are different, strange, they’re similar to a dialog, a tit for tat, not all toghether, maybe because here the Nature is free to express itself. During the breaks of this dialog I hear almost ant steps. Again, I want Nature once again, I want peace just one more time. It’s the time to walk along the thin walleds between pools.

A little way full of unknown plants and water everywhere, by now I’m here and there’s no going back, so I continue the walk among clouds mirrored in the water and pick up shells under webs.

clouds mirrored in the water

plants in salt pan

unknowon plants in Trapani salt pans

clouds mirrored in the water of salt pan

Tuff and shells of salt pan

Here the human presence is far, there are some turists, in the usual big main way, that one seems authorized. I don’t know if I can walk along this wall, simply nobody says me no and for now I enjoy the light desert, where ever and anon I see an abandoned thing, a wheel barrow, the salt harvest is beginning but not today.

shells in salt pans

Trapani salt pans

cocoon on the plant

salt pans particular

In this moment my prince charming arrives and fortunately he doesn’t think “She’s totally fool” seeing me during this strange walking.

Toghether we jump from a wall to another, staying away, for this time, the familiar wind-mill, going around it to see it in a different way, watching the “ammucciati” (hidden) sides, up to a tiny beach, there is also a beach in the salt pan, low shores of martian soil, incrusted with salt and wetted by terrestrial water. The little black fishes swim near the shore without fear of you, you are big but don’t exist for them.

Trapani salt pans view

a beach in the salt pan

red soil encrusted with salt

shells in salt pans in Sicily

salt pans in Trapani with windmill

Trapani salt pan particular

In the end you arrive here, the desert changes, from hot red to “ice” white that burns, makes your skin like leather mirroring a thousand of suns and blind you but the oasis, near and far in the same time, doesn’t realize it and squads of flamingos lift orderly.

By now we are in the main way frequented by turists. One hour and half is past.

clouds in salt pan

my feet in salt pan bridge

prince charming at the salt pan

salt pans pools

salty desert

clouds mirrored in the salt pan pools

salt in the pool

salt pan pools

flowers in salt pan

Also in the salt pan there are flowers!!!!! 🙂

If you want to correct my English (please, be kind because I’m a sensitive person and I’m learning) or suggest something, you can write to fioredinespula@gmail.com
If you want to sleep in Belveliero you can write here bebilveliero@gmail.com (write FIORE in the email 😉 )
If you prefer to sleep in Granveliero and partecipate to cooking workshops write to granveliero@gmail.com

Melaccollo, first lesson about sicilian adventurousness.

Se vuoi leggerlo in ITALIANO ecco qui!

Just a few days ago we had dinner with Monsieur Gaspard, from Rivoli with love, transplanted in Marsala, Sicilian melanin and northern italian accent … I was saying… we were having dinner with Monsieur Gaspard and he asked to me “But what does “Me l’accollo” mean? ”

Ah?

But…. isn’t it Italian expression? : D

Apparently NO! Or even not with the meaning that Sicilians give it. According to the dictionary the entry of verb ‘Shoulder‘(in Italian Accollarsi): ” To deal with or accept (something) as your responsibility or duty ”

Mmmmmmmm, that’s no good….

Rather, yes, the concept is correct, but the sicilian undertone is totally different! If you knew with whom complicit smiles and entrepreneurship a Sicilian says to you ” Compa’ me l’accollo!” , you would understand that he’s not taking charge of responsibility, least of all a duty! It wouldn’t be in the spirit of a Sicilian.

Accollarsela” means that when your friends propose a risky feat which, in theory, you shouldn’t do and that has a high chance of being discovered, you agree and take responsibility of the risk, praying that all goes well. Obviously when it’s bad reproaches about responsibility for the consequences follow the great feal. The amount of profanities / reprimands / eventual dissolution of pluri-annual friendships is directly proportional to the damage.

I know individuals, of which I don’t say name nor the description because they would risk of being denounced and arrested, who do the SpazzaTour.

I don’t know about where you live but over here there’s a bad habit, especially in certain areas, to not throw garbage in the dumpster but to place it outside the door or worse hang it with hooks to the window, sometimes at the right height for swinging in front the face, because in this way they not only don’t have to get 200 meters to reach the dumpster (one day I will talk also about the concept of “lagnusìa and surroundings” (the terrible sicilian indolence) because it’s veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeery long and complicated) but it’s not necessary exceeding even the balàta (the marble board) on the doorstep, so they can keep wearing pajamas, singlet and slippers without having to make the effort to put on more decent something to expose themselves to the public of the old / young schiffarate who follow you with their eyes, blatantly when they are in balcony or cowardly when they are hidden behind the shutters of windows on the ground floor (there are, there are).

Anyway I was saying … so here they use to do it in some, many, too parts of town and inventors of SpazzaTour, overwhelmed by their civic consciousness, with so much zeal, when they understand who was the lagnùso who put out the door munnizza (trash), because anyway tomorrow dustmen take away it, if he/she lives on the upper floors (okay, on the first floor 😀 ), they throw back it on the balcony at night!!!!

Image that captures the essence of SpazzaTour  (

Image that captures the essence of SpazzaTour (” What you leave, you find” )

When they are sad and go through a street full of hanging pouches, which not even during Christmas you see so richly decorated, indignation takes over and Civic Education Program starts.
The lesson of Civic Education also manages to deflect in a lesson of Physical Education, giving rise to a highly formative experience for all those who, in active or passive mode, become part. The launch of the munnizza provides a considerable physical preparation as well as a certain insight for the choice of the bag, not too light, no glass and no anvils, good aim, average level of training of biceps and a noticed calibration of the launch. The difficulty increases with the balconies of old houses, which have higher ceilings ergo a distance of ten meters between one floor and another, practically in heaven, if you’re untrained you need Sputnik.

These “criminals” who pretend to be athletes and pride of being good citizens, sicilian heroes makers of cleanliness of streets and many (perhaps) consciences, now are thirty years old and taken by various commitments they have reduced frequency of SpazzaTours, so they no longer have the trained eye nor the biceps, that is they pick up bags with glass or three-ton concentrated in a small bag and they’re not so quick to get in the car, so the risk of being beat up by a whole neighborhood or however, getting spit from a balcony / getting revive the bag full of glass when it manages to get on the balcony / receiving it straight on the head when it doesn’t get on / getting caught by the police or any pedestrian or even worse by the owner who comes home late or have Fate on the side of uncivilized lagnùso that floods your car, it is highly likely and the malafiùra (“bad impression”) guaranteed.

Compa, te l’accolli uno Spazzatour?“. Here.

If you know this movie you understand Spazzatour inventors ;)

If you know this movie you understand Spazzatour inventors 😉

If you want to correct my English (please, be kind because I’m a sensitive person and I’m learning) or suggest something, you can write to fioredinespula@gmail.com
If you want to sleep in Belveliero you can write here bebilveliero@gmail.com (write FIORE in the email 😉 )
If you prefer to sleep in Granveliero and have breakfast with me write to granveliero@gmail.com

Nuvole di salina. Storia di due amanti in fuga.

Trapani salt pans with Erice view

ENGLISH” version!

Se stai con un uomo che lavora con il turismo in una città di mare, l’estate non esiste.
Nessuna quindicina di ferie per squagliarsi ogni giorno in spiaggia, nessun test su Fb ‘Sei racchettonista o tintarella forevva?’, niente Cosmopolitan con cui azzerare definitivamente il neurone sciolto e non caschi in quelle situazioni da ‘Tesoro, ci sono i bambini!‘.

Bon, ne abbiamo preso atto.

Ci si consola pensando ai nostri quarant’anni pelle liscia come la seta e a quelli dei nostri amici pelle arrapacchiata come una mela vecchia 3:D

In estate io e Giovanni diventiamo amanti e la nostra relazione un susseguirsi di lillipuziane fughe romantiche. Come ogni relazione clandestina che si rispetti l’idea da tenere bene in mente è quella del ‘Carpe diem‘, cogli l’attimo, quello in cui si prospetta (si prospetta, eh!) che tutto il mondo si dimentichi misteriosamente del numero di cellulare del mio amato per un paio d’ore perché è dall’estetista, all’allenamento di tennis o al mare con un’amica e tu, amante impegnata in millemila faccende mentre ogni tanto un pensiero fugace scivola nella constatazione del tuo amore proibito, ricevi la tanto agognata telefonata ‘Sono libero fino alle sette!‘.

EVVIVAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA finalmente si va al mare!!!!!

Per qualche ora possiamo uscire allo scoperto e non vergognarci del nostro amore, sconosciuti ragazzi in fuga in mezzo a sconosciuti professionisti della tintarella che non hanno niente da chiederti per questa estate, perché tanto la loro cabina al Lido delle Sirene l’hanno prenotata dieci mesi fa e schifano la tua pelle da worm dall’alto delle loro depilate sopracciglia oleose.

Tiri fuori il costume dalla naftalina, ti metti tre litri di crema protezione bambini, infili nello zainetto di battaglia il telo cercato per due ore a casa perché nemmeno te lo ricordavi più dove fosse riposto, come una deficiente non fai altro che pensare ‘Evviva si va al mare, evviva andiamo al mare, evviva non sembreremo più dei cadaveri, evviva, mi ricorderò ancora come si fa? Per fortuna dicono che nuotare sia come la bicicletta, non si scorda più’.

EVVIVAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

E’ in questo frangente che la dolce metà cade in un coma profondo e recupera le energie perse nell’ultima devastante settimana di inizio agosto e fa passare le ore.

Porca paletta! E il mare???

Come tutti gli adulti sanno, o dovrebbero sapere, quando deludi simili aspettative fanciullesche DEVI RIMEDIARE e non c’è storia. Quindi arriva il compromesso della fuga alle saline Calcara in un’ora e mezza.

Presa!

Anche perché le luci dopo le cinque e mezza cambiano e tra acqua, sale, fenicotteri e scintillame diventa una minifuga muy romantica e tranquilla. Via veloci allora, svicolo per Nubia e dritti verso il cancello delle Saline Calcara. Una volta ci si poteva entrare, ora non più, ma conosciamo Marruggio e allora magari possiamo entrare ( lo spirito non è il menefreghismo per le regole, è l’ottimismo maschile e la fiducia nell’amicizia :D).

E infatti appena ci beccano ci dicono di tornare indietro perché la macchina qui non ci può più entrare, ordini del WWF. Ottimista torna indietro con la macchina e io vado a far foto senza fretta e telefonini in giro. Solo le vasche e l’acqua ferma. Silenzio.

tufo della salina calcara a nubia

salina calcara a nubia

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Silenzio Scintillio Terra Sole

riserva delle saline a trapani
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riserva naturale salina calcara trapani
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Ma il silenzio comincia a fare rumore. Qua l’acqua non è tutta ferma nelle vasche a luccicare, c’è un piccolo fiume salato che viene dal mare, proprio dove ci sono quelle poche piante verdi in mezzo al deserto di terra rossa e sale. Va così piano che si sente appena ma sotto le righe stondate della corrente è vivo e qualcosa, forse un pesce, ti fa venire il cuore a nocciolina con il suo guizzo poco più avanti, restano solo i cerchi. E’ il posto o il momento o tutti e due dove non ti chiedi niente e non pensi a niente.

Guardi e basta.

Nemmeno osservi perché se osservi pensi.

Guardi e ascolti.

E te lo godi senza pensare di farlo.

Lo senti.

riserva naturale saline di nubia

animali in salina

Ad un certo punto a farsi sentire davvero sono gli uccelli, che si sono riappropriati di questo deserto e anche la cadenza dei loro versi è diversa, non all’unisono, non tutti insieme, non un baccano confuso di starnazzatori ma quasi un botta e risposta, un dialogo nella Natura che non turba l’armonia di questo posto, anzi la enfatizza perché si sente libera di esprimersi. Durante le pause nel dialogo qui c’è così tanto silenzio che senti i passi delle formiche e il crit crit sul terreno di non so che insetto. E’ in questa oasi che ti viene da fare quello che magari non faresti quando sei con gli altri e magari di fretta, passeggiare sui muretti tra le vasche.

Stradina stretta ingombra di piante mai viste e acqua allippata di verde a destra e a sinistra, ormai sei in mezzo alla palude e indietro non si torna, tanto vale farsi tutto il percorso in mezzo alle nuvole specchiate a raccogliere conchiglie sulla terra, tra le piante unite da ragnatele.

salt pans in sicily

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Ma chi ti insegue qua per questa ora? Gli altri fanno cose serie, tu scopri i bozzoli tra le piante. La presenza umana è lontana, qualche turista in fondo lo vedi, sul solito stradone principale, quello che porta direttamente al mulino e ha l’aria rassicurante dell'”autorizzato“. Tra le saline non so se sia proibito passeggiare, qui semplicemente non c’è nessuno a dirti di no, quindi chissà ma intanto mi godo il deserto di luce dove di tanto in tanto si scorge qualche residuo di umanità, una carriola, per ora abbandonata perché ancora è presto per la raccolta del sale.

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E’ in questo percorso strambo che mi raggiunge il principe con la maglietta azzurra e per fortuna non ha l’aria di pensare ‘Ma tu vedi dove si va ad infilare questa qua‘.

Insieme saltiamo da una vasca all’altra, tenendoci lontani dal mulino a noi così familiare, girandoci intorno a guardarlo come non lo vediamo mai, dai lati ammucciati, fino ad arrivare in una spiaggia, ma pure questo c’è in salina, rive bassissime di terra marziana incrostata di sale e bagnata da acque terrestri. I pesciolini neri sulla riva nuotano ignari della tua esistenza, tu sei grande ma questo non li turba minimamente.

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E poi alla fine ci arrivi, il deserto cambia, dal caldo rosso al bianco glaciale che brucia, ti fa la pelle di cuoio rimandandoti mille soli e ti acceca, ma di questo all’oasi tutta intorno, vicina eppure lontanissima, non importa e squadre di fenicotteri rosa si alzano in volo ordinate.

Ormai siamo sullo stradone battuto dai turisti, un’ora e mezza è passata.

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Pensavate di scansarvi i fiori almeno qui in salina? Non scherziamo, eh!

Pensavate di scansarvi i fiori almeno qui in salina? Non scherziamo, eh!

Se vuoi darmi dei suggerimenti o chiedermi qualcosa sull’articolo, puoi scrivermi a : fioredinespula@gmail.com
Se vuoi dormire al Belveliero e puoi scrivere a : bebilveliero@gmail.com (aggiungi la parola d’ordine FIORE nella email! 😉 )