UNIQUE PERSPECTIVE
* SYRACUSA ME The author is mistaken for “Lucky Luke” on the Italian-owned isle of Sicilia. By John M. Edwards
In Syracus, Sicily—not far from the ancient Hellenic ruins at Agrigento—I went on a mission for Zagat’s to rustle up the best “pasta con sarde” (spaghetti with sardines) that thousands of lira could land. About a block away from my pensione, an old palazzo with impressive frescos of famous religious scenes, such as the beheading of St. John the Baptist and the downing of Goliath by David, I found a great family-owned restaurant which was serving the signature dish.
“The dining room was now totally clear, except for an obvious ‘don’ or ‘capo’ in a stylish grey greatcoat and a fedora with an attitude...” Maybe because I looked a little like a menacing mafioso or cunning casa nostro or cool-ass Camorrista, I found out how quickly a restaurant can be cleared out, with an entire table of diners scraping back their chairs and muttering, “Lucky Luke” (which I assumed stood not for the comic book but for “Lucky Luciano”). The dining room was now totally clear, except for an obvious “don” or “capo” in a stylish grey greatcoat and a fedora with an attitude (creased just so), patting his chest for cigarettes. He really did resemble Burt Lancaster—and maybe it was him. The waiter, obviously not pleased by the massive exodus of his local friends forced into a classic chew-and-screw by dint of my cult of personality, handed me the bill and said that they didn’t accept credit cards. I handed him the cash, and asked for the location TRAVELWORLD INTERNATIONAL / NOV 2012
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John M. Edwards, Tintin, and Snowy converge on a sinister pensione.
of the nearest ATM: a term he was unfamiliar with. But at least there were banks everywhere: bloody excellent that is! On the way back to my pensione, I felt someone following me. Down the street a couple of blocks away a disturbing shadow presented itself, flitting over the cobbles. Obviously, it was a street arab won-