Sicily is no longer a five-letter word, by Carol Drinkwater

I have just returned from a brief stay in Palermo and the western coast of Sicily. Autumn at the heart of the Mediterranean can hardly be bettered. The grape harvests have been completed, the olives are soon to picked and the weather is usually absolutely splendid.

I first visited Sicily in 2005. This trip kept me on the island for a month. I hired a car and went wherever the trail took me. I was searching for stories for my books, The Olive Route and The Olive Tree. What I was intending was to discover and disclose the secrets roles the Mafia had played in the island’s olive oil history. For example, at the end of the nineteenth century and into the early twentieth century, due to exceeding poverty and mob rule, many Sicilians fled their homeland and set sail for America. A few of these immigrants were Mafia members on the run. Once these crooks arrived in the States, they established new Mafia organisations, and these proved to be fabulously remunerative, particularly during the years of Prohibition. These gangsters, Al Capone and his cronies or his gangland enemies, for example, needed a front for their nefarious dealings to keep the law off their backs. So they set up olive oil businesses for money-laundering purposes. The quality of olive oil in Sicily in the early twentieth century was very poor. The oil could be bought for next to nothing, which suited Mafia purposes perfectly. Shiploads of olive oil was exported to the States and sold as ‘Italian Olive Oil’. Who in the United States knew anything about olive oil? Once the oil was there, an international understanding that all olive oil was Italian was born. It is only in very recent decades that both American and other consumers have become aware of a far wider market range. For those who remember, in Mario Puzo’s novel, The Godfather, Don Vito Corleone as a young man started his own olive oil import business, Genco Pura olive oil.

Another little olive oil snippet, Puzo took the name of his leading character from the hilltop town of Corleone inland of Palermo. It was from here that the grandfather of the actor, Al Pacino, emigrated.

Fiction aside, the Mafia’s role in Sicily’s modern agricultural history is not only a complex story, it was a very challenging for me to unearth. I completed The Olive Tree,  but felt that there was far more to be mined than I had succeeded in doing.

Over the course of the following years, I returned to the island regularly because I love it and because I still wanted to get beneath the surface of the place. After the two books were published, UNESCO invited me to work with them to help map a Mediterranean Olive Route and from there several television stations contacted me with interest to turn the inspiration for the books into documentary films. I was thrilled, of course. One of the bonuses was the possibility of getting another crack at Sicily.

When we came to breakdown the storylines for the five documentaries, the very first story I proposed to the television stations was 'Sicily and its olive oil history'. Naturally, the idea grabbed because everybody loves a good Mafia story. I returned to the island to recce the storyline and on this occasion the budget provided me with an Italian journalist whose expertise was in food and modern Italian politics.

Where I had been unable to gain access myself, doors would now open, I thought. Alas, it was not so simple. As soon as I hit on a name, a person who might make an excellent ‘character’ for the film and who was willing and not afraid to talk, to go public, my ‘man on the ground’, Sandro, found out their contact details, rang them and arranged a clandestine meeting. But how many afternoons did we spend sitting at roadsides waiting for the appearance of a lawyer, a land specialist, family members of --- who never showed up? I was beginning to lose heart until Sandro and I hit on a new angle to my story. Libera Terra . The name translates as Free Land. Briefly, Libera Terra  was founded by a Catholic priest, Don Luigi Ciotti, living and working in Turin in northern Italy. Ciotti is a brave and visionary man, a social activist in a country that is being destroyed by greed and corruption. He has quite literally changed the way the Italian government handles lands and assets owned by Mafia members. In the past, when a high-ranking member of the Mafia was imprisoned, their assets just sat about doing nothing. Ciotti and others of like mind raised a petition with over one million signatures requesting of the Italian government (at the time it was Berlusconi, so no mean feat), to offer the lands out to be farmed in a manner that was good for the earth and free of all fear and Mafia influence. What a terrific concept, and it has taken off

A movement of small organic cooperatives springing up all over the island to farm lands confiscated from the Mafia and to bring their produce to global markets.
I had the outline for my story: New Sicily and the unpicking of the Mafia stranglehold within the agricultural sector.

During the worst years of Mafia control of the island, people were employed for a pittance because there was basically only one employer: the Mafia. They called the shots (in every sense!). There was no social care, merely a pitiable wage. If someone else offered employment with more decent terms, the labourers refused because they were far too scared to quit and move on. They feared the threats of physical violence being meted out against them or members of their families. Tourism was almost non-existent because foreigners feared the bombings and shootings and the horror stories they saw on the news or in the movies. Who wants a horse’s head in their bed?! In any case, building permits for all construction including hotels were in the hands of who? The Mafia, of course.

In a sense, the island was becoming isolated and the young were leaving in droves in the hope of building a new, Mafia-free life elsewhere. This is an old agricultural story. When the villages and fields are emptied and only the older generation remain to tend them, the sector begins to die out. Knowledge and competence is lost.

Sicily has one of the richest histories of the Mediterranean. It has been conquered by everyone from the Phoenicians to the Greeks, Romans, Normans, Arabs, Spanish and onwards until 1860 when Garibaldi landed and integrated it into the new state of Italy. Because of its colonizers, particularly the Romans, Sicily (also other parts of southern Italy) has been at the mercy of the feudal land system for two thousand years. One of the upsides of having been invaded by so many conquering powers is that it has a multi-layered tapestry of cuisines and agricultural expertise. But if there are no young left to grow the produce, to tend the lands and livestock, to learn the ways of the land?

In 1992, tragedy struck but it brought about a new seed of hope. In 1992, two shocking Mafia murders took place. Two leading Sicilian magistrates, colleagues and friends, Giovanni Falcone and Paolo Borselino who had vowed publicly to rid the island of its Mafia poison, were both murdered, one after the other within the space of a matter of months. The island reeled. It was grief-stricken. These men had been heroes, now they were martyrs. No one could now deny that the Mafia would not go to any lengths to protect its own system. For our film, we bought newsreel and archival footage of these assassinations and their two public funerals. It is very moving material. Sheets were hung from balconies offering prayers, promises to remember, the streets were flooded with waves of flowers. Thousands and thousands followed the funeral corteges.

Out of these grotesque deaths, came the seed of hope. Father Ciotti in Turin and others elsewhere on the mainland but most importantly the young of Sicily cried, ENOUGH, BASTA. It was the seed of regeneration. In 1995, Libera Terra  was founded along with one or two other organisations such as Addiopizzo, meaning ‘goodbye to extortion monies’.

Several godfathers were arrested in quick succession and their assets were handed over to be used for organic farming and agroturismo. During one of my visits, I stayed in a Mafia hideout. It was very well concealed, sitting off a goat track high in the mountains, as one might expect for a hideout. Today it is rented out as a chalet to tourists. The monies earned from the rentals and sale of the organic food produced, particularly wine and olive oil, help to pay the working people decent wages. 

There were setbacks. An entire, newly-planted olive grove was set alight one night as a ‘warning’. But Ciotti retaliated, and loudly. He organised a massive campaign all across across Italy. Pop stars, young people, celebrities flew to the island and replanted the groves on camera for the various news channels. We have a clip of this also in our film. It is very uplifting to see such courage and hope.

By the time we had finished our film, I believed that the island had broken free of its chains. There are indeed many signs of growth and there are many young who have returned to work where they were born and where they can today expect to be paid a living wage and feel secure that health care will be available and that their lives are not at risk. Tourism is on the ascent. Sicily is, in my opinion, producing some of the finest olive oil in the world. And it is not just oil from one or two isolated farms. Consistently, it wins awards internationally and the farmers, the producers, are setting themselves high standards. The quantity is not enormous but it is very fine.

But history is a slow mover, and the grip of an organisation as powerful and as invasive as the Mafia does not let go easily. It takes fearlessness and tenacity to push against a system that has snaked itself in and around every sector, to build reform, to take back what has been stolen. Italy’s financial crisis (in part due to corruption) is critical. Sicilian unemployment is running at twenty per cent. This last week in and around Palermo showed me that there is still an on-going struggle to be fought. Still, I like to think that this page – one hundred and fifty years old, at least – might be turning and that before too long these islanders might be able to hold their heads high and celebrate the land wealth that is theirs and very hard won.

PS: The five films in The Olive Route series are available on DVD (US and international formats) at olivefarmbooks@gmail.com

Mediterranean Time Travel

by Caroline Lawrence

Mediterranean countries are wonderful for catching glimpses of the past. Not only can you wander among extensive ancient ruins, but there are still elements of the past visible in daily life all around you.

Boy shovels sawdust into hammam furnace

In the souks of Morocco you can still find coppersmiths, acrobats and pavement dentists, just as you could have done in Roman times. We know from primary sources that ancient Roman tourists also endured annoying beggars, pushy shopkeepers, unwanted guides, unscrupulous innkeepers and overpriced food, just like today's tourists. A door opened in the Fes souk, and I saw a boy shovelling sawdust into the furnace of a hammam the same way bath-slaves would have fed a Roman hypocaust.

In Greece you can still see peasant women sharing donkey's backs with piles of firewood. You can sit at a table in the cool shade of an ancient plane tree sipping resinated wine from a copper beaker and eating olives, 'a taste as old as cold water', as Lawrence Durrell writes. 

St Panteleimon with ex votos on Kalymnos

In holy places, saints have taken over the duties of the gods. On the island of Kalymnos in a cave sacred to Panteleimon, a saint who heals, you can see votive plaques of tin or copper offered for the afflicted part of the body. Such votive offerings go right back to Greek and Roman times, when suppliants offered clay parts of the body to remind the healing god Asklepios which of their bits needed healing. On another part of Kalymnos, you can buy little nuggets of ivory coloured resin. This is mastiha, an ancient version of chewing gum, still recommended to freshen the breath and calm stomach upsets.

A roadside shrine on the Evil Stairs

On the Greek mainland, the road from Corinth to Athens is virtually the same route Theseus took 3000 years ago. You can still see a stretch of road called the Evil Stairs (Kaka Skala). It was here that the robber Sciron forced travellers to wash his feet. Then he would kick them over the precipice to be eaten by his pet turtle. Our taxi driver knew they were called Evil Stairs but didn't know why. He had never even taken the coastal road, having always gone on the modern bypass. Along the coast road are many shrines. Some are dedicated to those who died on the road, but others are just shrines to Mary and Jesus.

In most Mediterranean countries, taxi drivers and truckers still hang votive charms from their rearview mirrors. Roman cart drivers would have done the same thing. At the stern of every Roman ship was a small shrine to Venus, protector of sailors.

Moroccan version of a chariot or cisium

In Italy the locals recruited to excavate Pompeii in the summer months rush to gather handfuls of wildflowers and weeds, the same medicinal herbs Pliny the Elder recommends in his Natural History. Or they might find the iron remains of an ancient Roman hoe which perfectly fits the wooden haft of their zappa at home.

fango is Italian for "mud"

Today's spas and retreats go right back to the hot springs of Baiae and other Roman sites, where the rich would flock to cure their ills and indulge in orgies. On the island of Ischia in the Bay of Naples I took a 'fango bath' in glutinous black mud to the smell of suphur. Is this an experience Pliny the Elder might once have experienced? I'm sure it was!

In 21^st century Rome, after a day exploring Roman ruins, you can sit in the Piazza Navona  (built on the site of a chariot racecourse) and watch the modern Romans promenade. It's not hard to tell which are descended from patricians, which from plebs and which from peasants. In ancient Rome, the patron had power and he looked after his clients. In return they did favours for him. The word padrone means godfather. I will not even mention the M-word. 

Roman fountain

The first century poet Martial writes 'All Rome is at my bed-head.' Anyone who has spent a summer night in a Roman hotel room with no air-conditioning will sympathise. Through the open window, you can hear arguing spouses, amorous lovers, crying babies, barking dogs and loud music. A street sweeper sounds like he's right in the room with you. Other sounds that won't have changed in 2000 years include the spatter of a fountain as the water strikes the cobblestones, the piercing cries of swifts wheeling overhead, a distant bray of a donkey and the incessant shimmering cry of the cicadas in summer.

Bull ring in Spain before the show

Ancient Romans didn't go to the cinema to watch violent, bloody films. Instead they went to the Colosseum to watch the real thing. The closest modern equivalent are the bull fights still held in Spain. Just as in Roman times you would have an opening procession, musicians playing in the stands, touts selling cushions, drinks and nuts, the waving of handkerchiefs to show approval, the raking of bloody sand between bouts, and the movie-star status of popular gladiators or beast-fighters. These bullrings are mini replicas of the ancient Roman amphitheatres, sometimes even down to the garlands draped from awnings. 

Can you see Byron's graffiti?

On the walls of buildings in Pompeii and Ostia, if you know where to look, you can still see graffiti scratched or painted on stone or plaster: LUCIUS LOVES JULIA Or: DON'T PEE HERE, STINGING NETTLES! Or: VOTE FOR GAIUS, FRIEND TO SHOPKEEPERS and on the marble column of the temple to Poseidon at Cape Sounion you can find the classic grafitti: BYRON WAS HERE

My Travel Guide

L.P. Hartley famously said 'The past is a foreign country', but I see it the other way round. Every time I travel to another country – especially the Mediterranean – I go back to the past.

Caroline Lawrence writes history-mystery books for kids (and secretly for grown-ups). Her Mediterranean Travel Guide, From Ostia to Alexandria With Flavia Gemina, is now available on Kindle.