At Easter the small town of Scicli is overwhelmed by tens of thousands of Italian tourists. The ritual entails hiking from the closest parking space, which if you arrive early is only two or three miles from the main church. The second activity is waiting two or three hours in the mass of people, transformed into a single, multicell organism, much like the 1958 horrible flick The Blob.
It did give me an opportunity to scientifically examine the Italians as an expression of their culture. I had expected a crowd of lumpy middle-aged Sicilian women with mustaches, mixed in with a few grey ghosts of old men ready to die at a moment’s notice.
But no, the crowd was diverse, youthful, full of energy, and decked out in the latest Italian style. Many of the young were not content with a new Easter bonnet, but rather wore pants so tight that you could see their appendix scar from the back. Others wore slinky silk dresses split up the side, promising to expose everything but never delivering. Their shoes were platforms and heels so high they needed a step ladder to put them on. On the steep stone streets, they hobbled one small step after another, like Japanese geishas.
There were of course teenage girls too shy to dress like hothouse flowers, at least with their mothers in the crowd. They contented themselves with fashionably ripped jeans and T-shirts with bawdy English messages.
Young men (and middle aged men with young girlfriends) had the sides of their heads cut so closely they looked like whitewall tires. The hair on the tops of their head were either left like animal pelts or gelled up to add inches to their height. They wore lightweight blue blazers and skinny jeans that bunched on the top of stylish tennis shoes. Some wore bright bow ties. Everyone wore reflective aviator sunshades, even the babies.
Many of the women had dyed their hair electric crimson, harlequin green, and Crayola blue. Older women (who had thickened into middle age and been condemned to sensible shoes) colored their hair in solidarity with their daughters, although their colors were muted but still deeply unnatural.
Children darted back and forth, playing with their cousins. Parents showed off their new babies strapped into high tech carriages. Even the youngest babies were dressed to kill and were shown off to family, friends and passing strangers.
Finally, the wooden figure of Jesus popped out of the church to a loud cheer from the crowd and enthusiastic applause. The statue was supported on large horizontal wooden beams, carried by muscular men, who turned and twirled the carved Jesus around the outside of the church like he was dancing or drunk or both. The hordes of people crammed into the courtyard in turn danced and spun, as they rushed down and back up the steep stone stairs. At last, the Jesus straighten up and the procession moved down the crowded streets.
This type of ceremony is called the uomo vivo or “man alive,” celebrating the risen Christ.
