Mass Exodus South

I had never seen a mass exodus before this night. What is amazing about this trip is that everyone is going to the same place and everyone is originally from the same place. My cousins, Nuccia and Mario, picked me up in Florence on their way to Sicily. This year they decided to drive from Milan to Sicily instead of flying. Our trip will take at least 14 hours.

We are not the only ones making our way back to the Motherland. There are hundreds of others with Southern roots making the same journey. When we stop at rest stop along the Autostrada for coffee or gasoline the parking lots are littered with people gathered around Alfa Romeo’s, BMW’s, Volkswagens and Fiats. Their accents are rougher compared to the refined Florentine dialect; harsh “ooo’s” and abrupt “oh’s” begin drawn out words and Bella now becomes Bedda.

Immediately after the Sicilians, Neopolitans and Calabrians exit the car they light up a cigarette — men and women alike. Nuccia offered me one, but I decided to decline. Once I start smoking in Sicily I can’t stop. Everyone smokes. If I accept a cigarette one time from someone in Sicily that person will always will expect me to indulge in a drag with them. Sicilians have a way of insisting that conjures guilt that I end up accepting just to make the other person feel better. So it’s better for me to start practicing my refusals now.

Once inside the restaurant of the service area Nuccia and I pushed our way through the mini market to reach the bar. After ordering coffee I took a step back to observe. Everyone had my features — thick dark brown hair, dark olive skin, not too tall, big almond hazelnut or brown eyes with a slight or considerable bulge. It is so strange to see mini-me’s congregated in one place.