Coronavirus, because Palermo dances | The HuffPost


I learn that in Palermo, a city that has always been at the forefront in terms of self-love, as the writer Gaetano Testa, indigenous leader of Group 63, has always claimed, have reopened the discos; It is natural that the young residents should have immediately rushed with enthusiasm, pronouncing a phrase-manifesto of joy that returns to the street square wall villa cottage little square “schinìo”, or petting: “We want to let loose!” That’s not all, even more convinced, they say that the track and the lights “were missing, we were missing, especially at our age”.

The disco that symbolically brings life back to a city already called “Felicissima” by the Spanish rulers, is called “Country”, and toponymically shines between the fearsome Zen district and the no less appreciated Mondello beach, a seaside paradise by definition.

Three local graces in rhinestones, questioned by a curious reporter, say that discotheque means above all “freedom”, even these autochthonous words, given that the main boulevard of the capital of Sicily takes on that Risorgimento name; we add: all this happens on the days when a sentence pronounced by a lady exactly on the beach already mentioned, the perennial background of the summer that lights up on every news, guarantees that “… there is no covid here! There is no covid here! “, Which soon became the mantra of the city’s pre-hospital certainties; who knows what my cousin Flavia, a doctor, who takes care of that pathology in the rooms set up for the occasion at the “Civico” Hospital.

Palermo, as you know, in terms of discos can well give lessons to the world, having owned perhaps the most literary of these, “Villa Boscogrande”, between Cardillo and Tommaso Natale, by Luchino Visconti chosen as the residence of the Salina princes for filming of “Il Gattopardo”, next to it shone, no less anthropologically suggestive, “Il Cerchio”, “Speak Easy”, “Shazam”, Grant ‘s “,” Pare Choc “,” Papè Satan “,” Cyrano “,” Life “,” Flash Sound “,” Escalation “…

They sleep, they sleep in the panormite playful memory, we could say by quoting the song of Spoon River by Fabrizio de André. Periodically, a disco located on Monte Pellegrino, not far from the cave of Santa Rosalia, where the most “toca” city youth found themselves in the early eighties, full of mafia war, also comes back to memory; I doubt that habits have changed much over time, in the carnet of afternoon and evening city predilections one must still imagine now, even in spite of every virus, it doesn’t matter whether it is the seventeenth-century plague or the current pandemic, in order, arancina or calzone at the “Alba” bar, “old woman” pizza slice at the “Graziano” bakery, watermelon-flavored brioche, black mulberries or cream-cream at the “Baretto” in Mondello-Valdesi, and finally, triumphant, the queue to enter the disco; here you can imagine the cars and motorbikes parked in the second row and everyone wondering if in the meantime Lorena or Nadia, Carlo or Sasà have arrived.

Generations flow, but the human theater of the sun in the discotheques of Palermo remains the same as itself, and it will not be “the fuck of a new disease” (sic) to question it. In the disco there is a way to find “the beauty of the Fiamma party” or the “bar of the Magnolias”, the most “tochi”: what else is said fig, very cool, down there in Palermo took its name from a brand of ties , “Toka”, brought to the city by US landing troops in 1943. Can anyone who is certain to be part of the “tochissimi” be convinced of the existence of a miserable virus?

So the visitors of the Palermo discos, it does not matter if you get there from Viale Scaduto, behind via Principe di Paternò, where Leonardo Sciascia lived, or rather from via Roccazzo or from Bocca di Falco, a place that instead gave birth to the singer Christian, already the husband of Dora Moroni, in the end, can compete, in terms of skepticism, with the most diligent philosophers of thought marked by doubt, from Pirrone of Elide to Hume, from Descartes to Hegel.

In the end, always on top of Monte Pellegrino, “the most beautiful promontory in Europe” in Goethe’s words, where already in 1981, on the occasion of a congress of the Italian Socialist Party of the Craxi era, the whimsical artist from Palermo Filippo Panseca placed a large carnation, now ideally stands out a sonorous “strong duke”, this time no less proudly spit in the face of a disease called coronavirus, even in spite of every possible principle of appropriate distancing. As they always say in Palermo in terms of challenge: “Cu cu’ a currutu? ” In other words, who do you think you’re dealing with?

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