Teste di Moro & Sicilian Folklore
The Tradition of Living Beautifully, Issue #18
Well we made it, friends. All the planning, the packing, and organizing is now behind us, and we’re here, in Sicily, a week before our friends arrive to join us. My husband, son, and I have been taking it easy in a small seaside town outside of Palermo called Terrasini. Like many Italian towns, it has a beautiful piazza, Piazza Del Duomo, with wonderful places to eat and grab an aperitivo, as well as a beautifully old, looming Catholic church at its center.
As I write this, the very blue sea sprawls before me. The water is salty, and it’s warm. You walk right in without pause. To get to the beach across the street, you have to walk down several flights of stairs carved into the side of a cliff. When you arrive, you navigate sun-bleached rocks. Many beaches in Italy are like this—rocks instead of sand. A good pair of water shoes comes in handy here. Rock, salt, sea, there’s something wonderfully elemental about it all.
I can still remember the first time I saw a beach in Italy, the first time I waded into the tranquil, salt-heavy water and turned back to see the most stunning rock cliffs, ancient and worn with time, dotted with stucco and stone houses nearly as old, lined with lemon trees. Then, I was on the Amalfi Coast in Campania, from where my family originates. I had never seen anything like it; it seemed, and remains to this day, a magical kind of beauty. Beauty with a sparkle in its eye. Beauty with many ethereal stories to tell.
As far as I know, I have no Sicilian blood, but my husband does, and of course now so does my son. We fell in love with the island several years ago, attracted to the spirit of abandon mixed with the gorgeous natural beauty, the slow pace, the amazing food, the ancient architecture, the island weather, the friendly people. And of course I fell in love with the folklore.
We recently spent some time in town, and I sent the boys to get some gelato while I strolled through L'Angolo delle Maioliche, a ceramics store just outside the piazza. If you’ve ever been to Sicily, you’ll recall that you can’t turn your head without seeing a testa di moro, or head of the moor. These heads are part of Sicilian folklore and have come to symbolize the island. A Sicilian noblewoman dutifully tends to her balcony garden. One day a merchant Moor passes by below. The Moors were among the many invaders of Sicily, reigning from around 827 AD to 902 AD when the Normans took control of the island. The woman and the man fall in love. When the woman learns, however, that he’s had a wife and family all this time, she cuts off his head, keeping it on her balcony so that he remains hers for always. From this testa the most verdant and vibrant basil grows. The villagers are envious. They, too, want such luscious basil. So they begin to fashion their own similar vases out of clay, and a folk story is born.
The teste di moro are mysterious and enigmatic, much like the island itself. They bring together some of the various cultures that have left their mark on Sicily—sometimes the Moor appears Arab, sometimes he appears dark as if from Africa.
I bought a pale colored testo di moro, the woman only, with turquoise rounds at the tips of her crown. I forgot to snap a picture of it before it was so lovingly packed up by the shop owner for the voyage home, but I’m sure it’ll pop up in a photo somewhere down the line. :)
I also grabbed the “sale” version of these lovely, hand-painted jars below, and look forward to filling them with some sicilian sea salt to use in my kitchen back home.
The symbol of the Sicilian flag, known as Trinacria, a word from the Greek meaning “three-pointed,” is said to resemble the triangular shape of the island. Sicily was dominated by the Greeks in the 8th Century. Trinacria is also the earliest known name for Sicily. The snake-like head is Medusa, the woman who seduces men and then turns them into stone (seeing a pattern here?) The trinacria is traditionally hung inside a home as a form of protection, symbolically sicking the Medusa and her powers on anyone who might want to harm those inside of its walls.
The stalks of wheat in the image were added under the Romans, a period when Sicily was known as the granary of Rome, supplying most of its wheat to the empire. The basil in the previous story, the wheat in this one, both point to the fertility of the land. After the Second World War, the Trinacria came to be used by the Sicilian independence movement, and with the addition of red and yellow swaths in the background, remains the symbol at the heart of the island’s official flag.
These symbols are kind of fantastical, witchy in spirit, and certainly ancient nature. I love how they embody these very traits that make Sicily, Sicily.
On a different note, yesterday we spent the day at Feudo Montoni Winery, the organic vineyard and farm run by Melissa Muller, author of the cookbook “Sicily” and guest on Episode 3, Season 3 of “Bella Figura—The Tradition of Living Beautifully,” and her husband, Fabio. I think I’ll share the story of this absolutely magical place in the next issue, along with the gorgeous views at every turn and the stunning beauty of the structures on the vineyard, which have stood there since 1467.
If you’re not already with me over Instagram definitely give me a follow; I’m sharing parts of my adventure as I go along. :)
Thanks for being here with me, truly.
Dolores
Very interesting thanks for sharing. I have been to sickly twice once to see the volcano and another to visit Taormina