A Tale of Two Silvi Part 2

Something is up. As we approach Silvi Paese late on a summer’s evening we can’t find a place to park. We drive upwards and down and roundabout and eventually squeeze into a slot half-way up the hill. Could it be, someone suggests, the Festa di Paese?

Light streams from the open doors of the Church of San Salvatore but this is not unusual. On summer nights anyone can wander in from the street at any time to pray or just quietly sit. 

As we near the Belvedere, it becomes clear there is an invasion afoot. What is curious is that the invaders of this normally rather staid village are mostly young people. This is no Festa di Paese, for there is neither band nor procession, but there is a festive atmosphere all the same.

And there is a tell-tale aroma of fried fish.

Someone has had the bright idea of selling fish and chips in a paper cone, or a ‘poke’ as we’d say in Scotland. And the people love it. Entrepreneurship has arrived in Silvi Paese, and with it, la movida,   

No one regards the fact that we’ve already eaten as an obstacle. We take our places in a queue at what is really just a hole in the wall to place our order. On the other side of the window is a tiny, brightly lit kitchen where a small staff are keeping up with orders. A lot of sizzling is going on and everyone is concentrating but the production team seem remarkably calm and organized considering the pressing demand from outside.

As we wait I read the words of Jean-Claude Izzo written in cursive across the white wall of a house in the square: ‘di fronte al mare la felicità è un’idea semplice’. Mentally, I make an addition: ‘with the sea before you, and a poke o’chips, happiness is a simple idea’.

When it’s our turn to pick up our order we make for the edge of the piazza and are lucky to grab a bench. As we munch we gaze down at the cheerful lights of Silvi Marina. Beyond stretches the Adriatic, unmoving and dark, save for a silver streak of moonlight.

In Abruzzo I have learnt to assume that food, when it is served up fresh by locals, will be of a high standard. And nine times out of ten it is so. The staff in the tiny kitchen behind the hole in the wall know how to cook fish and chips.

We walk back along an inner street where we see there is already a copycat, with a slightly different menu, and a shop selling beer and soft drinks.  Even the tiny pizzeria seems to be doing a roaring trade.  

I wonder how the inhabitants of Silvi – the Silvaroli – feel about this transformation of their sleepy village. But then, the people of Abruzzo are practical. They have to make a living. And anyway, in the long winter months, when sitting around outside has less appeal, they will have their village back again. Is it only us, the casual visitors, who want places to remain the same?

I wonder, too, at the speed at which news travels nowadays and how places can be transformed. And then perhaps left in the lurch as allegiances shift and la movida moves on. I am conscious of the part I play.

Today’s communications are a double-edged sword. I am glad for the Silvaroli whose livelihood is assured, at least for now. But I can’t help feeling the pang of loss.

This, after all, was the tale of two Silvi. Truly, it is the best of times, it is the worst of times.