A visit to the Valley of the Temples of Agrigento

My Italy, I see the walls and the arches. I wander between the Valley of the Temples, Eraclea Minoa, Selinunte. In Marinella di Selinunte I naturally go to Jojò, we chat about our youth, then I ask him about his childhood. Not that I associate him – younger than me, as is right – with classical antiquities, but I imagine that even when we were children there was a great deal of familiarity between the local people and their splendid monuments. That of the eighteenth-nineteenth century genre paintings that depicted humans and flocks grazing among the ruins, and the erudite travelers who were surprised or scandalized by them, and taught them which stones they were sitting on whistling and climbing on which to graze. Jojò, who over time added history, art and mythology to his legendary skills, tells me that he and the other children ran freely among the ruins of Selinunte as in the home garden, they collected, just by bending down, coins, and they held shooting competitions by throwing stones at ancient vases and offering coins as prizes.

In the morning, the taxi driver from Agrigento who took me, Mr. Giovanni, 67 years old, politically and civilly more pessimistic than me, which is not easy, listed the city and regional disasters for me, until, to change the subject, as we passed under the Valley of the Temples, I asked him: “Giovanni, when was the last time you visited the archaeological park?” “It must be at least twenty years!”, he said. Let’s hope some relatives from Germany come to visit you, I told him, so you can come back. She didn’t hesitate: “If any German relative arrives, I’ll accompany them to the entrance, and then I’ll pick them up at the exit.”