Note #05: In anticipation of simplicity

Being shaped by sensuality.

Notes on Sensuality is an exploration of everyday sensuality, led by the founder of Underlena, Maxine Kelly.

Last night, while cooking dinner, I was thinking about an upcoming trip that I’m taking later this month, which will lead me back to Europe. Back to, because, prior to my Underlena life, parts of Europe felt like home for me. Mallorca, for friends and family; a sense of belonging. Amsterdam, where I traveled annually for my work at the time. Italy, for my development of a sensual life.

I was recalling some time I spent in Sicily in 2018, six weeks into a solo three-month trip. I’d landed there after completing a full immersion Italian course in Rome, during which I stayed in the room of an apartment belonging to a both cantankerous and fabulous pugliese* named Laura, who had a penchant for smoking her lights inside (I don’t mind a cigarette myself, but this was a first for me). I was ready for some space of my own, and a little mental rest from being in full immersion 24/7.

(Laura’s best friend had private access to the apartment through her own ancient elevator which opened into the kitchen - a throwback from the building’s previous life - which also kept things interesting)

Having flown into Palermo, I’d picked up a blue Fiat 500 to drive to Tonnara di Bonagia, where I was renting a little family house from someone I’d met in Rome. A quiet time to be there, October. The house was set back off the road, with a lemon grove beyond it (yes, I know).

Back then, I always kept a copy of Elizabeth David’s An Omelette and a Glass of Wine close by, but I haven’t opened it in a while since (it’s one of those perfect solo traveling and eating books). When I pulled it out today, reminded of it by

Carter

, it was bookmarked at a passage from the essay, South Wind through the Kitchen, written for Wine and Food, Autumn 1964:

In the shade of the lemon grove I break off a hunch of bread, sprinkle it with the delicious fruity olive oil, empty my glass of sour white Capri wine; and remember that Norman Douglas once wrote that whoever has helped us to a larger understanding is entitled to our gratitude for all time.

A perfect picture of sensuality, if you ask me. And my first real moment of appreciation of the simplicity of it - the lack of performance. With this attitude in mind, I spent a few days exploring the north-west of the island, with a few core memories:

Scaling the mountain in the Fiat to get to Pasticceria Maria Grammatico in Erice, eating the leftovers with espresso in the morning

Eating lunch alone in an empty Sirena Ristorante, with white linen on the tables. Octopus salad, a startlingly cold, crisp white wine at hand

Visiting the vegetable market in Palermo, stunned by the abundant Arab-Norman architecture and lush trees all around

Shopping daily, and arranging simple meals back at the house in silence, just enjoying the last of the warmth and the beauty of the ingredients

Note the simplicity - the ease.

I often say that sensuality is in the noticing of things - and a trip like this was only ever going to make me take note. I had a conversation with someone a couple of weeks ago that could not understand a type of sensuality that wasn’t centred on the sexual experience. This trip to Sicily (and Italy, really) showed me that to think of sensuality in purely sexual terms does a severe disservice to its abundance and breadth.

So, while I write this from the fireplace in Wellington with 6°C southerlies outside, I’m mentally sitting in the lemon grove with a glass of very cold, white wine, throwing my head back in pleasure.

*pugliese - woman from Puglia

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Thank you for reading Notes on Sensuality - I’d love to hear about what has shaped your version of sensuality. Let me know below. - Maxine

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