Taormina, and ….

We lucked out today … the mist and wind of yesterday — gone. It had been fun on the Lime electric scooters the evening before… whizzing down the bike lane … hats and hair flying. Till we got to the fountain where wind hurled the spray across the road and drenched us.

Mount Etna was on full display as the train sped eastwards along the coast … snow capped with wisps of steam that drifted upwards from vents, like smoke from small fires. The town of Taormina cascaded down from its lofty perch towards the white sandy beaches and that impossible turquoise of the Mediterranean, while higher still … like icing on a cake … was the town of Castelmola. The bus driver on this route certainly earned his keep. The tight switchbacks were so close together that on Google they looked like a solid mass. Scraping by walls, overhanging buildings and other vehicles has to be a skill learned over years of practice. He nonchalantly passed buses, vans and trucks on their way down with literally centimeters to spare, while motor scooters … impatient as always … darted through the bus’s wide turn, on the inside!

The views from Taormina are breathtaking … right over the Ionian sea to the tip of Italy … the valley, town and coves below on one side … Mount Etna on the other. The town itself is extremely picturesque … but bursting with visitors, filling the sidewalk cafes …. every shop displaying the same brightly-coloured souvenirs. The bus to Castelmola didn’t leave for another 45 minutes so we dived into quieter backstreets and discovered to our delight an unexpected treasure … the most gorgeous park. The only downside was not enough time to explore. We must come back on our way down.

More tortuous hairpin bends as the bus climbed higher and higher before pulling onto a wide plaza. <gasp> If the views from Taormina were spectacular, those from Castelmola were absolutely staggering. All along the coastline and the red tiled rooves of the town far below. It was much less crowded up here …. a warren of quiet, narrow streets tumbling over each other …. intimate enclaves of tables and chairs for a coffee or snack … cubby hole-sized shops tucked around corners with beautiful local fabrics in traditional yellows, reds and blues. And a quirky ceramic flamingo that certainly would have gone into my suitcase … if I’d had the room. (Perhaps I could’ve left Glen’s shoes behind!) This place should be a must on everyone’s bucket list. This short video of the area is nicely done https://youtu.be/WFjanqCmBoY

We revisited the park – Villa Comunale di Taormina … former gardens of Lady Florence Trevelyan — a keen ornithologist who reportedly had been banned from Queen Victoria’s court because of a dalliance with Edward VII (but then who hadn’t, if accounts are to be believed!) The garden was full of extraordinarily eccentric (but beautiful) follies gleaming warmly in the mellow evening sun. Peaceful and elegant curving staircases and walkways … huge round terra cotta pots … groves of umbrella pines and palm trees with peeks over the sea …. a well-used children’s park … and statues to Sicily’s fallen during WWII. Around one corner was something I recognized instantly …. one of the 2-man ‘submarines’ used by frogmen for laying magnetic mines in Alexandria harbour in December 1941. In researching Dad’s book I was familiar with the event, but hadn’t realized that one of the 6 frogmen was from Taormina. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raid_on_Alexandria_(1941)

Goodness, I haven’t mentioned any food in this post! Perhaps I can remedy that by covering the best and the worst meals in Catania. For some reason I forgot to take photos … sorry.

Hands down the best was at Chef Dede … small, cosy restaurant on a backstreet. It was a Monday evening and sadly we were the only people there. Attentive French waiter. The starter was an exquisite baked Aubergine and goat cheese confection in a tomato sauce … every element was perfection. Followed by homemade fresh pasta and two kinds of prawns in a cream and white wine sauce strewn with parsley. The pasta al dente, the prawns magnificent. Lastly a long-braised beef in a red wine glaze that you could cut with a fork. And who could argue with apple galette and pears in wine for dessert. Oh my.

Street food was an experience. Small establishments with vast barbecues cooking up your choice of fare … sausages, skewered meats, steaks and fish to more adventuresome offal like tripe, or even horse and donkey! It was entertaining as well … a costermonger of an owner bellowing to prospective customers, brandishing cutlery or slapping plates (empty ones) onto tables with an explosive ‘bang’. The Parma ham wrapped croquettes were OK but the whole bbq’d squid was exceptional drizzled with olive oil and lemon. Bit pricey for lunch at 40 euros … we’ve found most places charge for a table, water, bread … some add on a cover charge as well. These are all supposed to be posted on the menu or at least visible, but are often cunningly hidden.

Worst food had to be the bruschetta’s. We weren’t particularly hungry but thought a couple with a beverage would go down well as a mid afternoon snack. The menu showed fresh fruit juice, and as Sicily was rightly proud of its oranges we selected orange juice. No, no juice … only Fanta, Coke, Sprite. How about Tea? Black tea? No … only cans of iced tea. Okay we’ll have those. Now, a mere two blocks away is Catania’s famous market place … we had just walked through it and every stall was sagging under the weight of gorgeous fresh produce … including Sicily’s other prized product — bright red, luscious pomodoro – tomatoes. Our bruschetta, when they arrived, were covered with something totally unrecognizable as tomato, so pale you could have sworn it was onion … not only that Glen’s bread was completely different to mine, and all were floating on a sea of olive oil. Good olive oil is delicious when generously drizzled, but this stuff was abysmal. Clearly, as tourists we could be given any old thing. I’m oft one to quietly mutter and put up with poor service but not so in this instance. Waitress was flagged down to inquire about the lack of ripe RED tomatoes. With a shrug she begrudgingly went to talk to the kitchen. “Don’t bother” … we paid for the iced tea, and left.