In Catania – Day 32

‘I love travelling,’ he said. ‘But I also love to come home. I think England is the best place to live in the world.’

I agreed. But added that I hadn’t travelled that much. 

‘What do you love about it?’ he said.

I thought for a bit. 

‘The humour. The seasons. No heavy-handed state intervention. Police without guns. The Chiltern Hills and Brakspear’s bitter.’

‘And top of that list is my wife and our children. That goes without saying.’

He nodded. 

‘A good list. And good enough for our short lifetime.’ He smiled and I could see his Irish charm shine through. 

The port road was a joke. 

Potholes worthy of the Sea of Tranquility. Any of them were enough to break a leg on my donkey. Grounding-deep and sharp-edged.

Pedders treated them like roundabouts.

Then on the highway. OMG. A half-arsed contraflow. 130kph to zero …no warning..

then a left-hander at right angles. On the return to our side of the road a big new white Tesla had managed the right turn but must have lost it by over- correcting. He’d landed on top of the crash barrier. Good shot! That was going to be expensive. 

While we crawled – very slowly by – I saw the owner remonstrating with the highway maintenance crew as they used a digger to push the car off. But only managing to tear a wheel off. The owner jumping up and down now in such exasperation it was comical. Perhaps he was regretting texting his mistress at the wheel and saying that he was going to be late? Now he wasn’t going to come at all.

In Catania. Easily found the fish market and settled down to watch the antics of the traders over some very fresh prawns and a glass of Etna bianco.

The heart of this city is mostly Baroque style-wise. Which is the  Spanish influence and belies their oppression of the local population into serfdom. It’s impressive but also kind of fake in a show-offish way.

Typically this is what every tourist takes pictures of. 

I actually heard a tourist say:

‘Lookit here..I just done took a pitcher of it.’ 

The life, the reality and the value is – for me – nearly always off the main square, away from the old town and in the back streets.  

It can be pretty hit or miss. But it’s something that calls me and makes me get the phone out to snap it. When you find it you know everything, the history is revealed. Please skip these bits if you feel I am blathering on.

Even this stuff is hardly ordinary. But it doesn’t shout at you. Rather it whispers…or at least it does to me. 

The nearest thing I’ve found in describing it is Japanese Wabi Sabi. The reveration of a pot that has not fired properly or in minor imperfections in almost any object. It makes it personal to you and worthless to others.

That night I went a street away to a place Saverio had recommended. 

He ran the bar down the street and had helped me out with parking. 

I had the grilled octopus on a potato mousse. And after, sautéed clams and mussels.  The best meal of the trip so far. There was the tiniest hint of thyme in with the mussels, wine and parsley…perfetto!

On the way back I found another fake for Captain Gee to add to his collection. I wished now I’d bought the T shirt I saw in  Venice of Mona Lisa doing a dab.

I had a nightcap with Saverio. Really getting into my stride now! 

He gave me some of the chocolate he was eating. ‘Try this. It’s Sicilian. I love it.’

It was that grainy stuff from Modica. But it had a flavour I couldn’t place. 

‘It’s a strange flavour no? Marijuana.’ He said and went back to the bar.

‘What..?!’ I said already laughing. 

A guy on a neighbouring table said. ‘Don’t worry…he means marjoram.’ 

But in truth I wasn’t sure!