My Sicilian Reset

Catania.

I'm unsure how to say it.

Seriously.

Do I put the emphasis on the “t”?? Or on the “nia”? I’ve been desperately trying to listen to how people pronounce it, but it seems to vary from person to person.

Hmmm...

Anyway… the flight from Geneva was relatively drama-free. No significant incidents... except that my phone was dying... but that ALWAYS happens. No big news story there. The flight was far from full... and because of it, I managed to snag myself a window seat. Flying over the Alps was stunning. It was a bluebird day, just a scattering of clouds... and so I could see right down onto the mountains. I really wanted to catch a glimpse of the Matterhorn... still on my bucket list... but unfortunately, it didn’t make an appearance on my fly-over.

I snapped a few photos of the Alps as I soared above. At least, I think they were the Alps.

They must have been.

Of course they were.

After crossing the Alps, we flew over the Tyrrhenian Sea, dotted with little islands… and I kid you not, I could see right down onto Isola Palmarola and Isola di Ponza. From there, we swept over Sicily and... touchdown in Catania!

Of course, my luggage was the second-to-last to come out... BUT... I should mention this minor detail... not before I accidentally stood at the wrong carousel (for quite a long time) and had a slight mental breakdown after everyone else collected their bags and disappeared... leaving me standing there… alone...

... and luggage-free.

Meltdown.

Once I finally composed myself, took a deep breath... and surveyed my surroundings, I realized (with much horror and embarrassment) that I was at the completely wrong carousel.

Classic.

I hustled over to the right one... only to wait, wait, wait, wait, wait... and experience yet another mini mental collapse while staring anxiously at the little luggage hatch... willing my roly-poly-olie to appear.

Checking baggage is not for me. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again.

Guess that's another point for Team carry-on backpack.

From the airport, I hopped on a bus to the city center. I managed to get off at the exact right stop to find my hotel... with my phone at 3%. Again... always...

I will never learn.

My address and all my necessary entry codes for my Catania accommodation were on the phone... and I had no pen and paper to write them down, so there I was in a new city... and basically in a race against my cellular battery. Any sane person would have probably stopped at a café to charge it, but I just wanted to get there.

I made it... with 1% left.

Way to go, me!

I shouldn't congratulate myself. I should be ashamed. Why can't I ever remember to charge my phone? I would say that it's going to kick me in the ass one day... but it already has. Many times.

Upon arrival… something spectacular happened that completely lifted my spirits. I’ve been a bit down the last couple of days... but this little moment? I was exstatic. It changed my whole day.

As I checked into my hotel, a young couple were at the front desk. I'm assuming they were either the managers or the owners... or both. The man took my passport, snapped a quick photo of it for their records... and then showed me to my room. All very ordinary things that happen at hotels when you check in. Nothing out of the ordinary. But... about fifteen minutes later, there was a light knock at my room door.

Who could it be?

Well... if it wasn't his wife... asking permission to see my passport again... as well as another piece of ID. Odd. Right?

Why?

What was going on?

I felt like a bit of a fugitive.

Well, well, well... she wanted to see my passport again because they couldn’t believe I was born in 1972. I had to prove I was that old!

I had to PROVE I was old!!!

It was fabulous!!!

She was absolutely mortified when she realized I was, in fact, actually 53 years old... but honestly, I didn’t want an apology. It was the best compliment I’ve had in ages.

My “hotel” isn’t really a hotel at all. It feels more like a converted apartment floor with a few small rooms... each equipped with a bed, bathroom, and a dresser. When I open the big main, floor-to-ceiling windows, there’s no veranda, just a view of the big courtyard below, where constant renovations are underway. Thankfully, the noise doesn’t start too early... and usually ends by mid-afternoon.

The high of being mistaken for someone much younger had to wear off eventually… and it did... as soon as the toilet in my room began leaking all over the floor after my very first use. I couldn’t believe it. How humiliating to have to dash out into the lobby and beg someone to deal with your lavatory issues. Right off the bat!!! Thank goodness I'd only done a number one... I don’t think I could’ve handled the level of embarrassment that would’ve come with a number two.

That would have taken me beyond what I could tolerate.

Catania is beautiful... yet chaotic and lively. The streets are packed with tiny cars and fearless motorcyclists, scooters, and bicyclists weaving through traffic. I really think traffic signs and rules are merely suggestions here — they don’t seem to hold much clout. Crossing the street can be terrifying... as I'm not convinced drivers have much regard for human life. How anyone (and everyone) seems to survive unscathed is open for discussion...

There’s graffiti everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Nothing is left untouched by the spray can. And this graffiti isn't the artistic kind at all... It's mostly tagging and random scribbles. Here and there, you’ll find genuine street art, but it's few and far between.

People smoke. A lot. Every café and restaurant table still has an ashtray... and when I see them, it feels like I'm stepping back in time. As someone who quit smoking ten years ago (pat on the back), it’s wild to see smoking still so common... even on outdoor public patios.

I do love seeing the city full of mom-and-pop shops, fruit and veggie carts, and local markets. I'm obsessed with the streets that are strung up with banners and colourful umbrellas. I can't get enough of them. There’s something so magical and fairytale-like about the umbrellas that I usually end up taking about 150 photos.

I can't help myself.

For the past couple of days in Catania, I have been attempting to let my intuition lead me... as opposed to the damn blue dot of Google Maps. I needed a break from blindly following that thing around. So instead of sticking strictly to the tourist path, I end up in the most bizarre places. Sometimes I’ll suddenly realize I’m completely off the beaten track... and even the only tourist around... but I just keep going.

Catania has a real raw beauty mixed with history... and chaos, as I mentioned above. Chaos... not in the way of chatoic tourists. Don't get me wrong... it definitely has its share of tourists... though nothing like Rome. It’s more about the energy... the noise, the traffic, the graffiti, the laundry fluttering from balconies... and the neighbours yelling to each other.

It feels alive... and very stereotypical Italian. If you know what I mean?

Even the architecture has its own distinct feel... it’s unmistakably Sicily.

This is a city BUILT over a city.

Baroque facades stand with black lava stone buildings, a reminder of the 1693 earthquake that flattened much of Catania. History refuses to let go! Everywhere you look, there’s a story of Ancient Roman ruins, destruction, rebuilding... and somehow, it’s all lovely. You can practically see the layers of time around every corner.

I think it's a good place for me to be right now.

Truthfully... just before this trip, I almost cancelled. My heart and my head were not in it... which is strange for me. Usually, I’m counting down the days and planning up to three or four trips ahead. But this time, I was in a bit of a funk. I didn't really want to go. I wasn't ready... mentally, physically, emotionally, financially... nada...

Yet... here I am... and I’m determined to make the best of it.

After all, I’m in Italy!

In Sicily, dammit!

So yes... I will drink Aperol spritzes until I practically become one... which shouldn't be long at the rate I'm going.

And what better way to lift my spirits than with a food tour?

I swear if I could do one everywhere I went, I would.

The tour was incredible. What I loved most was our guide, as she blended the history and folklore of Sicily & Catania with the history of the food itself. It wasn’t just delicious... it was meaningful and educational. We had fried fish, pizza, little dough parcels with spinach and ricotta, scardaci (like an iced gelato), pistachios, beer, arancini, cheeses, chocolate cannoli... SO much food!

I was completely stuffed. So much so that I had to go back to my room and have a nap.

And you have to hear this... did you know that many (most) Sicilian food tours feature horse meat???

True story.

I made sure to note my dietary preferences prior to the tour... "no horse, thank you."