Today we left Catania with the smell of raw fish underneath our fingernails and soles of our shoes. Although our time there was brief, it was well-lived.
We stayed at a bed and breakfast run by Silvia and her parents. Her father picked us up at the airport and drove us to the loft painted with a cloud ceiling and appropriately equipped with a Bialetti tarnished by what seemed like decades of good espresso brewing.
We stayed at a bed and breakfast run by Silvia and her parents. Her father picked us up at the airport and drove us to the loft painted with a cloud ceiling and appropriately equipped with a Bialetti tarnished by what seemed like decades of good espresso brewing.
Dinner was exceptional. The restaurant is al fresco and its tables stand on the same ground the fish market is earlier in the day, still smelling of the market. We ate large grilled prawns, shrimp and octopus tossed in olive oil and lemon, seafood risotto, and a plate of spaghetti tossed in blood-rich tomato sauce topped with an abundance of mussels.
The fish market was, to me, a spectacle. I have always preferred the aroma of fresh fish over gardenias. Whether it's cleaning the bones out of a supermarket fillet at home in my crummy apartment or cracking open a can of sardines, that smell is enchanting.
The fishermen wore rubber boots and had crates of prawns and mussels and clams and sardines stacked next to beds of eel, octopus, and large swordfish with their heads still on, almost piercing the thick arms of the butchers as they reached across to their customers. The prices of the fish were haphazardly jotted down on what appeared to be ripped up scrap paper. As I stood circling the Pescheria, my feet were drenched by a fisherman washing down the scraps of fish from the day’s sales on the pavement. For anyone who loves fresh seafood (and plenty of it), Catania is a lovely place to experience it. As we have already established that one does not simply eat the seafood of Italy, but live it.
The fishermen wore rubber boots and had crates of prawns and mussels and clams and sardines stacked next to beds of eel, octopus, and large swordfish with their heads still on, almost piercing the thick arms of the butchers as they reached across to their customers. The prices of the fish were haphazardly jotted down on what appeared to be ripped up scrap paper. As I stood circling the Pescheria, my feet were drenched by a fisherman washing down the scraps of fish from the day’s sales on the pavement. For anyone who loves fresh seafood (and plenty of it), Catania is a lovely place to experience it. As we have already established that one does not simply eat the seafood of Italy, but live it.
As is customary, Giò and I caught a picture at a small art-house cinema called Cinema King a few steps from the loft with no air conditioning, but an auditorium with architecture more beautiful than most churches back home. Un padre, una figlia, a Romanian picture dubbed in italian, was what we saw.
We also enjoyed the parting gift from our host, fresh Mandarino al Limone from one of the many chioschi in Catania, a beverage only found there, made with seltzer, fresh lemon, and whatever fruit concentrate of choice. When we asked him what the beverage was called, he laughed and said, “Non ha nome! (It doesn’t have a name!)”
As we walked home from the city’s center, I could understand why Catania is not teeming with tourists. It is a gritty Italian city--one of the largest in Sicily--and its people don’t care to impress you (siesta is highly respected here). The buildings could use a power wash, the streets better lighting, and the garbage could be picked up more often. But none of that matters because Catania is Catania.
We leave Catania with memories of gentle souls and terrific food. As we travel to Taormina by train, Mt. Etna is smoking on our left and the open blue sea stretches out on our right, the sun beating down on its waves so it glimmers with enchanting brilliance.
We also enjoyed the parting gift from our host, fresh Mandarino al Limone from one of the many chioschi in Catania, a beverage only found there, made with seltzer, fresh lemon, and whatever fruit concentrate of choice. When we asked him what the beverage was called, he laughed and said, “Non ha nome! (It doesn’t have a name!)”
As we walked home from the city’s center, I could understand why Catania is not teeming with tourists. It is a gritty Italian city--one of the largest in Sicily--and its people don’t care to impress you (siesta is highly respected here). The buildings could use a power wash, the streets better lighting, and the garbage could be picked up more often. But none of that matters because Catania is Catania.
We leave Catania with memories of gentle souls and terrific food. As we travel to Taormina by train, Mt. Etna is smoking on our left and the open blue sea stretches out on our right, the sun beating down on its waves so it glimmers with enchanting brilliance.