Taormina was the last stop on our Sicilian adventure (unless you include Catania airport). We had scheduled an extra day there, intending to take a train trip around Mount Etna – a tour that included visits to the wineries on its slopes. It was not to be. We were travelling without a car and the vagaries of the local train timetables meant that the only way we could get to the tour’s starting point, or get back to Taormina from its end point was by very expensive taxi rides. We had to content ourselves with looking at the volcano from afar. There were no fiery eruptions. In the months leading up to our trip, Etna had been quite active, but all we saw was smoke.
It made a difference to the view. Perched on a ledge halfway up a rocky mountain, Taormina overlooks the Ionian Sea. If Etna’s exhalations were blowing the other way or simply ascending to the heavens in intermittent smoke rings, the luminously blue water stretched away to the horizon. But when the wind changed, the smoke reduced the view to a milky haze. No horizon in sight.
That being said, the views deserved every cliché you could lift from a real estate brochure. Stunning. Panoramic. Sweeping. We strolled down Taormina’s main thoroughfare, the pedestrians-only Via Corso, to the piazza adjacent to the Metropole Hotel and looked over the railing. We were on the cliff’s edge, a cactus-strewn valley falling away beneath us and the coastal highway and railway line part of a toy town far below. We gaped and took photographs.
Our accommodation in Taormina had also advertised city, mountain and sea views. As it turned out, these were from the shared rooftop terrace. Also shared were the kitchen and, in consequence, the fridge. These were adjacent to the terrace which was up two flights of stairs from our apartment, which was up four flights of stairs from street level. We were destined to enjoy regular aerobic workouts on this holiday.
Even walking around town could be testing. While the Via Corso was level going, most of the side streets were staircases. On our first evening in Taormina, we climbed up and down many of them in search of dinner. At every turn, we were accosted by restaurant touts and finally abandoned any search for “authentic” cuisine, taking a courtyard table at the gaudiest, most neon-lit establishment of all. The Siciliano Osteria Pizzeria menu did include some distinctively Sicilian dishes, but sometimes just a plain pasta with garlic and chilli is all you feel like. We had intentions of sampling the famous Etna Bianco wines but restaurants only offered them by the bottle and, these days, one glass of wine with dinner, or very occasionally two, is our limit. (Oh for those good old advertising days when Fred and I would happily demolish two bottles of wine at lunch.)
We had a list of restaurant recommendations from a friend of a friend, a Melbourne restaurateur who runs food tours in Sicily. So we booked at Trattoria Tischi Toschi, another tiny restaurant down one of those steep side streets. Paradoxically, for a restaurant acclaimed by Slow Food and the Michelin Guide for its authentic Sicilian food, the name refers to a Sicilian who returns to the island from elsewhere, having lost touch with his traditional way of speaking and culture. Here we ate baked sheep cheese, fennel and orange salad, and spaghetti with tuna bottargo – all perfectly nice but less than memorable.
Because of the side-street location, we had hoped to avoid the loud entertainment by the bands of roving musicians who worked the bars and restaurants along the Via Corso. (Who was it that said the definition of good taste is someone who knows how to play the piano accordion, but doesn’t?) When we arrived at Tischi Toschi, someone was playing softly on a guitar. It turns out, this was probably the owner/chef. But the peace was not to last. Suddenly, the roaming band burst upon us for a lengthy set of, we assume, traditional songs. Note to self: always have small notes or change on hand for the expected donation at the end of the performance.
It’s all for the tourists, of course. Even more than in Palermo or Siracusa, Taormina was all about tourists. It also has a reputation for glitz and the nightly passeggiata revealed just how glitzy many of those tourists were. We couldn’t compete with the bejewelled women and impeccably attired gentlemen, although Fred did enliven his customary all-black look with his rather suave Gazman Panama. We lacked the other de rigeur accessory: a dog. These were usually small, fluffy, and tucked under someone’s arm. We doubted whether their tiny feet ever touched the ground.
During our two full days in Taormina, we walked up and down the Via Corso approximately two dozen times. We caught the bus to Castelmola, which is hundreds of metres higher up Mount Tauro, along a perilously winding road. We found the local Coop supermarket, where we sourced bread, cheese and other essentials for lunch on our (shared) terrace. We ate ice cream, drank spritzes and made a ritual of morning coffee at Billy & Billy overlooking the Piazza Duomo and its Baroque fountain. We visited the impressive Greek theatre, which is really a Roman theatre built on the site where the actual Greek theatre used to be.
On our last night in Taormina (and last in Sicily) we planned to visit another of the recommended restaurants: Trattoria da Nino. It was a long walk to the far end of town and, foolishly, we had failed to book. Famous for “home-style” Sicilian food, the restaurant was full, leaving us to trudge back along the Via Corso for the final time. Then, up a broad staircase and away from the crowds, we discovered the Casa Ciampoli Ristorante Pizzeria. At a table in the small piazza open to the stars, we looked out over the rooftops and enjoyed the specials of the day: for Fred, linguine with lobster, served in the shell and, for me, tagliolini with truffle from the slopes of Mount Etna. It was the most memorable of all our meals in Sicily.
The truffles were a surprise – something unexpected in Sicily’s hot climate. The secret lies in altitude. It can get cold on those high slopes and it seems three varieties of truffle can be harvested from the mountainside above the 1300-metre mark. There are white truffles known as “borchi”, black truffles called “scorzone”, and the “uncinato”, harvested in autumn. My pasta dish likely contained the last of these, which has the most distinct flavour and aroma.
Our departure from Sicily was somewhat fraught. As I attempted to check in online 24 hours before departure from Catania airport, I was told our ITA flight was full and we were on standby. Already anxious, we consulted our Taormina host about booking a taxi to take us to the bus station. “Just go to the parking area outside the Porta Catania and you’ll find plenty of taxis,” he said. After a tense wait of half an hour and a certainty that we would miss our pre-booked bus, a taxi arrived. We made the bus, which took us on a leisurely stop-start meander through coastal villages before turning onto the freeway and finally, to our relief, depositing us at the airport. After all that, we had time to spare.
But the stress continued. The check-in clerk confirmed that we didn’t have a seat on the plane. “But we booked months ago,” I wailed. “It doesn’t matter when you booked, it’s about when you checked in,” he said. We discovered that check-in for ITA opens 72 hours before departure time and it obviously pays to get in early. We were instructed to check our baggage anyway, then go to the departure gate where we might…just might…get a seat on the flight. After easing our anxieties at the airport’s champagne bar (a cold glass of French is a balm for everything) we presented ourselves at the gate, were allocated excellent seats up the front of the aeroplane and arrived safely in Rome along with our suitcases. Note to our travel agent: please make clients aware of airline check-in times.
Do I have great memories of our Sicily trip? Yes. Would I do it differently in future? Also yes. Perhaps an organised tour as a way to see more of the island while dialling down the anxiety levels. And I wouldn’t choose to come home with COVID, but that’s another story.
This is the last post about what may be our last trip to Italy. Read the others here:
Rome
Palermo
Ortigia