In the 13 years since Catania and I began our romance, it has become my second home outside of London. When I land at its airport, I feel a little bit fuller. For all its energy, chaos and noise, it makes me feel calm. A city that obstinately sits under the shadow of a live volcano and looks out over the sea holds a unique position in the world. As strangely quiet as its streets are on a Sunday afternoon, it is explosively alive on a Saturday night or a Monday morning.
Back in , I had spent time in Italy but had never met Sicilia , the chaotic, hot island off its foot. As part of an interrailing trip, a friend and I travelled in an AC-free bus from Palermo to Syracusa where we were romanced by a young baker and fireman; they told us to shorten our planned trip to Taormina and head to Catania instead.
Catania is livelier, cheaper and has incredible nightlife, they said. Taormina , even 13 years ago, was no place for two year-olds with a budget of 20 euros a day, so β after two incredibly sticky nights in a youth hostel where we lived exclusively off bruschetta β we jumped on a train to Catania. It was hot, so punishingly hot.
We had backpacks that felt like wearing an oven and cheap sandals that already formed blisters on our worn feet, but we eventually made it to Agora, a youth hostel in a square-cum-carpark. We dumped our backpacks in our dorm and went exploring. Catania was so different to anywhere I had ever visited.
Its grey buildings are mostly made from volcanic rock which has been painstakingly moulded and carved in the Baroque style. It was and still is covered in street art and graffiti. It felt creative and interesting. We walked through the fish market which, although closed for the day, was still left with an unforgettably fishy smell.
