Catania Part I

That feeling again.  That rare, exuberant feeling.  The one where you step out, once again, onto the streets of a foreign city.  That foreign city smell (it's different to how cities smell at home), the signs that make no sense, the moment you almost forget to look the opposite way when you cross the road.  Fume-belching, ramshackle busses, battered old cars in faded carnival colours, graffiti over every wall ("Mafia = Merda"), illegal street sellers, beggars, stray dogs, all playing out their lives under an indomitable Mediterranean sun.  It's intriguing travel heaven, it's sweaty travel hell, and it's name is Catania.

Catania, Sicily's second city, enjoys a well-located life on the island's east coast, in the looming shadow of Mount Etna, Europe's largest active volcano.  They say Catanians love the volcano - it protects them, it defines them, but it also punishes them, most notably in March 1669, where the lava flow reached the city, broke through the defenses, and caused massive damage (24 years later, a 7.4 magnitude earthquake would finish the job.) The resulting reconstruction saw the city centre built in the Baroque style, and the local population made extensive use of black volcanic rock, which gives Catania a smouldering, weary, melancholy feel.  Nonetheless, it's our base for the week, and we arrive with all the usual excitement, our feet itching to get out and see what we can find.

Etna smokes, Catania trembles

Up the city's main street, Via Etnea, Lizzie and I grab a gelato, do some window browsing, and head for the shade of Giardino Bellini, the city's premier gardens, named in honour of the composer, Vicenzo Bellini, who was born in the city in 1801.  The well-planted, lovely park is obviously a popular choice with residents, for it is a busy place, and who can blame them - the park represents a green oasis, nestled into a sea of lava rock, a perfect place to rest awhile, to gather one's thoughts, and to watch the world go by.

Grabbing a gelato or two on Via Etnea

Giardino Bellini

The next morning, and we have a lot to tick off our list.  We're staying in Catania all week, but with all our other plans, we only really have a day or so to get under the skin of the city.  We make a short detour to the church of San Nicolo, built following the 1669 eruption of Etna, and designed to be the biggest church in Sicily.  This ambition was achieved, but at such great cost that the project was bankrupt before the interior could be furnished.  Alas, what is left is an enormous, impressive, empty space - probably the biggest empty space in Sicily - but one which is almost a sad experience, and a warning to those looking to be the biggest and the best.  As is always the case, it's what's inside that matters most.

The empty space inside San Nicolo

Leaving San Nicolo behind, it's a short stroll to the city's Roman theatre.  Not being the types to pass up the opportunity to look at some ancient ruins, we are almost too eager to enter, and as some of the first guests of the day, our twenty-euro note is accepted with scorn and derision.  Chaos ensues in the ticket booth, but they eventually scrape together the last of their change, send us on our way, and we are soon picking through stone tiers, and looking down on an ancient stage which, over the centuries, has become submerged by a natural underground stream.  Stray cats prowl in the rows, one pounces on a butterfly but misses, and we stroll around the site, which we have virtually to ourselves.  All around, old palazzos and apartments overlook the ancient structure (which actually has its origins in Greek rather than Roman culture - the Romans rebuilt here) and for the archaeology graduate, it's hard to imagine a better view.

Catania's Roman Theatre

Catania's centre is delightfully compact, so it's a five-minute stroll into the very heart of the city, which is symbolically punctuated by the Duomo.  Catania Cathedral, dedicated to Saint Agatha, is a cool retreat against the increasing strength of the sun.  Inside the surprisingly light interior, there are the usual shrines to Mary, but nowhere near as ornate or wealthy as some that I have seen in Italy, and elsewhere on the Continent.  Out on the Piazza del Duomo, the cathedral's exterior stands dominant and eternal, whilst in the centre of the square, the crowds admire a lava sculpture of an elephant carrying an obelisk on its back. Probably a prehistoric sculpture, the elephant is synonymous with the city, and can be found on the Catania's coat of arms, and on the badge of the local football team.  The sculpture itself is impossible not to like, with its playful shape and jolly grin, and may be my favourite piece of the city.

Catania's beautiful Duomo

The city's iconic elephant