So first off I’d like to say, I really need to stop listening to my parents. If you’ll recall, last blog post I spent about half of it complaining about the walk my parents made us do from the train station to our hotel. Well I didn’t learn, and it happened again. Honestly I think I need a daughter of the year award or something for all that I put up with. This wasn’t SO bad, it was essentially half an hour of constantly picking up and putting down 20kg my suitcase due to the uneven footpaths, but far better in comparison to the last walk to our apartment. At least this time we only had to make it to one set of accommodation.

The apartment was slightly odd. It was absolutely huge, with three bedrooms and 5 beds, an open plan living and dining room with enough floor space to host a ball, a kitchen and then a lower level down a set of stairs. Now apart from the matching ugly green outdated furniture, that was probably inherited and thus can’t be thrown away, the pipes sticking out of the walls, the lack of heating and slight overall pokiness of the apartment, so far it wasn’t what I would describe as odd. Here is where it got odd. The downstairs area, affectionately named “the pit-of-nameless-horrors” by my Dad, had another bathroom. It was down a set of narrow spiral stairs, into an area that was badly lit, with a curtain that I was afraid to look behind and the creepiest bathroom known to man. I only went in there once or twice, as the 1 star motel room-esque fixtures and vibe that someone had died down there scared me off.

The bathroom upstairs wasn’t much better, with a bath tub that was sized more for a dog than a human. It had a nozzle you had to hold to wash yourself with while you squatted down in the “tub”, and the hot water would last 10 seconds, be replaced with freezing cold water for the next minute or so, only to be followed by 10 seconds of hot water. I would have preferred it just be cold really, as the false hope and unexpected gushes of icy water were unpleasant to say the least. I regret to say I only had one shower all week, but being a little smelly was far more pleasant than that stupid basin shower thing.

We did several outings while we were in Catania, firstly to the castle Ursino which used to be perched beside the sea. This all changed in 1669 when Mount Etna erupted and there was a massive lava flow turning sea bed into land and causing the castle to be 1km away from the sea. Inside the castle there was a museum housing artifacts and artworks that represent Sicily and the influences on their culture throughout the ages.

The castle is one of few buildings to survive the earthquakes that occurred during the 1669 eruption. Another is the Piazza Dante Alighieri, the second largest Benadictine monastery in Europe, which had huge barriers erected around its walls to protect it. They were successful in stopping the lava flow. In some places the lava climbed to 12m, no doubt concerning to the monks trapped inside. Now it’s just harmless old rocks around the perimeter for a tour guide to point at several times a day.

On New Year’s Eve we went on a train trip to the countryside to two small villages that the people at the tourism office had recommended to my parents. At the first we spent the majority of the time trying to find somewhere to sit and have a warm drink. We headed towards what Google told us was the main square, walked through and past it, wandered aimlessly for a bit then realised our mistake. The “town square” was essentially the town hall, and this small place had no distinct center, nor hussle and bussle. All the shops were closed and the streets were practically deserted. The town was also supposed to be famous for growing pistachios, which we saw little evidence of except for one small boutique selling pistachio spread. By the time we found a small cafe we had to drink up fast and get back on the train.

We had marginally more luck in the next town, which was supposed to be built out of the volcanic rock from Mount Etna due to its close proximity. From the train window we saw lava fields, which are essentially normal fields dotted with big black rocks occasionally. Upon arrival in the town the sunny day disappeared and the heavens opened up, causing us to take shelter in a cafe. From what we saw of the town through the view out of the cafe window, the buildings looked just like regular buildings (ie. not volcanic) save the church, which was actually made of a black stone. After a somewhat disappointing day (reminding me of that segment on the show The Checkout called ‘Product vs Pack Shot’), our night promised to be explosive.

Literally. A lifelong injustice my Dad has endured is that fireworks were banned in Australia when he was young, meaning he watched all his siblings play with them, only to be denied them when he was finally old enough. In Italy fireworks are legal and you can buy them on the street corner, so my Dad decided he would make up for 55 years of injustice in one night, and bought approximately a sh*t ton of fireworks (25 euros worth).

Just as we were leaving with our conspicuously large bag of minor explosives, we were heading down the street and a man (clearly not a police officer) pulled out a gun. Shocked that someone would do this on such a crowded street, I watched as he fired the gun into the air a mere meter from where I was standing. I continued walking (slightly faster now) and asked my Mum if she’d seen it, to which she replied, “Yep,” with a similar expression of awe on her face. My Dad, completely mystified, had not noticed gun wielding maniac standing right next to him. Alarming.

Letting off fireworks turned out to be quite awkward at first actually. Despite Dad promising that everyone would be doing it, the sheer absence of other explosive enthusiasts was surprising. We self-consciously let off some sparklers, which turned out to be super charged sparklers that were actually quite impressive, and thereafter opted to find a more secluded place in case we were mistaken about the legality of our purchase (there were army officers patrolling the streets with semi automatics, and I don’t speak Italian).

After we found a little alley we were able to relax and have some fun. Although I had been a bit hesitant earlier on, I had fun lighting the fireworks, then running away as fast as I could so that my eyebrows remained intact. There were several types of fireworks we had bought, the ones that shoot up into the air, the ones that do a sort of volcano thing and then the BANG ones (technical terms, I know). As an end to the evening we decided to go out with a ‘BANG’ (duh), and let off about 70 of the BANG kind at once. It was as impressive as one might hope.

The final highlight of our trip to Catania was on Dad’s birthday when we decided to do a tour of Mount Etna (shocking I know, considering I’m fairly sure I called it a big glowing death mountain or some such in a previous post). Our guide, a late 20’s uni student who studies science and does tours on the side to pay tuition, was excellent. On the drive he quizzed us on our knowledge of volcanoes, and awarded glasses of wine (or part glasses depending on how well you answered the question) for right answers. The Harisson family did quite well (not trying to brag, but there it is) and we scored ourselves 3 1/3 glasses extra of wine.

On the tour we did a walk up the side of Etna, which was so picturesque I could hardly believe my eyes. The snow was like powdered sugar and sparkled in the sun the way Edward does in Twilight (don’t hate me for that reference). We walked up to view a dormant lateral crater (a hole in the side of Etna essentially), and had stunning views out across the mountain with the contrasting pure white snow and the volcanic rock, the trees down the slope and the countryside spreading out into the distance.

After this we went into a lava tube (no lava in it any longer), which was dangerous entering as the steep staircase was covered in ice and snow. Once down there it was majestic; there were icicles hanging from the cavern walls. We had worked up quite the appetite by this point, so it was off to lunch, where we had a generous platter of cheeses and meats each, followed by pasta and the wine that was promised. On the way back we stopped in at a boutique specialising in Etna delicacies (the volcanic soil is very fertile and good for crops) such as honey, olive oil, sun dried tomatoes and liquors. The most iconic of the spirits is the ‘Etna Fire’ (a bright red liquid that screams ‘don’t f#$* with me’) which of course I tried. Rest assured its name is deserved, and it really did feel like my throat was on fire, although interestingly it wasn’t a burning like most spirits, but what I would describe as a scolding warmth. Funnily enough it was actually quite nice. This marked the end of the day, which was not only a highlight of Catania, but of the trip as a whole.