Mortadella? Molto Bella!

The nun with the baking tray covered in aluminium foil came over to the stop where we waiting to catch the bus from Catania to Taormina in Sicily. A teenage girl instantly stood up and offered the nun a seat,  which was gratefully accepted. In return, the nun offered the girl the tray, though this offer was declined. A middle-aged woman sitting at the stop then looked at me, pointed and said “Tedesco, tedesco?”. She was

thought I was from Germany. “Sono Canadese, lui e inglese (I am Canadian, he is English) said my wife who was sitting next to me. She had been practising, as this was the third time she had said the sentence that morning, the first time had been on the very early morning ferry from Valletta to Catania and the second had been at  a nearby coffee bar, where we had drunk a strong cup of espresso a few minutes earlier. I had needed something in my stomach after deciding not to eat breakfast before taking the ferry. Even the relatively flat Mediterranean is sometimes too rough for my delicate disposition.

“Inglese eh?” said the woman, mulling this fact over, before asking us in Italian where we going. When she heard we were going to Taormina, she rolled her eyes, rubbed her stomach and told us that that we would eat very well there and that the food was good, especially the mortadella. At hearing the word “mortadella”, the nun shot up, put her tray down, approached us and I think told us all about mortadella, ending her description with an enthusiastic flourish of her arms that described a circle about the size of a large dinner-plate, which indicated to me that the mortadella in Taormina was large in circumference and probably worth investigating further. Apparently exhausted by her exertions, the nun sat down, but the middle-aged woman, taking her cue from the nun, got up. She came to stand by me, pulled out a creased picture and pointed at it, saying “Mia Mama.” Apparently her mother wasn’t the one sunning herself on the rock, she was the one swimming in the pool. “Molto bella, mia mama, molto bella” the

woman said proudly and went on to say she had two boys herself, one of whom was interested in karate, emphasizing the point by chopping the air with her meaty hands, while making “Ho, ha, ho” noises. Apparently her husband had died, but she still enjoyed dancing and she then began to sway suggestively in front of me. Luckily, at this point the bus arrived and the door opened. The nun got on first as did we at a

respectful distance. Her dancing curtailed by the arrival of the bus, the woman smiled, waved to us and walked off to sit at another stop.

The bus headed northwards past several resort towns on Sicily‘s eastern coast. The weather was warm and the sun was just beginning to come out, thought the top of Mount Etna away to our left, was covered in clouds and there was evidence of plenty of snow on the highest point that we could see. Just past Taormina‘s railway station the road began to ascend the lower slopes of Monte Tauro, the hill that the town is situated upon. The culmination of this climb was a series of hairpin bends skillfully negotiated by the driver, his vehicle seemingly going to be too long, but always just fitting the twisty turns of the road. At the bus station, the nun turned to us, pointed outside and said “Taormina!”  After a journey of an hour, we had arrived at our destination. 

After leaving our luggage at our bed & breakfast, situated on the slopes of Monte Tauro with superb views over the town and the coastline towards Catania, we headed into the centre. The main thoroughfare, Corso Umberto I, meanders through the town from the Porta Catania to the Porta Messina. Walking along this pedestrianised street I saw that almost all of the town houses had balconies full of potted plants, which

enriched the faded facades of the buildings and their fragrances augmented the subtle hints of sauces and almonds emanating from the cafes and restaurants; I gradually began to unwind from the journey and to understand why, when combined with its staggeringly beautiful situation, this town has become so popular with tourists. This attraction started with the English nobility ‘doing’ their Grand Tour of Europe in the late 18^th Century and continues to this day, judging by the number of visitors we came across.

There are three piazzas along Corso Umberto, Piazza Duomo, with its 13^th Cathedral dedicated to St Nicholas of Bari, Piazza IX Aprile, with gorgeous views over the bay far below and Piazza Vittorio Emanuele with its large selection of outdoor eating places, where we headed first of all. We then turned right and after a five minute walk, arrived at the Greek Theatre. This building dates from the 2^nd Century AD, when the Romans enlarged and transformed the original Greek amphitheatre, to better accommodate circus games and gladitorial contests. Here were amazing vistas of the coast northwards towards Messina, with cable cars descending the hillside to the shore, where the waves were lapping gently onto the sandy and sheltered beaches.

On the road to the theatre ceramic hens, flowered tiles, olive oil, Marsala wine and models of traditional Sicilian carts vied for your attention. Some shops sold puppets representing various figures from Sicily‘s turbulent past, some of good character such as Charlemagne, some bad such as Arabic infidels,and some of a traitorous nature, such as one Gano di Mangosa, who is always depicted with squinting eyes, as a traitor

can’t look someone straight in the eye, it is said. Other stalls were also selling mouth-watering gelati  and this combined with the adverts for some of the local specialities such as Pasta con la sarde, made with freshly caught sardines and Pasta alla Norma, made with tomatoes, aubergines and ricotta cheese, began to make us both feel hungry! I was also keen to sample the local mortadella, as it had been recommended to

me by a nun, and if you think about it you don’t get recommendations like that too often.