Head to Paris this summer to learn all about ancient Rome

It's a big year for anniversaries.

A century since the start of the first World War.  Three since the dawn of the Georgian era in England.  And 2000 years since the death of Augustus Caesar.

Historians, TV programmers and museum curators around the world are each trying to convince us that their event had a massive impact on our world.  The Augustan camp gives us Moi, Auguste, empereur du Rome at the Grand Palais in Paris until 13 July.  This collaboration between the Louvre and the Capitoline Museum in Rome looked so big as to be unmissable.  It's the one event I built our weekend around.  And big, it turned out to be.  If not in any other way, then certainly in size.

There's a point in this show where you've been through galleries on Augustus' political story, his family, religion, and an awful lot of sculpture, and you come into a gallery that opens up into a grand staircase flooded with natural light.  "A bit smaller than I expected, but a great show," I thought.  Before realising that this wasn't an exit, but an ascent, and we'd now continue through an additional series of galleries above the ones we'd just toured.  More religion, ways of death, everyday life and the Augustan home, politics and civic architecture in the colonies.

This wasn't the insight into the character of Augustus I imagined we might get from the title, but a retrospective of just about every aspect of Roman life and art during the man's reign.

If you, like me, read a constant diet of Roman history, and historical fiction, and are beguiled by everything about the time period, you will happily poke around here for at least 2.5 hours.  If you're less of a fanatic, then even with the excellent English audio guide (essential, since all of the labels are, of course, en francais) you might find yourself a bit bored.  My husband, history buff that he is, didn't find enough of a story to hold things together and hit the "too many statues" point about 2/3rds of the way through.

There are still enough highlights, however, to be worthy of anyone's attention.  The Augustus of Prima Porta, one of the best known of all representations of the great man, sets the stage in a stately first room, made more dramatic by a reproduction of the towering walls in Rome on which he inscribed his laws.  (French translation running behind the statue.)  I loved the circular gallery that surrounded me with portrait busts of the whole extended family.  Roman sculpture at that time went in for realism and each of these is distinctly individual.  Any reader of I, Claudius will be entranced at the characters come to life.  There's an extraordinary video of the Ara Pacis (the altar of peace, newly restored in Rome, but some bits brought here) that shows how it would have been vividly painted in its active days.  And the galleries upstairs displaying household items from Pompeii really are extraordinary, featuring a wide range of beautiful things in magnificent condition.  There's no individual item here that isn't both lovely, and interesting to inspect.

The exhibition's problem, I think, comes from its resolutely old-fashioned approach to display.  With the exception of that video, and an interesting room upstairs where they use projectors to create a Roman room around you, the decor of which keeps changing, this is a procession of grand objects, on static display, with prim labels beside them.  I thought of the day before, when a small show at Malmaison of the Empress Josephine's books and decorative objects on birds and flowers was made far more dramatic with the use of soundtrack, video and lighting.  There is little of that new approach here; perhaps the curators feared "dumbing down".

Even a change of wall colour would have helped.  The majority of the exhibition space is white.  White sculpture against white walls.  Wonder if there was a latin phrase for snow blindness?  Only the frescoes from the House of Livia, left, really stood out against this background.  A rich, jewel-toned background would have highlighted most of the artefacts so much more.  Instead, we seemed to be looking at the white, pristine world of Rome as imagined by the Victorians.  Rather than the lively, messy, colourful world that the Ara Pacis video showed us really existed.

I expected a concluding gallery or two that showed me the impact that Augustus and his age had on the world.  From Virgil's stories inspiring art to aspiring leaders studying political strategy to architects of important civic buildings pinching ideas.  If it was there, it was far too subtle.

And so I staggered out of the show, happy … but feeling a bit overdosed.  As if I'd eaten far too much, but none of it really adding up to a meal.  If you're going to make the trip to consume what this show puts before you, make sure that your taste is solidly Roman before you start.

5 tips for rediscovering the magic of Paris

Samuel Johnson famously said that when a man is tired of London, he's tired of life.  When a man is tired of Paris, it just means he's been there eight or ten times.

Maybe it's Baron Haussmann's drive towards uniformity, or the fact that every bistro has pretty much the same menu, or the reality that once you've been up the Eiffel Tower a couple of times it's just a very long queue for a lift with a view.  Paris, once you become a frequent visitor, can get a bit boring.

This is, no doubt, a complete travesty to my American readers, who imagine Paris as the trip of a lifetime.  But you need to remember that Paris to London is a 45-minute flight, and a frequent business trip destination.  It is in the same orbit from London as Chicago is from St. Louis.  And though I loved the Windy City, I hardly considered it exotic.

We set off for the City of Light for the bank holiday weekend on the express mission to see an exhibition at the Grand Palais.  (Of that, more in my next entry.)  We purposely made no other plans and had no specific destinations in mind.  We would, we thought, just drift.  And this turned out to be a brilliant idea.  Freed from the short list of "must see" sights, with no expectations whatsoever and leaning towards lesser-known activities, we ended up cobbling together some great experiences that made this one of my best visits in many years.

Here are five activities that will revive a jaded Paris visitor's love for the city.

1. Tour the Opera House (Palais Garnier)

I've passed the Palais Garnier so many times that its magnificent architecture, grand as it is, had faded into the general stage set of Paris.  Turns out you can go inside on a self-guided tour.  The interior makes the facade look understated.  It is one of the most magnificently lavish buildings I have ever encountered, its profuse marble, mosaics, frescoes, gold gilt and lighting making the public areas as much of a show as whatever was playing behind the curtain.  It has all the opulence of Versailles, but with much smaller crowds and a manageable number of rooms.

It is, of course, from a different time period.  Built in the mid-1800s under the artistic direction of architect Charles Garnier, by whose name it's now often known, it created a look for Napoleon III's new empire.  What came to be called Second Empire shares the rich ornamentation of historic French styles, but combines them, and borrows from others, to create something new and totally of that time.

You'll pay 10 euro to get in; don't skimp and spend an additional 5 on the audio tour, essential to

understand both Garnier's artistic intent and how the building was used.  Without it I wouldn't have appreciated, for example, that the Salle Des Glaces (literally, hall of ice cream or ices) was decorated with women representing pastry, ice cream making, confectionary, tea and coffee … all the things consumed here.  Or that Garnier started the tradition of red curtains and upholstery in auditoriums because, with candlelight, it is the colour that is kindest to women's complexions.  Every step through the building is fascinating, but my highlights were the stunning grand staircase, the jaw dropping grand foyer (based on Versailles' hall of mirrors) and some fascinating 19th century opera stage set models in the library.  (Which confirm I would have enjoyed Wagner a lot more 120 years ago.)  It all ends in a gift shop more than double the size of the one at the Royal Opera House at Covent Garden, filled with everything from small souvenirs to hand-crafted chairs modelled on those in the boxes.  There's even a child-sized version if you want to indoctrinate your kid into grand opera.  You just need to fork out 1,300 euro.

2.  Go to Malmaison

The horrific crowds of our last visit to Versailles had put us off palaces, but this one's a different matter.  Napoleon and Josephine shared this home.  Josephine stayed on after the divorce.  It carries the spirit of its owners in a way few great palaces do.  Napoleon's council room is decorated as a grand campaign tent, as if he were still out in the field on some great conquest.  The library is a neo-classical pastiche much to his taste, filled with memories of his campaigns.  Upstairs, several rooms are filled with portraits, china, furniture, models and other odd bits, all adding up to quite a good little museum on the great man.

But it's Josephine's touch that really lingers here.  While outside she borrowed her style from the English, planting parks and gardens you'd find mistake for Sussex, inside she fused neo-classicism, Regency style, Egyptian influences, a love of flowers and soft colours to create something unique which went on to influence others throughout the 19th century.  Her dining room is tastefully elegant, her music room impressive, and her bedroom completely over-the-top yet somehow cosy at the same time.  At the moment there's an exhibition on the top floor all about her love of birds and flowers, showing how she not only decorated with them, but sponsored expeditions and collected magnificent hand-illustrated books upon their conclusion.  The curators have enlivened the show with sound (birds, bees, wind), video, lighting and flower displays to make it even more fascinating.  This special show is
only on until 30 June; it you happen to be in Paris, don't miss it.

Malmaison also benefits from years of excellent restoration.  I visited here almost 15 years ago and was bitterly disappointed by a shabby house and almost non-existent garden.  The transformation has been extraordinary; it looks as if Josephine has just stepped out and may return at any moment.  I think she'd still be disappointed in the gardens.  For a woman famous for her roses, they still have a way to go.  But as interiors go, this is hard to beat.  And best of all, there's hardly anyone here.  It is an undiscovered joy … we often had rooms all to ourselves.

3.  Attend a concert at La Madeleine
Earlier this year our visit to the Amsterdam Concertgebouw taught us the joys of concert going in foreign cities.  Before this trip, we discovered classictic.com, a website that lists classical concerts all over the world, searchable by city, and brokers tickets for you at a reasonable, normal rate.

Thus we stumbled upon an evening of Mozart (3rd violin concerto, mass in C Minor) at La Madeleine church.  It's a strange and wonderful interior; a 19th century recreation of a Roman civic building decorated with some religious statuary to make it into a church.  We toured it on a past visit and were intrigued, but found it really came into its own as a concert venue.

It also led us to a realisation.  The majority of our modern musical experiences are acoustically perfect.  Halls built and baffled to direct sound, recordings and earphones meant to deliver a flaw-free mix direct to our ears.  But this wasn't the circumstance for which most classical music was written.  The acoustics at La Madeleine weren't great; a lot of sound got swallowed in the dome or the vast side altars, which is exactly the way it would have been for Mozart.  The effect meant that the main orchestra or choir dulled a bit.  The music blended to become a bit fuzzy … although still wonderful.  And then, over this, cut the violin or the soprano soloist.  The sharp, high tones slicing through the air in a different way, and bringing an entirely distinct level of sound.  The vocal gymnastics of strong soprano, when presented with perfect acoustics can, frankly, sound like shrieking.  In a more natural setting, it's exactly what the singer needs to cut through the challenges of her surroundings.

4.  Go out to eat with a local
Not every city offers this opportunity, but I'm lucky enough to have plenty of friends in Paris.  Including a wonderful former boss.  We met up on the Monday.  A working day for him, though not for us, so a chance to do lunch with the business crowd and get a real look at the hustle and bustle of local work life.

Paul took us to Le Mesturet, a bistro specialising in food from the Southwest of France.  Turns out the locals are just as sick of the repetitive menus of steak tartare, steak frites and tarte aux citron as the rest of us.  By finding someplace with a regional speciality, they can escape the same old thing.  It's also a revelation to see how a native, at ease with how things work and totally fluent in the language, sparks an entirely different reaction from the waiters.  Not necessarily better, but far more attuned to specials, what's good today and what are the best value wine matches.

Le Mestruet wasn't our best meal.  (Aside from our introduction to the Paris-Brest, a circle-shaped choux pastry filled with praline flavoured creme, named after the bicycle race between those two cities.  Evidently the shape is reminiscent of a bicycle wheel, and it was much loved by cyclists for the calorific energy boost.  As we were merely wandering around the Opera after lunch, rather than cycling to Brest, we split one.)  In fact, most of our dining was so average I'm considering skipping my regular post-trip restaurant review.  But, thanks to the company, it was one of our best experiences.

5.  Stop to give an American directions
Seriously, try it.  Spot an American puzzling over a map, and offer to help.  He will be so relieved to hear his native language spoken in conjunction with confident advice, he will almost certainly engage you in conversation.

We ended up the highlight of the day for three older couples from Hershey, Pa., who … once we steered them towards Notre Dame, but told them their time would be much better spent at Saint-Chapelle … wanted our honest opinions about all sorts of things.  Their amazement at meeting a dignified, Downton Abbey-esque Brit married to an American who'd actually been to their home town (that's a story for another day) knew no bounds.  Talking to them, seeing the wonder and excitement with which they were tackling every moment in Paris, their absolute delight in getting to walk those streets, reminded me of just how special Paris is.  Not only Paris, but anywhere.

Travel is a privilege.  If you ever need proof … just ask a sightseeing American.

The best of Chelsea happens off the main avenue

"Getting sick of purple iris interplanted with grasses now.  Something different, please?"

That's the phrase that came out of my mouth as I reached the last show garden on the main avenue of this year's Chelsea Flower Show.  What's trending in horticulture was glaringly obvious: crowded, informal planting continues; grasses have taken over from gypsophilia as the drifting plant that unifies the herbaceous perennials; dark purple dominates, with deep reds and apricot browns as counterpoint; the hard landscaping is modern, austere and unobtrusive.  So much for the main avenue.

As a long-time Chelsea goer I've learned that this isn't where the action is.  Have a quick look at the show gardens, grab a Pimms and get down to the serious work.  The best stuff is in the smaller display gardens and in the great pavilion.  The latter, of course, is where the real gardeners concentrate.  I was on a mission to buy next year's sweet pea seeds, find a supplier for more interesting pond plants than my local water gardening store supplies, and to see what colour medal the Hampshire nursery that provided most of my herbaceous perennials got.  All three accomplished, and a gold for Hardy's Cottage Garden Plants.  Hooray.

Pictures speak louder than words when it comes to gardening, so here are a few highlights.

Make a date with The First Georgians at the Queen's Gallery

After all the baroque bombast of our Sicilian holiday, I'll admit … I was happy to be home.  Happy for a place where people observe rules when approaching a roundabout, and where my eyes could be soothed by the regular lines and cool colours of Georgian architecture.

Thus it seemed logical to top up my cultural tank (it had been 10 days since I'd seen anything significant, after all) with a bit of sane, measured English culture, by way of Germany, in the Age of Reason.  The First Georgians: Art & Monarchy 1714-1760 is running at the Queen's Gallery, Buckingham Palace, until 12 October.  This is a spectacular show for anyone who likes Georgian art or history, and especially for those who want to understand how history shapes the world we live in today.  Because, as this show ably demonstrates, the foundations for so much of modern life ... from copyright law to greed-driven investment boom and bust cycles to a fascination with celebrity … all started in these thrilling years.

This is one of the biggest shows I've ever seen at this venue, filling all of the exhibition rooms.  Make sure you leave at least 90 minutes, and take advantage of the audio guide that comes with your ticket.

You'll explore the fascinating personalities of the first two Georges and their families.  Queen Caroline is one of my favourites, and deserves to be better known.  There are fascinating maps and prints that allow you to delve into architecture, military history and urban life.  Cases of luxury accessories like snuff boxes, miniatures, weapons and a jaw dropping casket encrusted with gilt figures, jewels and rock crystal (admittedly, veering back towards Sicilian bombast) that's also an early juke box playing Handel tunes.

The two largest rooms mix furniture, paintings and decorative objects, into which the audio guide gives great insight.  Don't miss the harpsichord.  These instruments differ from pianos in that the keys are plucked by quills instead of hit by hammers.  This one uses quills from the legendary ravens at The Tower, and you can listen to a snippet of a performance upon it.  (There's a bit from the Handel music box as well.  It's a shame, frankly, that they didn't run a glorious 18th century soundtrack throughout the whole exhibit.)

The paintings show the first Georgians as great collectors.  Detailed watercolours of exotic flora and fauna expose them as patrons of adventure and discovery.  The portraits remind you of the magnificent personalities of the age, the table settings entice you to imagine some great parties.

And if you work in my industry, you'll be reminded throughout of the Georgians as marketers.  A new family on an unstable throne, most of what you see here is part of constant attempts to promote themselves as the right choice for Britain.  Deploying culture like corporate sponsorship, images of St. George or the English lion like a corporate logo.  Benevolent, constitutional monarchs who were ushering in a golden age.  Looking around this show, you'll believe it.

The exhibit is co-sponsored by the BBC and there's a brilliant three-part series fronted by historian Lucy Worsley that tells the wider story, using many of the items on display here.  Watch that first (it's no longer on iPlayer but you can pick up versions on YouTube) and your experience will be even better.

Forget the Sicilian sightseeing, history or weather … Mangia!

And finally, it's time for the food.

Cannoli heaven

This trip was always going to be as much of a culinary as a cultural adventure.  Anyone who's grown up in a family with Sicilian roots knows that food is far more than fuel for the body.  It the glue that holds the family together.  A physical metaphor for history.  The centrepiece of any celebration.  A way to distinguish your family from others.  But most of all it is, quite simply, love.  If Christianity hadn't had a big meal to build its iconography around, Sicilians would have invented the Last Supper.  Frankly, it's amazing they couldn't work food into the Annunciation.  Surely the Virgin might have been having a mid-morning gelato-filled brioche with an espresso when the angel stopped by?

Between my grandparents' kitchen, decades of restaurant dining and some serious cookbooks, I thought I knew Sicilian cuisine.  Wrong.  Actually eating in Sicily was the culinary equivalent of the first time you see the Wizard of Oz, when everything switches from black and white to colour.  All was familiar, but different … and better.

Tastes were brighter, more delicate, more sophisticated … with fish and vegetables taking a far more dominant role than the classics of the Italian-American kitchen.  Part of this, no doubt, is the immigrant celebration of new-found prosperity.  Once-impoverished peasants, now able to afford it, show off with expensive protein.  Meatballs the size of your fist, anyone?  The situation was no doubt exacerbated by the fact I grew up 1000 miles from an ocean.  Even Sicilian cooking can't do much for a Mississippi River catfish.  And the seasonality is intense.  I don't think I've been anywhere that had a more obvious connection with the herbs that are blooming and the fish that are running right now.

The lessons I bring back to my own kitchen?

• Use more herbs.  Particularly whatever is in leaf at the moment.  I thought the Sicilian kitchen was all about oregano and basil.  Hardly noticed it.  We had a huge variety of herbs, particularly what we saw in the hedgerows.  Pasta Palermitana (aka Pasta con le Sarde) was studded with the wild fennel decorating every roadside.  This dish on its home turf was so much more subtle than my recipe.  Far more balanced, with the sardines barely discernible.  The herb was much closer to fennel tops than to the bulb; that's what I'll use next time.  Mint turned up in handfuls in all sorts of pasta dishes, garnishing meat, stirred into vegetables.  Inspired by seasonality, when I got home I cut back my borage and used it for ravioli filling.  Shows potential.

Ravioli Palmeritana at RossoDiVino, Taormina

• Speaking of ravioli … Masterchef has us all over-thinking pasta thickness.  Rolling 'til it's so thin you can read though it is just not the way it's done in Sicily.  We had plenty of more substantial, chewy thicknesses, and they were great.  John and Greg would want something finer, but I don't care.

• Must do more carpaccio.  I didn't expect to have so much raw fish.  From the sweet pink prawns that were in season to delicate platters of raw tuna or swordfish … I kept getting starters that would have been as at home in a Japanese restaurant as in Italy.  (In fact, it turns out that a primary export market for Sicilian white wines is Japan.  Something I now understand completely.)  Granted, I'll never be able to have fresh swordfish cut in whole cross-sections from a creature that was in the Med yesterday … but I'm sure I can source good enough stuff to play around.

• Everything is better with pistachio.  I didn't need a lot of convincing on this point.  But I'd thought of pistachio as something to nibble in its raw form before dinner, or as a base of fabulous desserts.  In Sicily it was used as a savoury crust, sprinkled as a garnish, stirred into pasta.  The varieties were endless.  Particularly noteworthy was pesto Siciliana.  Sicilians swap pine nuts for pistachios, or almonds, or both, and take an equally cavalier attitude to which herb they use.  I made some pesto with pistachio, mint and a generous hit of garlic when I got home as a crust and sauce for salmon.  Success.

Platter for four at Sapori Smarriti

• Have more fun with antipasto.  We had several platters that were works of art.  The varieties and unusual combinations were stunning.  A wafer-thin slice of grilled aubergine (eggplant) over soured cream in a shot glass.  Prosciutto serving as a case for wedges of preserved artichoke.  Sharp cubes of pecorino in a salad of pickled onions.  They take this as seriously as fancy French canapés, and the artistic possibilities are the same.

• Must stop worrying about my cannoli.  I tried a lot here on their home turf.  I expected my favourite dessert of all time to be substantively better at its point of origin.  Nope.  They taste exactly the same.  So next time I buy shells at Italian Continental Stores, whip confectioners' sugar into ricotta and pipe in that filling, I will ditch my inferiority complex.  I still won't, however, make my own shells.  Life is too short for that.

• Pasta con la Norma, in the land of its birth, is different.  No basil!  (My recipe has handfuls.)  But a topping of baked, smoked ricotta.  I didn't even know this existed.  My first 49 years have clearly been blighted by its absence.  It's soft yet firm, sweet yet slightly bitter, delightfully wood smoked  … and elevates the aubergine and tomato to a whole different place.  As I have never seen it before, I doubt I can get my hands on any here.  But it may add fuel to an argument for a smoker.

Since returning home I've taken Gorgio Locatelli's Made in Sicily back off the cookbook shelf and am reading it with a whole new understanding.  I feel like I'm starting over, and am totally inspired.  For the best of the meals that are triggering my Sicilian cooking renaissance, read on.

Best restaurants … and the meals of memory

Bricco & Bacco - Near the duomo in Monreale, this elegant restaurant is all about meat on an island that celebrates fish.  This is the kind of place where the manager dispenses with the menu and tells you what's good tonight.  We listened.  A starter of baked, new-season artichoke and ricotta, a bit like a simple soufflé, had us both deconstructing to try to recreate at home.  Then came the best Bistecca Fiorentina I've ever had … 800 miles south of where it's the speciality.  Herby and charred on the outside, perfectly rare in the centre, superb quality that needed little adornment (or cooking).  Pats of butter melting over it the only additional flavour needed.  We had some grilled vegetables.  Mostly because we felt guilty about consuming that much red meat without any mitigating factor.  The only disappointment was dessert, when they talked me into what they claimed was "the best tiramisu ever".  Ordering one simply proved the point that the best tiramisu ever is … mine.

Girgenti's swordfish carpaccio

Il Re di Girgenti - Gourmet, new-style take on the classics, consumed on an open-air loggia overlooking the temples of Agrigento and the sea.  Stunning experience, if a little slow on the service.  Prosecco with little squares of deep-fried chickpea flour as an amuse bouche.  Amazing what great seasoning can do for a peasant staple.  The antipasto of swordfish was simply marinated in a sharp olive oil, dusted with pistachio bits, garnished in the centre with a mound of rocket and very soft, fresh ricotta.  Piers' squash-filled ravioli was a bit underwhelming, but I triumphed with Sicilian wild pig in a sweet and savoury tomato sauce with pappardelle.  Piers was much happier with that pork in fillet form for his main course, with the delicious novelty of beetroot sauce below it.  I had red tuna loin rolled in sesame seeds, grilled on the outside and still raw in the centre.  Prices on par with fine dining in London; worth it for a special meal.

Exquisite alalunga

Osteria RossoDiVino - A tough-to-find little gem down a side alley in Taormina, run by two sisters who are obsessed with local specialities and seasonal fare.  On a night in early May that meant a celebration of Alalunga, aka Albacore, that delicate, whitish-pink member of the tuna family.  Lightly grilled, topped with sweet and sour red onions of a delicacy we don't get in the UK, complemented by a drizzle of balsamic glaze and a dab of apple puree.  Strange, but it worked.  The excellent seafood also included an antipasto platter of raw baby shrimps and carpaccio, and I had the best take on pasta con la sarde I had throughout Sicily.  Top all that with the fact that the chefs could turn out a killer chocolate fondant, and the girls knew how to pick out some fine wines.  This is definitely on the gourmet end of Taormina's options.  Try Il Giardino for excellent, but homier and more humble fare. (Including my best pasta con la Norma of the trip.)

Il Gusto dei Sapori Smarriti - A deli and gourmet shop at the edge of the market in Ortigia that elevates antipasti to a high art.  The inspiration for my comments about this Italian amuse bouche above.  They hand carve and compile everything on order, so it can take a while.  But the wait is worth it.  The beguiling variety of cured meats was a testimony to the marvellous diversity of the pig.  Cows and sheep strutted their stuff in a wide range of cheeses, and there's a surprisingly broad range of wines for such a casual place.  Build your sightseeing around it.

After all this gluttony, I was amazed to have returned to Weight Watchers and have lost half a pound.  I'd guess that I have the dominance of fish, and a lot of walking, to thank for that.  Lord knows it wasn't the portion sizes.  Proper Sicilians serve bowls of pasta in the same quantities as Sicilian Americans.  "Mangia! Mangia!" The more you eat, the more you feel the love.  La vita e bella.

Trio of fine hotels anchor a successful round-Sicily tour

The island of Sicily is a triangle, which you'll often see represented as the Trinacria …  three legs coming out of a Medusa's head.  If you're going to get a sense of the diversity of the island, you really need to stay a while on each side.  We did so, and were exceptionally lucky with our hotels.  I'd happily return to any of them and felt like I had the best room in the place at two.

Palazzo Ducale Suites, Monreale (Palermo)
We'd originally cashed in some of my husband's loyalty points for a free stay at a corporate hotel in the centre of Palermo.  But horror stories about driving in town changed my plans.  Moving out to Monreale, as mentioned in the sightseeing blog for the area, was a great idea.  

We chose the Palazzo Ducale Suites, seven modern suites carved out of the joining of two old buildings on a side street barely 100 yards from the duomo.  Charming and attentive staff, very helpful and friendly. Enormous rooms. We had a sitting room with couch, desk, tv, etc (shown here), plus a bedroom and bathroom. Spotlessly clean, all recently renovated, everything in top condition. (Trust me, this is not the norm in Italian B&B!)  Fastest and most dependable WiFi we had in Sicily.  A 30-minute bus ride takes you to Palermo where you can then do a bus tour of that city before returning to your calmer hilltop.  They have a 20 euro a night deal with a car park about 10 minutes away, and they'll get your car for you and help you pack it when it's time to go.  

There are a few quirks, however. The mattress ... at least in our room ... was horrible. Remember staying with friends who only had a pull out sofa bed, back when you were all too poor for proper furniture? That's what you get here, clearly feeling the metal structure below. Thankfully I was too exhausted from the walking to be kept awake, but sensitive sleepers would have had trouble. They might also have been awoken early by the hustle and bustle in the street below at 6am. This wars with the benefit of being across from a bakery; the morning smells are magnificent. Finally, the breakfast lady is a bit surly and the selection limited. You won't want to linger!  

Despite those considerations, if I ever returned to the area I'd come back here. At 120 euro a night it was a real find, worth putting up with a few flaws.

Foresteria Baglio Della Luna, Agrigento
The tourist trade here seems to be either a quick one-night stop or Italians doing reasonably-priced beach holidays.  So the market for the kind of charming yet upscale, value-for-money boutique we like is pretty slim.  I opted for Foresteria Baglio Della Luna and was mostly delighted … primarily because we got what's unquestionably the best room in the house.  Do whatever you must, but make sure you get into Room 206.

The Foresteria is an old defensive farmhouse; a tower and walled gardens, now added to

with a modern, two story wing of additional hotel rooms.  Everything is done in 19th century Sicilian style.  Lots of dark wood, oil prints, tiled floors, burgundies, golds and deep greens.  Room 206 is at the end of the modern wing, with a balcony and window, both overlooking the temples.  And the balcony looking down on the lush semi-tropical gardens below.  There are some lovely public spaces.  Both the flower-filled courtyard and the traditionally decorated bar offer comfy seating; which is a good thing, as this is the only place the WiFi works well.

We stayed three nights, which was very rare.  Clearly, this place hosts a lot of bus tours.  Upscale groups, well catered for, but the tourist-in-packs syndrome could be irritating.  On the plus side, I think the staff was so delighted to have someone to get to know for more than 12 hours that they really bent over backwards for us.  We had a very high level of pampering.

The one drawback here is the restaurant.  You'll want to eat here because, frankly, there's nothing in walking distance and it's too much of a hassle to drive.  We dined in for three nights and, sadly, ended up with some of the most average food we had in Sicily.  Nothing truly bad except for some overcooked lamb one night.  But dishes ranged from the uninspired to the decidedly odd (strawberry risotto?  Interesting, but it really didn't work).  I suspect it's the negative consequence of mostly cooking for large groups.  And yet, on May Day we had the chef's special menu of the day, which was excellent.  So it's worth a try … but quality is unsteady.

Villa Diodoro, Taormina
We were seriously worried before arrival.  We'd booked with a local travel agency on the strength of their recommendations and photos of the place.  Two weeks before we left, we finally got around to reading the Trip Advisor reviews … which were decidedly mixed and featured a lot of complaints about the need for renovation.  Our conclusion after staying there:  this is a hotel where there's a big difference between standard and superior.  Pay for the upgrade.

We … thanks probably to the fact that we needed a triple … got what must, once again, have been the best room in the place.  416, on the top floor, at the end of the hall, a massive room with a curving wall of windows and a wrap-around balcony overlooking Etna,Toarmina town and the bay below.  Thoughtful service:  Antonio parked our car for us and promptly brought us a third chair for the balcony, a barman helped me limp up from the pool after a fall, the front desk let us stay in the room 'til 3 on check out day.  The pool is extraordinary.  Dug into a platform built into the cliff below the hotel, the views are stunning, you have a sense of complete privacy and there's a bar staff to bring food and drink.  Staying here and only using it as a base for sightseeing would be silly.  The pool deck is a holiday destination on its own.

Like the Foresteria, I think the difference here may be that we stayed multiple nights (five) while at least half the hotel seemed to be Americans on bus tours stopping for one night and getting banquet food in the huge dining room.  They all seemed to be on lower floors … and they were always the complainers.

Another plus for the Diodoro is that it's on the North side of the village, almost at the point the winding ring road exits.  It means it's a twisty, nerve wracking drive through town to get there, but it stands a bit apart from most of the rest of the hotels.  Meaning that your views include the spectacle of Taormina itself, and the little neighbourhood beyond the hotel isn't quite so swamped with tourist crowds.

I wouldn't book this one direct, though.  The rack rate on our room was an extortionate 400 euro; we paid nowhere near that through our booking agency.  Because they work with so many groups, I think this is the kind of hotel best booked through specialists who can negotiate with their group rates.  (We used L'Isolabella)

Siricusa's Greek heritage worth a wander, but baroque Ortigia casts a stronger spell

There are two reasons most people go to Siricusa: Greek ruins, and the Baroque island of Ortigia.  I found the first a bit of a disappointment, but the second utterly charming.

The city on the southeast corner of Sicily (anglicised to Syracuse) is remarkably ancient.  Founded about 2,700 years ago as a Greek colony, it became a city-state to rival Athens in wealth, military power and architectural glory.  Home to the great inventor Archimedes, birthplace of Santa Lucia, visited by St. Paul, capital of the Roman government in Sicily.

Multiple earthquakes and layers of succeeding populations mean the architectural legacy of those great ancients isn't as widespread as you'd think.  Most of what you can see from Greco-Roman times is concentrated in an archeological park just northwest of the current city centre.  The star sight here is the theatre, one of the largest in the Greek world.

Size doesn't make up for preservation, however, and if you've seen examples at places like Epidaurus or Dougga, this will be somewhat of a disappointment.  There's little left of the orchestra or the architectural backdrop that would have been behind the stage, and in summer season it's covered with a modern infrastructure to allow use for the public to see the Greek classics here.  More interesting to me were little surrounding points our guide called to our attention.  Indentations in walls where commemorative plaques once rested.  A natural spring cascading out of the rock at the theatre's top, said to then return underground and flow to the Fountain of Arethusa on the edge of Ortigia.  Christian tombs hollowed out of the walls behind the top rows.  Caper plants growing from cracks in the stone.

A dark ear and a crying virgin
Lower on the site you'll see the romantically overgrown remains of a Roman amphitheatre.  Again, not particularly impressive if you've seen more complete examples in Rome, Verona or El Jem (Tunisia), but interesting as a reminder of how much bigger ancient Siricusa was than its modern counterpart.  The most unique part of the site are the quarries, at the back of what's now a lovely tropical garden,  But would have been a hellish stone valley filled with slaves.  Workers started high and cut down, creating deep, towering gothic arch-shaped chambers into the rock.  The Orecchio di Dionisio (Ear of Dionysus) is the largest, and a required stop on the tour of the ruins.  Plunge into the darkness, gawp at the ancient chisel marks, marvel at the cacophonous echoes.

Also impressive … but you might not notice without a guide to show you … is a giant altar to Zeus.  Basically a long platform with steps on three sides on which they could sacrifice 50 or more cattle at a time.  I've wandered a lot of ruins and this is the first of this size and presentation that I've seen.

Nearby, and unmissable by the way its modern, Space Mountain-style architecture looms over the rest of town, is the shrine of the Madonna delle Lacrime (Our Lady of Tears).  The small plaster figure of the Virgin Mary that's said to weep and grant miracles may not do much for you, but it's worth a quick visit to note that Italians can do bold, modern architecture as well as restore old stuff.  The tent-like cone above the main sanctuary is remarkable.

A five-minute drive through an unremarkable modern town, mostly new since heavy WW2 damage, and you arrive at the real glory of Siricusa: the island of Ortigia.  Although you could easily miss the fact it's an island if you're not paying attention while walking.  Without a very narrow bit of water, Ortigia would simply be a peninsula jutting out from the main part of town.  Whatever you call the land mass, this is where you want to go.

Most of the architecture here is baroque, due to a major reconstruction effort after a 17th century earthquake.  But architectural roots run deep.  Head to the duomo and you'll find the ancient Greek temple of Athena hiding behind the curlicues, saints and swirling angels of the baroque facade.  Look at the side of the building and, especially if you've just come from Agrigento, it will be obvious how those engaged Doric columns were once the exterior colonnade.  Inside, it's even more clear as more modern artists didn't embellish that much.  Remove a few walls and decorative bits, swap the crucifix for Pallas Athena, and you could jump back 2000 years.


Caravaggio, as intended
The piazza outside is beautiful, with an odd lozenge shape and several magnificent palace facades.  The "must see" here for art lovers is the basilica of Saint Lucia at the end of the piazza, just 100 yards from the other church.  Here, where legend says St. Lucy was martyred after refusing to worship pagan gods and to wed her pagan suitor, hangs one of the few Caravaggio altar pieces still placed as originally intended.  It lacks the spotlit clarity of his best … though that may simply be the need for cleaning … but even an average Caravaggio is a breathtaking thing.  And this has the added poignance of an emotional self portrait.  Legend says he painted this soon after hearing of his mother's death.  He was unable to return to mainland Italy due to a crime he'd committed, so couldn't attend the funeral.  That's him just over the shoulder of the gravedigger in the forefront, unable to gaze at Lucy's body while everyone else looks on in reverence.

From there, you need a minimum of a couple of hours to wander about Ortigia, but you could easily spend a full day.  Once you leave a handful of main roads and squares, tourists fall away and you're wandering peaceful, winding lanes overhung with intricate wrought iron balconies.  Head to the edge of the island and walk along the coastal path for grand views of both architecture and the sea.  Here, the whole place feels a lot like the coast in Malta … which is no surprise, given that island is just a quick hydrofoil ride away.

One of the most picturesque sights along the coast is the fountain of Arethusa, supposedly the outlet of that spring from the theatre, and the legendary place of refuge of the eponymous nymph who took shelter here when fleeing a suitor.  Today it's a striking water feature filled with towering papyrus plants, overlooked by gelaterias.  Elsewhere along the coast, if you have a guide to show you the spot, you can observe three holes drilled into the shallows where Archimedes supposedly anchored the claw machine that plucked Athens' attacking ships out of the harbour.

More relevant to modern life, there's an excellent market filled with a luscious variety of fruit, vegetables and fish mongers.  Note that neither her, nor on any shopping street on the island, will you find an Ortigia shop.  Turns out that terribly upscale fragrance boutique is a British brand, playing on the image of this sun-bathed mediterranean spot.  At the end of the main market lane, next to the water, you'll find a fabulous deli called Il Gusto dei Sapori Smarriti.  Not only is it a heaven for browsing, but they do striking antipasto plates perfect for re-fuelling your sightseeing energy.

Etna wines have French, terroir-based classics in their sights

I've long believed that Sicilian wines were amongst the best value-for-money, and least understood, in Europe.  But, admittedly, I didn't know that much about them.  This trip was as much about exploring oenology as history and culture.

Here are some top revelations:

• Yes, Nero d'Avola is a safe bet for gutsy, fruity reds.  But Norello Mascalese is the aristocrat of the island's red wine grapes.  Sensitive and thin-skinned, like Pinot Noir, it takes on much more of its terroir and, when made well, has much greater depth and sophistication.
• There's plenty of great white wine on the island, though we rarely think of Sicily for whites.  If you think about their seafood-heavy cuisine, it seems obvious.  In fact, it turns out Japan is one of the biggest export markets for good Sicilian whites, so well do they match raw fish.
• Insolia (also spelled Inzolia) is a dependable white wine variety and usually reasonably priced.  Fairly straightforward and meant to be drunk immediately, these are good, simple summer "glugging" wines.
• Grillo and Carricante were the most sophisticated of the white wines we tasted, with minerality, fruit and floral undertones and an ability to age.
• Planeta, Cusamano and Donnafugata are the largest, most frequently-seen brands and you'll be in safe hands choosing any of them off a restaurant wine list.
• There's a lot more to Sicilian dessert wines than Marsala.  Zibbibo and Passito di Pantelleria are beautiful.  Vino di Mandorla … almond wine … is a more subtle, less sweet take on Amaretto and pistachio lovers may weep with joy upon discovering the milky liqueur made with that nut.
• While vines are grown in almost every part of Sicily, it's the vineyards that snake around 2/3rds of Mount Etna that are making a real play for fame in the world of fine wines.

That Etna revelation came after a magnificent day touring four vineyards on the volcano's slopes with our own private guide.  Valeria Carastro is a local girl who's become the lead agronomist at the Etna Wine Lab.  Booking her for just the three of us was a bit of an extravagance, but it was the best investment three wine lovers could have made.  She arranged private tastings with four houses, made sure we got to talk to the makers, showed us a magnificent, historic palmento (wine processing building), answered all of our many questions about wine and kept us enthralled all day.  She was also a hell of a lot of fun, and we'd all be vying to have her at our next dinner parties if she lived in London!

We started at Murgo, a family-run operation that produces a variety of wines but is doing something really special with sparkling.  We tasted the brut, extra brut and rose, all on par with … and frankly better than … most classic champagnes.  The same biscuity, dry mouth feel, but very subtle bubbles.  We were delighted to spend time with the winemaker, Michele Scammacca del Murgo, who spoke with  real passion about each of his wines as his children.

It was here that I got my first understanding that Etna is approaching wine with the same complex, sophisticated view of terroir as Burgundy.  The volcano adds a unique minerality, which changes depending on which past eruption laid the tufa and ash that became the soil.  Meanwhile, a vineyard's height on the mountain and facing direction creates thousands of distinct microclimates.  Just as in Chablis, the field below a chestnut forest may yield one subtle flavour; a hillside with extremes of temperature another.

We wound a few hundred meters higher up Etna to Barone di Villagrande, where maker Marco
Nicolosi is the latest winemaker in a family that's been producing here for almost 300 years.  The Carricante grapes from which his Etna Bianco Superiore is made, however, are thought to have grown on Etna for  more than 1000.  We tasted a range of delicious whites here, accompanied by a magnificent … if perhaps too large for wisdom … Sunday lunch.  Antipasto, pasta (hand made, with zucchini and ham), beef and panna cotta.

Next we drove around to the back side of Etna, where an inland valley creates a whole different set of circumstances.  And offers one fabulous view after another of green vines growing out of black terraces, bordered by black stone walls overflowing with wildflowers.

First stop here was Fuedo Vagliasindi.  All of the wineries we had visited thus far offered B&B, but this place took it to a different level.  The owners have clearly put an enormous amount into restoration of the gracious old manor house, which now looks like something out of a style magazine and was filled with fashionistas from Catania enjoying Sunday lunch.  We passed the mayor of Catania on our tour.

Fortunately their restoration didn't change the amazing 18th-century production area, or palmento, taking up the lofty ground floor.  We saw the outside double staircase that allowed the pickers to move in a constant line up from the vineyards, dumping grapes through a window into the stomping floor, and then back down without crossing their colleagues.  Inside, the biggest men would trod the grapes, releasing juice into a series of channels carved into the stone.  A massive chestnut screw press took over to squeeze out every last drop.  Storage vats led to more channels that ran around this room and to the next, a cathedral-like space where pipes descended from the channels to chestnut ageing barrels the size of a modern SUV.  All exactly as it would have been 200 years ago; an extraordinary sight, brought to life by Valeria's excellent descriptions.

Back upstairs, on the terrace running across the piano nobile of the great house, we tasted five Etna reds, both from Vagliasindi and smaller winemakers who were friends of Valeria's.  It's a testament to the variety of Etna wines that the three of us each had a different favourites.  We could have lingered for the rest of the afternoon on that stunning terrace, sipping the reds and watching the light fade.  But we had one more stop.

Thanks to savvy marketing that targets wine lists at fine Italian restaurants, Planeta is probably the best-known Sicilian label to London foodies.  They operate across the whole island but are passionate about local variety; their corporate tagline is "for each terroir, its own winery."   Their Etna winery is amongst their newest, called Sciara Nuova … translated as "new lava" … after the relatively modern flow atop which the grapes are planted.  It's from a 17th century eruption.  Things take their time here.

The vineyard manager poured us each a glass of chardonnay and invited us for a walk in the fields.  Evening was approaching; the sun had already sunk behind the bulk of Etna, lengthening shadows and deepening all the colours around us. We strolled on elevated walkways built atop lava walls created to clear stones from the planting area.  Wildflowers and herbs perfumed the air as we crushed them beneath our feet.  We discussed how Sicilian wine making families don't see the land as something they inherit from their parents, but something they take care of for their children, and how important it was to bring out the the individual personality of each field and grape.  It was so beautiful, I felt like weeping.

Back in the newly-restored palmento we tasted the range from those fields, falling in love with several and organising a group shipment to London.  The "Eruzione 1614" was the most sophisticated and complex of all the reds we tasted that day, and should develop nicely for a few years in our cellars.  By the time we've drunk it all, I hope I return for another tour.

There's so much more to learn about Etna wines.

Taormina's magic if you dodge the cruise crowds and focus on the view

Taormina bears more resemblance to Cannes than to the rest of Sicily.  Like that magnet of the French Riviera, it sits on a stunning bay, is packed with upscale shops and restaurants, and owes its existence to posh, eccentric Brits who established a beachhead for over wintering here … and the European aristocracy followed.  In the 1950s it was one of the most elegant places in Italy, packed with stars who made this an alternative, slightly earthier Riviera.

Today it is, quite understandably, the tourism hub for the whole island.  It's tidier, more visually charming, packed with more retail, conveniently close to Catania airport, offers more English-speaking locals and is more expensive than anywhere else we went.  It's also far more crowded.  Not only are there 175 hotels listed in a village you could cross on foot in half an hour, but one or two cruise ships a day carry their passengers up the hill to wander, shop and tour the famous Greek theatre.

The result?  Between 10:30 am and 5 pm, the centre of Taormina isn't charming at all.  Mass tourism and the onslaught of cruising Americans have destroyed the quaint elegance they're here to see.  Which is why, perversely, you must stay in Taormina and spend some time there.  It's in the mornings and evenings, and on the edges of town, that you really capture the magic of the place.

We stayed at the Villa Diodoro for five nights.  The "we" in this case switching from my husband to friends Hillary and Lisa, as Sicily, Part 2 became our annual Northwestern Girls' trip.  (More on the hotel in another entry.)  Next to the communal gardens, on the northwest edge of the village, we were within easy walking distance of all we needed but had just enough of a cushion from the main drag of the Corso Umberto to get some distance from the crowds.  The 200 yards of the Via Bagnoli Croce outside our hotel felt like its own little neighbourhood, and we did our best to settle in like locals.  Lisa played with the coach at the local tennis club, we made friends with the team running the nearby Enoteca and market, and stopped there daily for happy hour.  By limiting our Taormina time to the beginning or endings of days, and spending the middle elsewhere or by the pool at the hotel, we feel we got the best the town has to offer.

Here are your four priorities for any visit.

1.  The views.  I don't think I've taken in a more spectacular combination of sea, mountain, flora and architecture without turning my head.  A visit to Taormina would be a triumph if you simply sat on a balcony at the Villa Diodoro and watched time pass.  Etna looms large and majestic in the centre of your view.  Snow-topped, massive, eternal … yet constantly changing.  Sometimes clear, sometimes ringed in clouds, sometimes puffing vapour from its still-active peak.  The light changes throughout the day, casting its slopes in different colours.  To your right, Taormina itself clambers up its hill; a soft palette of ochres, rusts, pinks and gold against green foliage, white stone and garish splashes of pink and purple bougainvillea.  To your left, the Mediterranean.  The coast stretching away in a gold and green arc, the water shimmering in a multitude of blues and greens.  An ever-changing cast of fishing boats, sailboats, luxury lots and cruise ships adds interest.  Pour yourself a glass of Etna Rosso, put your feet up and watch.

2.  The shopping.  One advantage of the tourist concentration:  All the stereotypically Sicilian stuff you'd want to buy is here.  Hand-painted pottery, hand-made linens, red coral jewellery, gourmet foodstuffs, wine and plenty of other souvenirs from traditional to tacky.  Taormina still pulls in a well-heeled crowd and this is obvious in clothing and accessory shops.  It's especially tempting on the shoe front.  Our greatest find was the Bottega del Sandalo at Via Bagnoli Croci, where a proper craftswoman will custom-make sandals to fit your foot, at prices from 50-100 euro.  You can choose from a variety of styles and colours, literally creating your vision from scratch in an afternoon.  A few doors down, at New Mamma Mia at No. 48, our friend Tania will introduce you to local wines while the gregarious Fabrizio assembles simple plates of antipasto from the adjoining, family-owned mini-market and deli.

3.  The theatre.  Honestly … if you're an aficionado of Greco-Roman ruins, the theatre here isn't that great.  It's quite a sparse, featureless ruin when compared to stunning examples like the ones at Epidaurus and Dougga.  But I doubt you're here to study the architecture of ancient Greek theatres. You're here for the view, and few ruins of any kind have such a dramatic backdrop.  They still use the theatre for concerts; we weren't in town for any but I'm sure that would be amazing.  Note, however, the result:  In the summer season the site is clad in bleachers and other infrastructure for the modern crowd.  Which might have contributed to its underwhelming impact as a piece of antiquity.  You do get a reduced price on admission at these times. 

4.  The garden.  For me, a delightful and unexpected highlight of Taormina.  Florence Trevelyan was one of those classic English eccentrics of the glory days of the empire.  She went on her grand tour, never went home, settled in Italy, married a Sicilian doctor and almost single-handedly put Taormina on the map with posh English people after her husband became mayor.  The garden … now a public park … is her creation.  It's a wacky combo of traditional forms, exotic plants, outrageous garden follies and giant bird cages.  She was also responsible for the gardens of what's now the extremely upscale Hotel Timeo, visible from the Greek Theatre.  (There's a story knocking about amongst local tour guides that Florence was a royal cousin who was exiled after having an affair with the Prince of Wales.  Not a
grain of truth in it, though his mistress Alice Keppel did decamp to Florence for a while.)

Trips from Taormina
The usual visits are Catania, Messina or traveling to the top of Etna … which we didn't do.  Or wine tasting around Etna and a day in Siracusa … which we did.  Those deserve their own articles, and are coming next.

A shorter, less historically significant, but enjoyable visit is to Acireale.  Good if you have an afternoon to kill and want something off the tourist track.  We took the coast road rather than the motorway.  Slow, but gives you a chance to take in local life and see plenty of architecture.  (Since you'll spend lots of time in traffic.)  We found the contrast between crumbling, derelict grand buildings and newly-renovated ones with "for rent" signs in their windows fascinating.  It feels like this whole coast is seeing renewal.

Acireale is a medium-sized town just north of Catania, known for its baroque architecture.  It's worth a wander around on a photo safari if you're a fan of architecture.  Nothing famous, but plenty of pleasant things to look at.  Not as crowded as Catania and someplace fairly untouched by mass tourism.

There's a tiny fishing village called Santamaria la Scala just next to Acireale, separated from town by a hill that maps show to be a nature reserve.  This offers another picturesque wander, well away from tourists, and a very authentic, fresh-from-the-sea fish restaurant called Il Mulino.  If you can put up with slightly surly service, the seafood is as fresh and authentic as you can get.