Sicily is one of my favourite places on earth. The combination of epic landscapes and heady individual freedom makes it a great place in which to adventure. Below is some advice which I wrote for my uncle, who is just about to go. I have laced it with some of my photos. Obviously, my advice is based around a set itinerary, but I thought I should post it here because what is the internet for, if not for sharing one’s experiences with others? [That is the most naive thing I have ever said]

Palermo

We stayed in the historic quarter which is a good idea for several reasons: it is convenient for walking to the main attractions of the town; the area is overwhelmingly atmospheric; there is good accommodation there; it is very authentically Sicilian, not just a tourist zone.

We only stayed one night in Palermo, so are perhaps not the best advisors. We went for something a bit different to cap off the holiday http://www.palazzo-ajutamicristo.com/English/History1.htm . This place made for a bizarre and fascinating experience. It was hauntingly beautiful, shabby, and thickly aristocratic. It reminded me of that gothic building in Blade Runner. The room was comfortable enough, but not thoroughly clean and a bit pokey. We could park the car inside the the palazzo courtyard, which was very handy. I wouldn’t have wanted to stay there for more than one night  at the price, but it was worth it just for the brief experience of feeling like a mediaeval Palermitan aristocrat! Perhaps you might find a more well appointed palazzo for the blend of comfort and character?

I would highly recommend visiting the markets amongst all the other sights, the produce is epic. Of course the cathedral at Monreale just north of the city is a must- the most breathtaking mosaics and tons of gold all over the walls.

Agrigento

It is a very touristy town, developed to accommodate the coach-loads of day-trippers who will be visiting the temples until the end of time. We stayed in a basic, functional hotel, and I get the impression that the rest of the accommodation there is not up to much (I might be wrong though). Apparently some people stay in nearby San Leone, but we were not terribly impressed. You might be able to find something nicer upmarket, or perhaps in the surrounding countryside.

Siracusa

My favourite town in Sicily. Definitely stay on the island part, Ortygia, which is very beautiful. The baroque streets are prettier, more friendly, and less ghostly than Palermo. The surrounding ocean is gorgeous – I loved wandering around the ports. Parking is totally hopeless on the streets, so you just leave your car in the car park just on the north of Ortygia and stroll back to your hotel – most of which are not too far away.

We stayed in Hotel Gran Bretagna http://www.hotelgranbretagna.it/ (just for the name of course) which boasted ancient frescoes in some of the rooms. I’m sure they were lying – most of the decor was a bit tired to be honest. However, I remember the place feeling spacious and comfortable, and being right in the middle of things with a nice Juliet balcony. I would recommend staying somewhere in that area but, mind, the one way system is hilarious and the driving is sociopathic as usual.

Taormina

Ground zero for tourism in Sicily. The rolling hills have clearly been overdeveloped to accommodate the billions of tourists. In comparison to other places we had been to in Sicily, it seemed a bit hackneyed. On the other hand, we did say to each other while we were there that if we had just turned up on the plane straight from London, it would have seemed like paradise.

We stayed in the hills overlooking the town. It is one of those sketchy Italian coastal drives, like around Lake Como or the Amalfi coast, where you have to squeeze your car into improbable gaps between rocks and hard places at eye-watering speed. We found a charming guest house in a hill-top village which gave us great views over Taormina and an electrical storm that night.

I imagine there is no shortage of high-quality hostelry in Taormina, which would be much more appropriate if you want to spend a longer period there relaxing.

There is a restaurant along the coast from Taormina called Naomi. The food is good, but remarkable in its quantity. When we walked in we were sat down and, without a suggestion of menus, they started bringing food. I lost count after the twelfth course, I think. I admit that I started to become preoccupied with the possibility of splitting open. Nice drive to get there. Naomi is bizarrely high-lit by an enormous neon sign advertising itself to the coast. Vulgar but effective.

Other places

While the beach in Taormina is pretty enough with l’Isola Bella and such, it is nothing in comparison to the raw beauty of the wilder beaches. Lo Zingaro is a nature reserve near Castellammare del Golfo and San Vito lo Capo which has the most stunning white pebble beaches. The coves are lined with grottoes and the seas are light blue and warm, with lots of tropical fish. The rest of the reserve is rugged Sicilian countryside with ancient settlement caves and plenty of wild life. We stayed in a beautiful little place near the resort called Baglio La Porta, which I would heartily recommend to you, although many opt for the village Scopello.

Also, the Imperial villa at Casale is incredible. I think it was a Diocletian’s country retreat. It has vast mosaics intact, preserved by mud, or something. It is a good stop to make between Agrigento and Siracusa.

If you do venture that far out west, Erice is worthing visiting for the epic panorama.

The food is coarse, and less reliable than the north of Italy. The fruit is the best I have had anywhere in the world: plums that you suck out of their skins like honey nectar, and big grapes which are sweet and complex in flavour like dessert wine. Seriously, mind out for the prickly pears – the spines are tiny but impossible to get out of your skin. The locals call them ‘bastardi’ or even ‘bastardoni’.

I hope some of this is useful!

All best

Tom

Ice cream was invented in Sicily. Probably adapted from Arabic Sharbat, the Romans used snow from Etna to extravagantly cool themselves in Summer. It was a good way to piss off the Ioneses next door. And ice cream is excellent here today.

But unfortunately, modern-day Sicilians are responsible for an unholy bastardisation. Ice cream in a bap.

They like sweet foods here, like cannoli. They like putting odd things in baps here too, like chick pea fritter (panella). But can you imagine a soft white bap mountained with ice cream, and the sight of a fat man slurping the soggy flaps of lardy bread at the end? I was so alarmed I hid behind a plant. I forgot to take a photo.

This way of eating ice cream seems to be all the rage in San Vito lo Capo, which is Sicily’s equivalent of Blackpool. One thing the town could learn from it’s English counterpart is that speedos on men are highly distasteful. But the men here, of all shapes and sizes love to gently peacock around town in nothing but a skimpy pair of swimming pants, licking the remains of an ice cream-in-a-bun. It was fearful when I got caught in a crowd of them in a café. Being crushed in the clammy throng made me feel like I had been thrust into the midst of a hectic frog-spawning session.

But these things aside, I love Sicily. It may not be as refined as northern Italy, but it is wild and rugged and real. I feel like I am driving into a western, cruising the flower-lined coastal motorway between mountains and the turquoise sea. Sergio Leone knew what he was doing when he made his spaghetti westerns. Sicily feels lawless, dramatic, and cinematic.

After 2500 miles, we have reached the furthest point in our grand tour. It feels further than that from Britain in terms of culture. Fewer constraints, less stress, more sun, more freedom. A good place for people to find their individuality. I miss quite a few things about London and Britain- family, friends, idiotic sports, complaining, fine queuing practices. But more than anything I miss a good curry.

A lot is said about Italian driving. The clichés are generally true, especially around Naples. There is a lot of breakneck tailgating; you make as many lanes as you can fit into of the carriageway; you only follow the laws you can’t get away with breaking, which are very scant; you drive as though you are drunk even if you aren’t. But I actually feel quite comfortable on the roads here. Not because I’m drunk. Because it is a system which hands responsibility to the individual to negotiate other individuals, rather than an abstract set of laws.

The south of Italy is fundamentally different from the north, it is often said. I have a suspicion that it even shuns the metric system in favour of imperial miles, having seen the way they interpret the speed limit signs. Driving is indeed chaotic, I would probably even say combative, in character, but in some ways it is simpler and more natural.

Your responsibility is to those in front of you, you keep your wits about you, and drive like the aliens have landed. You expect the car in front to do anything at any given moment, so you are prepared. Many cars here drive around with their wing mirrors folded in (they only get in the way, and why would you want to see behind you anyway?). If you want to overtake someone, you simply nudge their rear bumper and they move over. No problem. Unlike Britain, where moving over for someone defers status to them, and is considered an admission of abject wimpiness, like letting them torture your dog for giggles. Not so in Italy, where getting somewhere fast is highly respected and condoned. Why else was a car invented?

A good tip for the foreign driver who finds themselves in the midst of a shit-strike on the Neapolitan roads is to go offensive or snort some ether. I personally like to throw everyone off guard by using my indicators when manoeuvring. This really confuses them in Naples. “What the fuck is this crazy English bastard doing with those funny little lights on the side of his car? Hang on, is his car about to blow up? I’ve heard those English drivers take driving really personally! Get down!’ Don’t worry about driving on the wrong side of the road either, it won’t really get you in trouble unless you are on the motorway (I genuinely heard some Italian holiday-makers discussing driving in Sicily, saying the Sicilians must think they are in England, driving on the left all the time!).

Pizza is excellent is Naples, as might be expected in the city which created it. We ate in the restaurant which apparently invented Margherita pizza. I actually preferred the Marinara myself- simply tomato, garlic and basil and no mozzarella it is nice and light. Like espresso coffee, it is much better suited to 35C summers.

We stay in an agritourism guest house, with a memorable view over the whole bay of Naples. Producer/hostelry establishments such as this are growing in popularity. They produce lots of their own food. They have groaning olive groves, and they pulverise basil for pesto and tomatoes for passata in the mornings.

Check out these Mafia who ate at the table next to us one evening. There are lots of villas on this side of the bay of Naples, their gates guarded by dodgy looking crews who dislike having their pictures taken.

The Amalfi coast is one hell of a natural beauty spot. You have to see it and breathe it for yourself- endless uncurling coves of flowers, grottoes, and cliffs. The sea is crisp turquoise, the mountains are lush, the lemons are as big as melons. I could lounge here for a while.

Rome is stuffed with cultural sights. A turducken of archeological, artistic, and anthropological marvels accrued whilst serving as the heart and soul of two of history’s greatest empires. Both ancient Roman and Catholic power have found their nemesis in Germany. So maybe it is with an element of smugness that hordes of goths, visigoths, and vandals still pour into the holy city by the bus load.

Today, Germanic excursions to Italy are more toned down. Gone are the cruel axes and wicked war-thongs, gleaming helmets and scarves made of human meat. Now the uniform of the Hun horde is a brightly-coloured, print-your-own t-shirt and a practical sun hat (the same for every member of the platoon). I can see the practicality in this. In the seething crowds of the Vatican or the Trevi Fountain, it is easy to lose one of your school children or church group (the two main types of German gang I could discern).

But if I were a sixteen year-old on a trip to Rome and my teacher offered me ein ‘sehr cool and funky team shirt und hat it’s very nice and hipsterkatten ja’, I would feel like a bit of a wally to accept. Anyway, I have included some pics of crowds in Rome so you can play ‘Where’s German Wally?’. See how many different clans you can spot. You get extra point for finding an act of rape’n'pillage, and special prize for macabre moustache plaits.

Oh and here’s something puerile, a wry graffito, and some excellent gnocchi.

Florence shall forever be known as the home of artistic genius, the cradle of the Renaissance, the fountainhead of western thought and culture. So I thought I should write about the way they do beefsteaks here.

Thick. Crisp on the outside, bloody as a Primark sale on the inside. Served simply without any sauce, no bullshit. Perhaps you could have some lemon juice, oil, or pepper at most. Fantastic t-bones and rumps allowed to show off their natural flavour, not stifled by any pretensions to improving on nature’s work.

I first had bistecca Fiorentina when I was a kid, and my dad laughed that it was bigger than my head. It is still the best way of eating steak, in my opinion, but never quite the same outside of Florence.

Florentine food is quintessentially unpretentious. They try and show off the natural quality of their produce with almost an arrogant minimalism- as though they don’t believe they need to do anything fussy because they simply have the best ingredients available to man in their city. They might well be right.

Their cannellini beans, for example, are served boiled with just the addition of salt and olive oil, and can be plumper and sweeter than grapes. Why piss about with seven layers of stock preparations like the French grand style cuisine? More important to eat healthy, delicious food every meal as standard.

So go and try the bistecca, let the blood run down your neck like a prancing cannibal in orgy of blood and wine with beans on the side. Which is coincidentally the context originally described by the phrase ‘La dolce vita’.

The drive from Emiglia-Romana to the Tuscan hills is dramatic. The northern plateau stretches behind you as you climb twisting mountain roads through boar forests and porcini country.

Around every twist in the valley a picturesque hilltop town appears. It was a land of constant war and strife between city-states for hundreds of years so towns were developed with defence in mind. Cultural propaganda also always seems to go along with war and economic contention, and in Italy it took the form of artistic and grand architectural projects. This has endowed her with a global treasure trove and ensured a lucrative tourism economy indefinitely. Well, just compare the David and and The Colosseum to 50m high statues of Lenin or Mao, and you’ll probably agree the Italians have done pretty well out of their history. Perhaps if the Chinese had done Mao naked with a little masonry penis then things might be different. At least they could be flogging comedy Mao-statue aprons to tourists.

Lucca is small but perfectly formed. Pretty streets and excellent food (which is not saying much in Tuscany). There are towers, like Bologna though not as alarmingly high. One of them does have trees growing on the top terrace though.

There is a great little place to go for lunch if you ever visit – Trattoria da Leo – small and easy to miss, but busy. Their reddish brown spelt minestrone is fairly popular – they do like their grains in Tuscany. The tripe was first rate- it melted on the tongue. Lots of locals were eating there which is always a good sign.

We leave the motorway at Besançon and start the climb into the Jura mountains. The road to the Swiss border snakes through pine forests and steep mountain cliffs, topped by the occasional mediaeval fortress. Although we had already driven hundreds of miles across France, it was only when we reached her eastern borderland that it felt like we were really on a voyage. It is a beautiful warm evening and now we are off the motorways we can wind the windows down and smell the countryside around us, rather than a German air conditioning unit. The air smells of thick grass and pine resin, of things which have been drenched in sunshine.

The drive is dramatic and beautiful, a pleasant contrast to the sprawling flats of northern France. I think that motorway driving across France is better in winter. The countryside seems glacial and pure, like a sci-fi landscape inhabited by the colossal wind turbines they so love in Gaul.

As we race through the forest we listen to music randomly ranging from Trentmoeller to Keith Jarrett. It really feels like you are away when you travel by car. You feel the road passing beneath you, you take in the smells and details, you feel the culture slowly changing as you go. This is why I like to take the car across the channel by ferry. The tunnel is quicker, but I miss the sea-air, and watching a coast disappear as another grows larger. Also,there is nothing quite like returning to your home port at night after a long journey – the cluster of gold lights surrounded by black are cosy like the embers of a coal-fire in a dark room.

Emerging from the Jura border mountains we see Lake Geneva framed by the Alps in silhoutte. The plush residences around the lake shimmer like a constellation. It feels like we have  stolen our way into a hidden valley of the rich and glamourous. We stop for dinner at Bavois in the farmlands overlooking the lake. The food is great, but there are many flies inside, which are vexatious.

I notice that petrol is cheap in Switzerland, and much higher grade: 100 RON, which makes the V6 purr happily. I clean the flies from the windscreen at the petrol station only to find the most obscenely massive bug-squash on the front grill. I think at first it was a small plant. I realise it is actually a stick insect, its disguise just as effective after its humiliating demise.

We drive up the twisting mountain roads above Sion, surrounded by  looming, black mountains. When we awake the next day the view of Valais is familiar and stunning, and hardly marred by the big, fat, red crane doing its business. It used to be a quiet town here, but now it is becoming built-up. We shall take the cable cars to the high peaks and see what they look like without snow.

On the other side of the mountains is Italy. I am excited by the prospect of a drive through high mountain passes and the descent to the great northern lakes. There the long-established elegance of Italian civilisation is set against the mighty serenity of the Alpine backdrop. This combination makes for one of the most beautiful locations in the world, as I remember. I have not been there for years.