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The moment it first occurs to me that Catania is Italy’s most underrated city, I’m zooming along the Ionian coast on the back of a silver scooter as my new friend Daniele steers us toward a stretch of shoreline called the Cyclops Riviera. Daniele is a philosophy grad student I met while wandering around the University of Catania, part of which is housed in a late-Baroque monastery on the site of the ancient acropolis. He’s eager to show off some of his city’s charms and contradictions, beginning with a meal of tender horse-meat fillets (a local specialty), followed by a spin through the fishing village of Aci Trezza, just outside of town. We park next to a harbor spiked with ancient lava rocks that residents say are the ones referenced in Homer’s Odyssey, which now, smoothed by the waves, serve as diving platforms for barefoot kids. Near a church we run into the bishop of Catania, in a gold-trimmed miter, leading a procession for the feast of San Giovanni. Then multiple rounds of fireworks begin exploding overhead, their colors all but invisible under the blazing sun. (“Daytime fireworks—why?” says Daniele. “This I cannot explain.”) Back in the city center, after nightfall, on a café terrace backed by graffiti-splashed walls, clusters of young locals smoke and sip Aperol as Daniele tests out his flirting skills with three different women, and for a moment I forget he earlier divulged that he’s thinking of becoming a priest.
The enigmatic, sensual delights of Sicily are, of course, no big secret. Word has been spreading since about the 8th century B.C., when the Greeks first showed up, and today the island is one of Italy’s main tourist magnets, packed with preciously restored villas and all-too-Googleable trattorias. But gritty, noisy, chaotic Catania? Most travelers know it only as the home of Sicily’s busiest airport, a place to pick up a rental car on the way to star attractions like Syracuse and Taormina. Yet for those who hang around, the reward is an extra-strength dose of true southern Italian splendor: not only the exquisite Baroque monuments and mom-and-pop wicker shops but also the capricious, messy dynamism that so often gets scrubbed away, as in Noto and even Palermo. Like a miniature version of Naples, with fewer good hotels but better arancini, Catania keeps it real without even trying. And in a country where it’s getting harder and harder to discover anything on your own, that raw authenticity can be its most seductive quality of all.
The charms are found even in Catania’s most rarefied aristocratic enclaves, as I learn at the knockout Palazzo Biscari, a private 600-room palace whose lava-rock-and-limestone facade is adorned with smirking cherubs and hollow-eyed caryatids. Ruggero Moncada, a descendant of the original owners, lives in one wing of the palazzo and gives tours by appointment, offering wry, mischievous commentary on everything from the grand ballroom, which British soldiers used as a make-shift tennis court during World War II, to a portrait of one female ancestor with pronounced facial hair. “In my family, everybody always married their cousins, so it’s incredible that we’re not more stupid,” Moncada says. Later, we sit in his book-filled private quarters, where he opens a bottle of prosecco and shares a few local recommendations, including the neo-Sicilian restaurant Me Cumpari Turiddu, where he once sent David Rockefeller to try the donkey steaks. But at the top of Moncada’s list is the all-night produce stand across the street. “You do know that Catania has some of the best fruits and vegetables in Italy, right?” he says. “It’s thanks to Mount Etna, and the volcanic soil.”
Catanians are deeply ambivalent about living in the shadow of a temperamental 10,922-foot black cone, Europe’s largest volcano and one of the world’s most active. On the plus side, the lava-enriched earth produces mulberries and peaches and pistachios so intensely flavorful they can seem almost indecent. Then there’s the very real possibility that the city could be wiped out: In 1669, lava breached the fortified walls, killed thousands, and changed the shape of the coastline; 24 years later, the most powerful earthquake in Italy’s history laid everything flat. The survivors rebuilt the city quickly, in the exuberantly sculptural Baroque style of the day, using lava rock. This explains the rare-in-Italy uniformity of the historic center’s architecture, as well as its improbably gorgeous charcoal hue.
After eyeing Etna from afar for a couple of days, I’m ready to get up close and touch it—an activity best attempted with a knowledgeable chaperone. My guide, Marco Marcinno, a geologist with a welcome theatrical streak (“Do you know how old these rocks are? Three weeks old!”), offers a crash course in volcanology during our ride up from the base station, via cable car and shuttle. At the summit, one crater spits sulfurous clouds of gas. As head-spinning as it can be for a visitor to spend an 85-degree morning among ancient ruins and a chilly afternoon on the tip of a fiery mountain, Catanians are used to the contrast. Around here, heaven and hell never seem very far apart.
One morning, I set out on a stroll in search of more only-in-Catania surprises. Starting at the massive Fera ’o Luni market, one of many raucous remnants of the city’s medieval Moorish period, I find myself bantering with everyone in Italian, even though I only speak a few words of it, and buy an extra half-kilo of cherries because the vendor is cute. At the edge of the piazza, I notice La Chiesa di San Gaetano alle Grotte, a tiny church on the site of a Roman grotto dating from 262 A.D. (Hidden underground in a lava cave, the grotto was useful at the time because worshipping Jesus Christ was not yet legal.) Next I head toward the daily fish market, Catania’s only truly famous attraction, aside from Etna. Dozens of burly, grouchy fish mongers, looking like cousins of Tony Soprano whose grandparents opted not to emigrate, fill plastic bins with squirming eels and hack away at glistening 300-pound Mediterranean swordfish, slicing pieces to order while the severed heads sit on platters, mouths pointing skyward, as proof of freshness.
The fish blood is still drying on my shoes as I walk 10 minutes north to Catania’s extraordinary 19th-century opera house, Teatro Massimo Bellini. Wandering in with no appointment, I chat with some ballet dancers who are rehearsing a summer production of Carmen until the opera’s artistic director, pianist Francesco Nicolosi, receives me in his office. Although Catania has a booming contemporary music scene, thanks to its massive student population, Nicolosi doesn’t sugarcoat the challenges of keeping his opera and 78-person orchestra afloat. Public funding? “In Italy, getting money for the arts is never easy, and in the south of Italy, it’s almost impossible,” he says. Adventurous programming? “Audiences are getting old. And everyone wants to see the same 10 operas.” But Nicolosi remains an unwavering fan of Catania, and not just because of Teatro Bellini’s fabled acoustics, which many say are better than La Scala’s. He also likes eating dessert for breakfast.
It’s a thing, particularly in summertime, when many Sicilians start their day with granita e brioche, a decadent combo of sweet, semifrozen shaved ice and buttery pastry. Nicolosi’s favorite granita flavor is the ubiquitous mandorla, made from fresh local almonds and lots of sugar. “Every morning, on the way to the theater, I have one,” he says. “Sometimes two.”
Catania Hit List
Getting There
Catania’s airport is Sicily’s busiest, with direct connections to European hubs including Barcelona, Paris, and Rome. You’ll need a rental car to explore the nearby coastline and the villages around Mount Etna; all the major companies have offices at the airport.
Worth-It Meals
Me Cumpari Turiddu serves up the best—okay, the only—grilled donkey steaks you’ve ever tasted, as well as creative takes on local classics such as pasta alla Norma. For the day’s catch of Mediterranean lobster or sea urchin, try Osteria Antica Marina, right in the middle of La Pescheria market. Just an eight-mile cab ride up the coast in Aci Trezza, Trattoria da Federico is the ideal spot for a three-hour lunch of stuffed swordfish and local wine.
Be Sure to Do
To visit the Palazzo Biscari, book ahead by emailing info@palazzobiscari.com. Guides aren’t required to hike up Mount Etna, but an expert like Marco Marcinno of Etna Moving can add context, show you a hidden lava cave, and offer a snack of his mother’s homemade vegetable spreads.
Spending the Night
Catania isn’t known for its fabulous hotels, and the service at smaller places can be iffy. But the four-star UNA Hotel Palace on Via Etnea has unbeatable volcano views from its rooftop restaurant. And the sleek new guesthouse Asmundo di Gisira, in a restored 18th-century palazzo, is filled with contemporary art and killer tile work.
