The Last Supper - Ciao Sicilia x

There are four cars of us heading towards Etna for Pizza tonight, we all meet at a central point where we switch cars in order to mingle and mix, then continue the journey. Miraculously Kimmie always ends up in Lothario’s car, the car that none of the other guys want to travel in because he prohibits smoking. Strange that Kimmie - pro smoker should wish to travel this way!
The pizza place is the same place me and The Sicilian go with the family. Due to there being so many of us out for dinner we are given a private area which is located on a small terracotta terrace, enclosed with black cast iron and climbing vines. The pizza selection is limitless, there is possibly a hundred pizzas on the menu, the Nutella pizza being amongst the options. Eating was just a small part of this particular meal; we drank lots of wine, had lots of great conversation and told lots of jokes. We spend most of the meal in fits, exchanging embarrassing stories about one another and getting to know everyone. Due to there being so many of us our Pizzas take a while to come to the table, but nobody seems to notice.
This was my favourite meal of the holiday – everyone was in great spirits, the pizza was delicious, we laughed hard, swapped pizza slices, took loads of pictures and sat for hours with no rush or worry.
We left the trattoria at half past midnight, perked up with some coffees in the local bar, hung around the square and witnessed a power cut. Then began the second part of our night at the Tennis Club.

The Tennis Club

The Tennis Club was filled by the Sicilian glitterati, once again the party was held outdoors as so many Sicilian clubs and parties are in the summer – a huge blue ray of light came from the centre of the grounds – the vast majority of the grounds being taken up by an immense swimming pool almost the length of the main party area. Patrons danced from all four sides of the pool and some were even brave enough to dance the on the pool edges. This was Beverley Hills, Sex and the City, Hollywood eat your heart out! And once again we danced the morning in and didn’t leave till they shut the music off. Modus operandi, on the way home all four cars stopped for Tavola Calda, where we engaged in more conversation and made a few more jokes, before being too tired to make sense we are chauffeured back to the apartment.

Tindari - Madonna Negra

Our time in Sicily flew by and before we knew it reality had started to hone in on us – our last day had arrived. We went to Tindari, a small town whose patron saint is a black Madonna. We walked around the quiet, tiny town. The roads are sandy tracks without pavements and front doors are left open. We even became acquainted with the local dog that followed us throughout our walk in the town, we named him and Angel Rae and The Sicilian fed him some water!

The Last Night

The gang met up for the final night – unfortunately Monday nights in Catania are dead and we struggled to find anywhere to go. We had been directed to a bar called Tre, which also turned out to be closed. The owner, Dario Poeta was on his bike outside ready to leave for the night and saw us aimlessly hanging around. Being familiar with one of the gang he opened the bar for us and served us bottles of Prosecco, which we had to fight to pay for. After leaving Tre we hung out in the city square, prolonging our last night for as long as possible. Inevitably home time arrived, Lothario to our surprise accompanied Kimmie Parker home, a romance has sparked and they spend what’s left of the night dancing in each other’s arms, exchanging sweet nothings!(ugh). Genevieve, Angel Rae and myself childishly spend the rest of our night spying on the couple!!

The Last Supper
The day we’re set to leave the sun comes out full throttle. After packing our suitcases we go and sit on the beach with what is left of our Sack of Crisps – a bag of crisps we bought from the supermarket big enough to feed the five thousand. The Sicilian meets us on the beach and gives us the great news that his friends have given us a further discount for our week in their resort.
We have our last supper in Catania’s city square, and for the sake of tradition we all eat huge dishes of pasta. We do a quick whip around the high streets, where we pick up souvenirs and bits to take home then we are rushed off to get ready for our flight. Me and The Sicilian go back to his family’s house to bid our farewells and pick up his sister. Outside the airport we take the final photos of us all together, The Sicilian’s sister exchanges her hugs and kisses goodbye and tells us that we are the funniest group of girls she has ever met, of course we take this as a compliment. We say goodbye to Costanzo and Lothario and make our way to the check in desk.

The Catanese were great hosts to the girls, everyone was welcomed with open arms, the Sicilians most certainly take pride in hosting and showed my friends an amazing time. Our gang was made up of so many different characters but the chemistry and group dynamic was as though we had all known each other for years and holidayed regularly with one another. The most difficult of the holiday aside from choosing where to eat, was saying ‘Goodbye.’

I hope a Sicilian reunion is in the pipeline for next year...?

Sphere: Related Content

Mansion Parties and Granita in the Morning

Mercati Mansion Party

Small dresses in bright colours, huge heels and clutch bags

Genevieve and GiGi stay home tonight, while The Sicilian drives the rest of us to the location for the night – Mercati, an old mansion which has been reworked for partying purposes. Angel Rae, Kimmie and myself are dressed in our typical London club attire, small dresses in bright colours, huge heels and clutch bags. Nobody in Sicily on a clubbing occasion dresses like this and when we step out of the car in our tiny dresses and walk into the Tavola Calda bar the looks we receive are so forceful they could almost push you over. Kimmie doesn’t seem bothered by the attention but me and Angel Rae are practically edging back into the car. We order our food and sit down, while The Sicilian goes to pay – one of the waiters looks at us inquisitively and whispers something to a colleague. I can’t help thinking that the waiter thinks we’re prostitutes and all three of us start to get defensive. ‘Omigod, have they never seen a girl look glamorous before?’Angel Rae huffs. When The Sicilian returns with our food he informs us that the area we’re sitting in is for table service only and that we had confused the waiter. ‘Oh, so he never thought we were prostitutes?’

Mercati plays hard core house and a little bit of funky – this place is for the true raver and in every corner, on every table and chair, behind every tree and bush there are people dancing hard. Girls have left their Sicilian classic attire at home and now resemble the trendy festival goer, dressed in flip flops and wellies, leggings and shorts.
Instead of being in a botanical garden, tonight we are in the garden of the mansion which has acres and acres of land lined with Lime Groves, which are lit with tea lights and dotted with art deco chairs and tables. Lothario Roma and his friend join us and continuously order glasses of Tequila. I say glasses, because to call these shots would be an understatement, they were literally plastic cups filled with the deadly fire water. How anyone could down this drink in one go is beyond me, but of course my friends the hardened drinkers didn’t waste a drop!

Lothario and Kimmie spent the night dancing together and taking silly pictures of each other, Lothario in his moment of rapture, Kimmie awe and drunkenness decided to start dancing on the art deco chair – the chair unable to take Lothario’s graceful dance movements fell back. Falling like a pushed domino, Lotharia also fell back with the chair, the large lime tree breaking his fall and taking a pounding from his head. Kimmie, as concerned and thoughtful as she is runs over to Lothario and struggles to help him up in between bouts of laughter. The Sicilian, somewhat quiet tonight is bent over in laughter, while myself and Angel Rae watch the whole thing in complete dismay. Unfortunately Mercati stops serving drinks at three, strangely the club goes on till the last man’s standing – we try our hardest to work our foreign charm to get the barman to serve us some alcohol, ‘Prosecco?’ Kimmie says, almost mortified when he refuses. On that note – we leave.

Genevieve is still awake when we get home, we decide to watch the sunrise and gather our towels to sit on the beach with the Tavola Calda we bought on our way home. We look out to sea and watch the sky, night is meeting dawn and the sky is mixed with a hue of pink. ‘Red sky at night, shepherds delight ...‘Kimmie re- sites.
All too tired to wait for sun rise we go back to the apartment.

Granita, Martini's and Prosecco for Breakfast

Today we decide to have a traditional Sicilian summer breakfast consisting of Granita (a crushed fruit and ice - sorbet/ice cream) with warm Brioche, the size of a large bap. On my introduction to this ice cream and bread collaboration I was almost in disbelief, thirty year old men eating ice cream in a roll for breakfast – this is absurd! But when in Rome... And like every food item in Sicily there’s a whole variety of flavours the granita comes in; strawberry, almond, chocolate, pistachio, lemon, raspberry and many other flavours.
For our granite we go to Mythos, a bar in fishing town, Acireale. Mythos faces the Cyclops Riviera, where three great stacks of rock loom over the sea. Greek mythology would have it that these three Cyclops are rocks that Polyphemus threw angrily from his home in Etna at the Greek hero Odysseus, in retaliation for being blinded by the hero. Mythos is filled with the few Sicilian tourists and the upper middle class local, draped in designer, flash sunglasses hanging from noses and one particular beautiful woman we can’t help but look at. A certain Lothario joins us for breakfast, he’s hung over from the night before and has a sprained wrist. Being a doctor he has already put the necessary accouchement on the injured arm for a speedy healing process. Luckily enough for excessive food consumption, we can barely manage to get merry let alone have a hangover! Lothario and Kimmie exchange romantic glances – could there be a possible romance blossoming between the two anti-relationship protesters?

After breakfast we head back to the apartment where we relax, sleep, beach, read and prepare ourselves for Pizza in the mountains with the whole gang for dinner!

Sphere: Related Content

Dinner with The Godfather ...

Head to head, we tackle the horse on our plates...

Twenty or so of us gather in another of Catania’s many horse meat restaurants, this one located opposite an enormous castle situated behind the ruins of Catania. After exchanging kisses and hugs hello we get down to the nitty gritty, four bottles of local red wine are ordered and we are given plates for the Antipasti buffet. Before the antipasti are finished plates of horse meat are laid in front of us. The plates consist of a horse meat meatball, a horsemeat cut/steak and a Sicilian sausage, seasoned and filled with mozzarella. The girls look at me astonished, ‘This is too much food.’ I tell them to take their time and enjoy the meat. Mmmmm, this is probably one of my favourite Sicilian cuisines and packed with iron, horse meat is advised to eat once a week by Sicilian doctors. Throughout the meal, our Sicilian hosts watch in apprehension as we tuck into our food. ‘I know you can eat,’ The Sicilian’s friend says to me, ‘but what about the rest of you?’ Head to head, we tackle the horse on our plates, both Kimmie and I manage to give some food to some of our fellow diners, Angel Rae loosens her belt as she struggles, Genevieve hides her food with other food on her plate and GiGi slowly but surely manages to finish everything on her plate. She is crowned ‘The Honour of the Table,’ (a title I have earned at The Sicilian’s family home) and applauded her for her achievement. Complimentary of the restaurant we are given a plate of Involtini (a tenderised piece of meat, rolled up, stuffed with mozzarella and bread crumbs) for the table to share and a glass of Limoncello each.
Feeling uncomfortably full, we head to the Sicilian’s sister’s friend’s summer house overlooking the sea for after dinner drinks and ice cream.

The Honour of the Table

Dinner With The Godfather & Family

The Sicilian’s godfather stroke uncle and his wife, The Sicilian’s aunt insists on having all five of us for dinner. Dressed in our most family friendly attire we prepare ourselves for dinner with the family – and I finally christen my red Miu Miu’s. The dinner sitting consists of the girls and myself, The Sicilian, his sister, their mum and dad, the godfather and the Sicilian’s aunt, their three daughters, the youngest who speaks perfect English with an American accent (she learnt while hosting an American girl in Sicily), the daughter’s husbands and partners, the two elder sister’s children; three little boys, the oldest a child Benetton model and the sassiest little seven year old girl I ever met, she was a little madam who spent most of the evening bossing the boys around, showing off and being cheeky to her mum. ‘Remind you of someone, does she?’ Kimmie asked me, sarcastically.

Angel Rae whispers to me, ‘The family aren’t eating the way we are.’

The Sicilian’s aunt is famous for her pan fried Veal Escallops and we are, by now famous for our food consumption – it’s a perfect match. The spread of food is once again overwhelming, salami, Parma ham, pecorino, zuzzo (which looks like jellied spam to me and I’ve never been brave enough to try it), oven baked potatoes covered in rosemary, olive oil and chopped onions with Sicilian seasoned sausage, a huge bowl of rice salad, chicken and veal escallops.

We sit around the table and wait for someone more familiar to begin digging in. ‘Start!’ The Sicilian’s godfather insists – we are told to eat everything, anything left over won’t be taken lightly. So we begin. Kimmie takes potatoes, rice, cheese, salami, escallops all for the taking, the godfather watches, amused – of course in Sicily they eat by first plate and second plate, never mixing meats with the first plate. The godfather offers to give Kimme a pizza plate, ‘That should be big enough for you to fit everything on.’ He jokes.

Myself and Angel Rae both keep an eye on the potatoes and sausages, we really don’t want it to go before we get to it, but both of us are too polite to dive in – of course we have already had our first round, but with the food tasting so good the glutton in you unwillingly shows itself. Half way through the meal Angel Rae whispers to me, ‘The family aren’t eating the way we are.’ To be honest I hadn’t noticed, the escallops are out of this world and I’m just trying to figure out how I can make space for more.

After dinner we sit in the garden, where we talk to The Sicilian’s cousin, she speaks perfect English with an American accent, she learnt by hosting an American girl living in Sicily.
The tray of sweet pastries, cakes, cannoli’s and tarts we collected from the bar on the way were brought out and laid on the table, the food consumption began yet again – the crowd formed around the table. Each to their own!

Kimmie works her charm with the Surfer dude...
For after dinner drinks we head into Catania City Centre for student night, where we meet an old school friend of The Sicilian’s, a surfer who spends half the year surfing in Catania - where he owns a surf school and the other half the year in Costa Rica. He invites us all to surf with him, before I can politely decline, The Sicilian kindly interjects for me, ‘She doesn’t do water, she has a problem with her hair.’ Err – the reason I DON’T have a problem with my hair is my adversity to water – THANK YOU.
Genevieve, GiGi, Angel Rae and myself spend the rest of the night man watching, while Kimmie works her charm with the Surfer dude.

Taormina and La Isola Bella

Angel Rae disgusted, screws her face up at the Sicilian man’s choice of swimming trunk...

We decide to have a day at the beach, although this was not particularly on mine or Genevieve's agenda, the rest of the girls all have tanning on their schedules and with the weather heating up we, head to Taormina.

Taormina is a town that come summer or winter is always brimming – the Sicilian’s, the Italian’s, general tourists, weddings and film festivals are all in Taormina. The Sicilian and I spent our Valentines here this year. Before making our way up to the town we stop off at Taormina’s infamous beach, La Isola Bella (the beautiful beach). We are joined by The Sicilian’s friends, we’ll call them Lothario Roma and Costanzo.

The Sicilian, Lothario and Costanzo strip down to their trunks and head off into the sea, Angel Rae disgusted, screws her face up at the Sicilian man’s choice of swimming trunk or should we call them Speedos. Of course I have forbidden The Sicilian from wearing such a thing, but Lothario and Costanzo and most Sicilian men see no problem with donning these – these – knickers!

‘They’re just hideous!’ Angel Rae goes on, ‘Why should they think they can wear those things?’
Next to join the guys in the sea are Genevieve and Kimmie – Kimmie slips into the water and swims off, only to notice that she has left Genevieve somewhat behind. From the shore myself, GiGi and Angel Rae can hear a loud rip of laughter coming from the sea, this is Kimmie cackling at poor Genevieve as she not only gets bashed against the rocks by the waves, but loses her bikini top in the process. When Genevieve returns her back is red and bruised!

Costanzo gets us some beers and for the first time in ages we talk about something aside from food – relationships. Recently single, Kimmie has concluded that relationships are ‘Rubbish’ and with two single men both once broken hearted as her audience, they can’t help but to agree.
After finishing our beers and enduring the looks of the other Sicilian sunbathers who have barely managed to peel their eyes away from us, we head up to the town.

Kimmie claiming that one of the brides looks like a hippo...

On our brief stay at Toarmina we witness at least five weddings, Kimmie claiming that one of the brides looks like a hippo - Genevieve angrily grunts at Kimmie’s harsh words. Taormina is a beautiful, picturesque romantic town, filled with beautiful churches, an amazing view of Sicily and some absolutely amazing restaurants. Shopping in Taormina is expensive, it’s literally all high fashion. I found myself mentally coaching myself away from all the gleaming shop windows.

Before sitting down for a drink we bump into possibly the best looking Sicilian man the girls get to witness on the holiday – from a very wealthy Catanese family, and the other half of the couple who own the resort we’re staying in – we’ll call him Angiolucci.

Angiolucci introduces himself to my friends and Angel Rae and Kimmie struggle to hold back their winning smiles as they kiss him hello. Angiolucci is dressed in a suit, attending one of the many weddings taking place in Taormina today.

‘Who the hell is that?’ Angel Rae whispers to me. ‘Married with child,’ I answer.

Me and Angel Rae are playing staring games with the Italian and Sicilian passersby ...

We sit in a bar watching the passersby of Taormina with a bottle of local wine. Considering we’re in the heart of the touristy Taormina the local wine is surprisingly cheap – we ching our glasses, ‘Salute!’ The wine tastes absolutely amazing, we all mmm and aah as we drink, this could possibly be the best local wine I’ve had on my Sicilian travels and The Sicilian agrees.

We’re all pretty tired and trying to stay lively, Genevieve looks red from the sun, Kimmie is striking up conversation with Lothario Roma, me and Angel Rae are playing staring games with the Italian and Sicilian passersby and GiGi, just about to take a sip of her wine – PLOP! A seagull decides to locate its toilet right in her glass of beautiful, full bodied, local red wine – of course for GiGi this doesn’t go down too well! But it certainly makes us forget our tiredness and stupid games for a moment.

We get back to our apartment with bottles of wine for us and a crate of beers for The Sicilian. We chill for a few hours, The Sicilian takes a nap and we drink some Fragolino, looking back on the holiday so far...

Sphere: Related Content

Sicily Awaits the Spice Girls

No worries people, i am still very much here and still very much blogging! It's taken me a while to get the complete Sicilian experience into words, but all 5,ooo words of it is done, dusted and chronicled. I am likely to publish it in sections everyday or so ... so watch this space for the next entry...

There were four new girls landing in Catania...

The week leading up to the girls arriving in Sicily, The Sicilian made sure to do his PR. He let every shop owner, friend, business affiliate, street sweeper and club owner know that there were four new girls landing in Catania in the next few days. I was asked to show pictures, give brief character descriptions and inform them of their marital status. The Sicilian would revel in the excitement that he was creating – four women from London coming to Catania! It wasn’t long before the Catanese people thought they knew the girls and had even coined them ‘The Spice Girls.’

Tuesday finally arrives, me and the Sicilian have our last lunch with the family, take a quick siesta and then begin to prepare for the big arrival. On the way to the hotel we go to the Sicilian’s godfather’s supermarket where we put together a little welcome pack for the girls – this surprisingly consists of alcohol; the pack contains Local red wine for three Euros, rose and Fragolino, a deep red sparkling wine made with strawberries. I struggle to the counter holding the six bottles of alcohol - the Sicilian looks at me disapprovingly, ‘Don’t you think you’ll need some food?’ I pick up a bag of crisps and we check out.

We rush to the Cucaracha, (where me and the girls are staying) a beach resort owned by two powerful Catanese families and good friends of the Sicilian. I get ready at lightning speed, it’s quarter to eight in the evening, the big arrival happens at nine and by ten thirty we have to be at The Garden for aperitivo. The girls are yet to find out that they have less than an hour to be ready before we hit the bars and clubs.

There they are, waving, jumping, blowing kisses with huge grins...

The Sicilian and I stand in Catania Fontanarossa airport – I seem to be attracting a slight crowd, it’s probably not often that women in airports are dressed in Zebra Print dresses and huge towering heels. Trust me, it looks tasteful! So, once again we are stood at the frosted glass doors, waiting apprehensively. I can’t help but notice that the Sicilian seems far more excited than I am – he can’t wait to show off his country! The doors open then close, open then close – there’s no sight of the girls, the clock is ticking, time is running away leaving less time for them to get back to the resort, get ready and head out to The Garden. The doors open again and some pale, back pack carrying people arrive, me and the Sicilian decide they must be British and must have got off the same plane as the girls. The doors close and then open once again – there they are, waving, jumping, blowing kisses with huge grins plastered across their faces. Well – apart from frequent flyer Angel Rae, who seems to be cool, calm and as though she’s been here twenty times over. Kimmie Parker, who I was told had sent out instructions for all girls to travel in heels, is wearing Carvela wedges – evidently her fellow flyers never listened.

The Garden

Dressed to impress, a bottle of wine in the back of the car being shared out into plastic cups we head towards the coast for drinks at The Garden. On our journey the Sicilian acts as a tour guide, he ensures that all bags are kept on the floor and never on laps and that the door remain locked at all times. It has been known for thieves to smash the car windows in order to grab purses and bags. This seems to freak Kimmie out more than expected and when driving through what you might call ‘ghetto’ ensures that not only do we have doors locked, but that we keep our windows up and make eye contact with nobody.
We arrive, The Garden is an outdoor bar, situated on a roof terrace. The terrace is lit with pinks and purples and dotted with Olive trees, a DJ playing eighties funk in an open space towards the end of the terrace, located opposite a complimentary buffet. The complimentary buffet and food is common practice in Sicily, particularly in bars, they often don’t serve drinks without a mini pizza, a bread crumbed mozzarella ball, mini arrancini or at the, least some fruit. Of course we find our spot by the buffet - eyeing up the food eagerly, a little apprehensive to go and help ourselves, all but Genevieve. She helps herself to a plate, gets her food and begins to munch away – it doesn’t take long before the rest follow suit. As usual the Sicilian asks the bar man to make us a deadly cocktail, which consists of three different vodkas; peach, strawberry and normal, with proesecco and strawberry syrup. The cocktail, as you can imagine takes effect very quickly and amongst The Garden patrons we begin to dance to the eighties music. Aperitivo consists of dressing up, heading out to the location of the night, meeting friends, acquaintances and associates, having a drink, maybe two and some general chit chat to get you in the mood for the rest of the night, very rarely do you see the locals singing, dancing and drinking the way we were – for the first time is Sicily we stood out and I didn’t care. We spent the rest of our time at The Garden taking pictures, laughing and dancing – The Sicilian’s sister – the organiser of our night tells us it’s time to head on to our second location for the night.

Benacherino

We pull into the club grounds and are directed to the club’s private car park. As we step out of the car we can hear the music booming from in the open field, however we can’t seem to locate where exactly the club might be. Our six inch heels digging into the ground, and drinks from The Garden in our hands in plastic cups we make our way to the unidentifiable nightclub. Not knowing what to expect evokes some nerves and excitement amongst us, Angel Rae continues to tell me that she feels nervous and isn’t quite sure why. Strange for a girl who has travelled half the world?

It oozes a sexy exoticness and is simply breathtaking...

Benacherino is a club situated in a botanical garden, huge deep green trees loom over us and the plants and flowers that surround us are amazing, it oozes a sexy exoticness and is simply breathtaking. Drinks in hand we hit the open dance floor and we dance the early hours of the morning in, locals stand around to watch these strange specie ‘the non-Italian’ enjoying themselves on their land, dancing up a storm. And dance up a storm, yes we do!

We dance in the open air till it rains, Gi Gi, Angel Rae and myself try to dance underneath a panel that shields us from the rain, Genevieve continues to gyrate in the rain, flicking her red hair about – we all know that subconsciously she is re-enacting a scene from J-lo’s Waiting for Tonight video and Kimmie Parker – well...? She reappears with a Sicilian on her tail, she claims that the attention he is giving is unwanted, of course, neither of them being unable to speak the same language can be Kimmie’s only excuse for bouncing about the club with the man without communicating her discomfort!

Prima Tavola Calda...

We leave Benacherino, miraculously our two car entourage has increased by another two cars and a mo- ped. The Sicilian’s sister tells us the addendum to our group are acquaintances of the ‘hello, goodbye’ quantity, that want to witness and take part in as much of the London Sicilian experience as possible. So all thirteen of us go to L'Etoile, the Tavola Calda bar, situated near the arches in Catania’s centre. Tavola Calda is the Sicilian fast food, translating ‘Hot Table,’ and serves a vast selection of sweets and savouries, typical of Tavola Calda is; Arrancini, a ball of rice coated in bread crumbs which can be filled with Bolognese or mozzarella and ham. Pastries filled with Frankfurters and Mozzarella with black olives, Bolognese sauce with mozzarella, ham and mozzarella, onions, Bolognese and Mozzarella, Aubergines’ with Mozzarella and Bolognese, Pizzetta’s (small pizza’s) and that’s just to name a few. And the Sicilian being the reign of the sweet food, the cakes, pastries, cannoli, tarts, pies, cornetto’s (croissant filled with marmalade, Nutella, white Nutella) are decadent, rich and indulgent. The food is presented beautifully behind a glass counter triple the size of a deli you’d generally find in Sainsbury’s. The arrangement and immensity of the food is overwhelming, and when we entered the Tavola Calda bar I’m pretty sure we all shared one thought, ‘How much can we eat?’

After getting over the party going on in our stomachs at the excitement of food, we made our selections and grabbed a corner where all thirteen of us sat, the men watched in amazement at the speed and ease of the food disappearing. And of course we all went in for round two, none of us being particularly hungry, the girls wanting to sample as much Sicilian cuisine as possible (even though they had all week to do so) and my excuse was – well, I just love Sicilian cuisine. The bar offered us all a free glass of Prosecco and complimentary cakes, we continued to eat and drink some more while we discussed how good the food was, the Sicilian struggled to make plans with us for tomorrow and decided, ‘We’ll go for something to eat in the morning and then decide.’

After a few nights of no sleep, sharing a double bed in between Kimmie Parker aka snoring bull and Angel Rae aka selfish duvet hoarder I begin to accept that this holiday will not involve much sleep. Genevieve, unable to politely wait for people to wake up in the mornings looms over the beds, singing, ‘Anybody up?’ and the Sicilian before we’re washed and dressed is knocking on our door, coaching us to get ready and get out for the events planned for the day.

Our days generally didn’t start without eating Tavola Calda and sipping a glass of Prosecco to set us up. We’d eat enough to keep us full until the evenings, when we’d head out for dinner then on to a bar or a club.

The Sicilian took us to Mount Etna, where we braved the freezing cold and harsh winds and looked at houses that had been destroyed by the active volcano. After leaving Etna we went to the Botanical Garden’s where we trailed through Olive Tree groves and walked through botanical waters set in deep gauges.

The journey home was a long one where I was unfortunately forced to listen to the shrill, deafening singing of LaRoux or the life threatening 'singing' of Angel Rae – as much as I have taken a disliking to La Roux, this was the preference over Angel.

The weather back in Catania had taken a turn for the worst, torrential rain fell, lightning split the sky and although GiGi had a moment of anger about the weather we remained in high spirits, determined to have a great holiday. . .

Sphere: Related Content

Sono Arrivata - I Have Arrived!

(Sorry people - this is a rough and first draft entry. I am working on the Sicilian's sister's computer and have limited time on here. It will be edited when i am back home, just wanted to get this online in the moment - enjoy!!)

I have officially arrived in what i like to think of my home away from home, except here seems far more exciting and far more richer and warmer in all the elements of life that i love that little bit more than in London. On my arrival i was greeted by the Sicilian's in laws, waiting with beaming faces and skin as dark as a golden desert. They wave to us through the glass windows while we await our baggage and once we meet them on the other side of the doors rapturous gestures, big hugs and kisses are exchanged. They show their affections to their son, the Sicilian. His mum looks at him with pride and happiness to have her son back home. Then they turn to me and bombard me with hugs, kisses and the italian language, which my mind is working over time to understand. The Sicilian's father, a huge Sicilian masculine character in side a four foot something tiny body tells me my italian is improvng, "Now, let's work on your Sicilian!" he jokes. He can only be joking.We step outside of the airport and are greeted with a still, intense humid heat, it's nine o clock at night and the temperature is twenty nine degrees centigrade - the Sicilian's father looks at me with all my London armour as though i am a crazy person, my new leopard print oversize scarf that i bought earlier this morning from Primark and my black blazer is most certainly NOT NEEDED HERE. As we walk to the car the in laws hustle me out of my excessive attire, leaving me with a vest, jeans and pumps on - it's still ridiculously hot, there's no breeze, the leaves on the trees stand as still as stone and the heat leaves sweat beads on the Sicilian's face.In the car we have the inevitable important conversation and i am so glad that this conversation has come so soon, 'Cosa mangiamao? - WHERE SHALL WE EAT?' The options are Carne di Cavallo (Horse Meat) at Achilles, a trattoria specialising in horse meat which the Sicilian and i frequent with his family every Sunday for lunch or Pizza in the mountains - the Pizzeria is located on the drive towards Etna, the Sicilian tells me that during the summer the Catanese (people of Catania) and general city folk head to the mountains where it's cooler to do their essentials for the day - which is of course eating dinner and eating ice cream.
So - eventually we decide to head to Achilles; Achilles is located in what you could call the ghetto, although amazingly picturesque with beautiful rustic terraced houses and a back drop of castles and cathederals, it is the urban part of Catania. People here are on the grind and doing what they can to make a living, most of which are making their living from food - so you can imagine how good the food is here. As we make our way up to Achille i am surprised at how many people there are simply hanging out, on every street corner there are people, Sicilian people from the age of two right through to eight years old - i am yet to see one foreigner or holiday maker. Every bar or restaurant or Carrozzoni (a food place in the style of a mini hut or mini van usually selling pannini's and beers) has a gathering of people surrounding it. Achilles's is set on a narrow main road, along this strip there are probably another twenty trattorias just like Achille. They have huge grills outside where they grill the horse meat, creating fumes and a smell of cooking meat in the hot air, due to the heat the trattorias have had to extend their outside space to accomodate their loyal customers, who want to site outside. So all the trattoria's have placed their grills on the edges of the road, some have even placed some tables and chairs in the road just so they can get as many people outside. Cars and bikes struggle to pass down the now narrowed main road and of course abusive rhetoric is exchanged even more frequently from the drivers than usual. It is not long after our arrival in Achilles that the Polizia arrive and initiate some havok, telling all restauranteurs to set back their tables and chairs and get their grills out of the road. 'You would have these tables bang in the middle of the road if you could,' the police man continues, he cusses like a Jamaican -the Sicilian is known for their oral expressive nature. They are quick, witty and sharp tongued and they never miss a beat.Once we have finished watching the Polizia raid the trattoria's we eat - for starter's we head up to the buffet where me and the Sicilian load our plates with Parmagiana (an aubergine cake, layered with egg, parma ham and sometimes cheese), a spinach and cheese cake, red peppers with bread crumbs, Finochio (Fennel) and Crochette di patate. We order half a bottle of the local red wine, which is served in a jug cold, when Salvo (the waiter) brings our wine without any glasses the Sicilian's mother yells, 'Salvo!' Here there are no airs or graces, if you want something just ask and if you can't be heard, talk louder and if you can't be seen then shout! So at Achilles this is how you dine and my meal is punctuated with the yells amongst the wiaters and customers calling out at each other, 'Vanessa! Agata! Salvo!' When you are a foreigner here it is so easy to take delight in the colorfulness of this culture and the Sicilian people and i always catch myself taking a moment, studying and falling more and more in love with this island. My thoughts are interrupted by my Polpetti di Cavallo (horse meatballs) which are placed in front of me, the rest of the table have a mixture of horse meat, which is cooked like a steak only cut thinly and Salsiccia condida (seasoned sausage), in the centre of the table a tomato, garlic, onion and cheese salad to accompany the meat. I tuck into my food, how i have missed these meatballs - 'Ho!' The Sicilian father says, (Ho is the equivalent to Oi), 'Do you come here to see us or eat our food?' He jokes. They joke about me arriving looking too skinny and tell me that they will take even more pride in fattening me up. Grazie!So after finishing at Achille only naturally we head to Quaranta, a gelateria (ice cream bar, it is completely packed - inside people push their way to the ice cream counter which features Mars, Forrero Roche, Kit Kat and Nutella flavoured ice cream as well as many many more. Outside there are wicker chairs and tables where we sit and enjoy our ice cream as we would enjoy a glass of wine in a bar in London...

Sphere: Related Content

Naomi Parker's Send Off - The Hen Weekend

Ciao Ciao London

It started off with The Sicilian saying goodbye and pre warning me of my behaviour as I hauled my powder pink suitcase and Sicilian biscuit package onto the bus to Victoria. Accompanying me was one of my roommates for the weekend, Gi Gi Live – who was making a huge statement with royal blue nails and oversized Victoria Beckham style glasses. ‘I tried to buy some wine,’ Gi Gi says, her nails highlighting her sentences as she waves her hands about, ‘The woman in the shop looked at me as though I was crazy. We don’t sell wine before eight thirty the she told me – don’t you know that – she asked me. Why would I know that?’ Gi Gi laughed, ‘Everyone in the shop looked at me as though I was an alcoholic.’

Purchasing wine at eight thirty AM – this is a hen weekend with good intentions.

McDonalds Calls

Victoria station with an hour to kill, there was only one way to start the weekend. Mc Donald’s! En route to McDonalds I stop in Claire’s Accessories to buy myself one of those plaited hair bands. Then myself and Gi Gi sit down to two Big Breakfasts – man, how I forgot how good a McDonald’s sausage is! In fact the last time I had one I was also headed to Leeds.

Mid gossip, in floats the hen herself, with a suitcase maybe not as bright but as large as mine (this makes me happy). Naomi has attired her long body with a Spanish red floating maxi dress, to accompany her long flowing mane. Behind her is Kimmie Parker, chugging along a rather large Paul Frank bag, Canterbury Parker, mother of Kimmie and the hen and friend, Louise. Like a moth to a flame we have all coincidentally been drawn to the evil lure of McDonald’s breakfast.
‘Thought we might see you bitches here!’ Kimmie, with her affectionate Bitch calling settles down with a Mc Muffin. In her bag are bottles of wine, Cava and Vodka!
‘Can’t believe we’re all early,’ Naomi says, I feel all eyes shootng me knowing looks.
‘When it’s important I can be fashionably punctual,’ I say, between mouthfuls of Mc Donald’s goodness.

The Coach

On the coach, before we hit the road we are informed of how to flush the toilet, we are told not to consume any hot foods, take any hard drugs or consume any alcohol. Of course the alcohol rule irks us, Canterbury has come fully kitted out with plastic cups and screw top bottles of rose.

AC - Why can’t we drink alcohol?
Canterbury – This is public transport, of course we can’t drink alcohol.
AC – Are you sure this is public transport?
Kimmie – Of course it is.
Canterbury – What kind of public transport are you (AC) used to?
AC – I’m just saying, as far as I’m concerned if I can’t use my Oyster card to travel - it’s not public transport.

***LAUGH***

There’s only so much talking about Argentine lovers, the Sicilian, fiancés, boyfriends and fashion we can do to pass the time ...so we pop the rose. And with great discretion, fear of getting kicked off the coach and left for the hard shoulder and a good love for alcohol intoxication we consume two bottles in no time.

Now – we are ready for Leeds.

Arrivata

We arrive at the Jury’s Inn, just near the Royal Armouries, let’s call it the Leeds equivalent to Canary Wharf. We are located amongst, the river beautiful bridges, new build apartments and shiny hotels. We are pleasantly surprised at how plush our hotel is.

Readying for The First Night

All gathered in the Hen’s room we drink warm Cava and Champagne, we toast the hen and then indulge in what seems to be a rather long conversation about our bums – or for Kimmie – the lack thereof! We shake our booties for a while, acting like confused Carnival dancing video veterans – then we yet again engage in some more male concerned conversation whilst painting our nails and intermittently swapping nail tips.

The First Evening

We head to Sicilian Salumeria for a six course food tasting meal.
For our Digestivo we go to the Epernay Champagne bar, which is situated in a glass ceilinged court yard called, The Electric Press. Here we meet hair colouring obsessed, dinner party hostess expert, Genevieve Winona Eckhart, who has joined us later due to work.

Once the whole cohort has consumed enough champagne for the bubbles to tingle our feet we head to The Living Room where we dance the night away. Naomi abuses us with her somewhat violent drunken dancing and once we are defeated we walk through Leeds City Centre and make our way back to the hotel.

The Drunken Walk Home

We discover a twenty four hour Greggs – yes Greggs! The bakery! Like school kids let out for lunch we bound into Greggs thrilled by this phenomenon. Why don’t we have a twenty four hour Greggs London? I grab a stake bake and relish every last bite of it.

The Hang Over

We force ourselves out of bed at 8.30, having gone to bed only hours ago. On arrival at breakfast we are all impressed with the spread of the buffet breakfast. I greedily and with no consideration to diet, calorie counting or bridesmaid pictures indulge in a three course breakfast.

Breakfast chit chat consists of replaying the night before, we cackle with laughter and to be fair are probably the loudest group of all the young inhabitants breakfasting, henning and staging in the hotel! We laugh until tears are in our eyes and decide we need to get out of London more often.

The Burlesque Class

Well ... the teacher was a short haired, tiny pole and burlesque dancer who strutted about the class room in nothing but a black vest top and frilly knickers. There is nothing too complimentary to say about my fellow Burlesque dancers – we rolled about the floor like sea lions whilst nursing delicate bellies and thumping headaches!

To make ourselves feel better where better to head to other than Primark? We shopped for an hour or so, bought more food and alcohol and headed back to the hotel.

Four in a Bed

Kimmie infiltrates me, Gi Gi and Genevieve’s room. She climbs into the bed with us where we make jokes, take the complete piss out of each other, reminisce on old boyfriends and contemplate the future. We laugh ourselves to tears and perfect six packs! (We wish).

Sailors - The Second Evening

Dressed as sailors, we head out for the big night! In Leeds City Centre we are one of many Hen crew. ‘Oi Oi sailors!’ a Leeds man shouts to us and we all respond with a salute. We look at each other enthused and like little school girls, we laugh and giggle excitedly!
We enjoy our Tapas and Cava sangria, with great luck our bill arrives without the last two bottles of wine charged to the bill. No wonder Gi Gi and me are the last sat at the table - completely oblivious. We knock back the last of our wine and head out ASAP!


Chilli Whites

Love London exclusive clubs? Then Chilli Whites is the Leeds equivalent – only ten times less expensive than our good old capital raving scene. We spent most of the night dancing to funky house and posing as sailors! Chris Brown’s Forever comes on, when the song hits the bridge we miraculously and completely unchoreographed manage to fall into a dance routine we copied off YouTube!

My shoes slowly but surely defeat me and for the first time in years I find myself sitting in a nightclub nursing swollen feet! It’s all getting too much for me now!

Back at the hotel Kimmie pours two glasses of Vodka and pineapple juice? We sit outside and watch the last of the Leeds ravers play fight drunkenly in the street, we voice a few disgusted opinions at their behaviour and then finally head off to bed.

Not so Bright Eyed or Bushy Tailed

Me, Gi Gi and Genevieve manage to force ourselves out of bed for the final breakfast. Nobody else joins us, obviously K.O’d from the previous night. Genevieve decides that we are the true hardened ravers – I couldn’t agree more. My feet are swollen, my head is spinning and I look ghastly but here I am, 10.00 in the morning, drinking a black coffee and eating hash browns. Still no concern of how I’ll fit into my bridesmaid dress and at this minute really not caring.

My Lobby is your Lobby (or front room)

Our last day in Leeds is spent in the hotel lobby, where we stay for the WHOLE day. The Hen, Canterbury and Louise head to the spa. Gi Gi Live, Kimmie Parker, Genevieve and myself set up camp in the lobby, I charge my Blackberry, we buy herbal teas and hot chocolates and put our feet up. We pass the time discussing our ideal three course meals, recent films we have seen and of course how hung over we are. Kimmie is in and out of the bathroom with self proclaimed food poisoning – she moans and groans at the mention of food. However secretly the rest of us can’t help thinking that alcohol poisoning may have been a more apt diagnosis!

5 hours later

We’re still in the lobby, having popped out for Burger King and Nandos (did I ever mention that we were fabulous?). I sink a double whopper and cheese burger with chips –somebody say “bridesmaid dress!!!”

Back in London

As tired as hell and feeling ten pounds heavier, we are back in London and we’re all feeling slightly deflated. Pretty little Leeds seems like a lifetime ago.

As soon as I get home I head to my bathroom and jump on my scales to confirm that I am the heaviest I have been in two years!!!! OMG – what about my bridesmaid dress???

To bed I go, depressed as hell!

We will always have Leeds. X x x

Sphere: Related Content

Recessionista Chique

It was the usual Friday evening at the South West London home of the green fingered photographer and ex London College of fashion student, Canterbury Parker. Protocol of gatherings at the Parker home are drinks, tortilla chips and humus dips, gossip, fashion pondering, wine sipping and drunken calorie burning dancing.

Myself and vintage shopper and charity shop aficionado Kimmie Parker and her mother, Canterbury were sat in the garden, Kimmie and myself flicking through high fashion magazines and building mental wish lists, when I came to the conclusion that, 'I need a new image.'
Looking down at my jeans and a vest top outfit I couldn’t help feeling slightly upset and annoyed by the fact that it had taken me almost two hours to select this ensemble - (surely an outfit worth two hours of trying on and taking off should be more...creative?)
'A new image? That costs money,' Kimmie Parker says, sucking on her Vogue cigarette.
'It doesn't have to. You can just style what you already have differently,' Canterbury Parker advises, pulling weeds from one of the flower beds of her much loved garden.

Transform Primark garments into fashion history homage

I was an expert of styling while being a student, I spent most of my time shopping in my mothers wardrobe, which is like fashion heaven, filled to the brim with vintage, classic and quality goods. When my much needed student loan arrived I would stock up on Primark garments and key accessories such as bags, jewellery and shoes. By the end of the semester I could transform Primark garments in to fashion history homage, cleverly styled, interestingly worn outfits.

Since being employed I must admit I have become somewhat lazy, I am very proficient in taking myself to Zara or Topshop and buying myself a Catwalk look a likey whenever an event pops up. I can't help thinking this is all too easy and a lot less fun!
Never fear, the impromptu shopping for occasion attitude will be over in the next few months. The coming months will not only see me considerably poorer due to heading back to university - but headed to FASHION university (the Gold winners of Graduate Fashion Week) some serious creativity and art will need to be applied to my dressing technique.
Now is the time for me to pull my finger out and get all Recessionista chique!

Outfits look great with a bit of vintage punctuation

'Gok Wan says the key to dressing in high street and cheaper garments is to accessorise - often these garments miss out on detail.' Kimmie says.
Sipping my wine, I concur. I am a true accessories practitioner - I don't believe an outfit is complete until you have considered your belt, it's buckle, your earrings, your necklace or chain, rings, bracelets, your handbag and shoes. If you're a truly serious dresser you'll even have a selection of watches!
The Sicilian always says, 'A man can be wearing anything, but he will always be judged by his watch and his shoes.'
Accessories can speak volumes about your outfit, your style and your ability to dress - I believe all outfits look great with a bit of vintage punctuation, whether it's a vintage belt, bag or shoe; vintage always puts you in a league with the connoisseurs. Accessories can easily get over looked or become a second thought, to some, maybe they are. In my case it would take me far longer to decide NOT to wear accessories than it would for me to pile them on.
My ears were pierced before I even knew what earrings were and since then I’ve never looked back. As a dancer in my late teens I would go as far as to pack a special pair of earrings to wear whilst rehearsing in the studio, once rehearsals were finished I would replace my dancing earrings with my statement earrings!
Many of my friends would die at the thought of leaving their homes without their earrings, particularly frequent flyer and bling - a - ling supporter, Angel Rae; in the six years that I have known her I am yet to see her without earrings big enough to pick up a satellite signal. It's her thing and it works!

If and when you have to buy garments, buy them in black!

Accessories are a necessity, particularly for the Recesisionista Fashionista who doesn't have thousands of pounds to rework their image, but still insists on being individual and stylish. I am not saying that everyone should go out and spend thousands of pounds on accessories, that would defeat the whole object. But if sacrifice and compromise happen to reside in your fashion styling technique, then instead of buying a load of clothes from Primark that are anonymous and more than likely not necessary or spending sixty pounds on a dress from Zara, that can only be worn once around the same group of friends, focus more on a pair of statement shoes, a killer coat, a broche or clutch bag. My key tip for Recessionista Chique is; invest in items that can transform outfits and can be worn continuously throughout the season. And if and when you have to buy garments, buy them in black!

Cont’d in Accessory Necessities...

Sphere: Related Content