A Hero's Return

At 8am, I felt more confident to explore the streets of Napoli alone as the bloodsuckers retreated from the daylight. Napoli was everything the guidebook described - loud, polluted, messy - a frenzied chaotic scene compared to the rest of Italy I had seen but on the other hand, there was an exciting pulse and energy to it too.

The morning traffic was at its peak along the Corso Umberto and I cringed at the unrelenting loud impatient horning and replied 'ciao' to those who stared and even waved at me from their cars. Luckily I decided to walk to the monuments because I soon overtook the R2 bus, strolling by narrow cluttered lanes and street stalls parading fresh produce to belts and hats.

On the way back after haggling with the street vendor on 3 hats (knocked them down from 5 to 4euros each!), I wriggled into the thick action of a long protest march against unemployment in the local iron industry. Imagining myself to be a political photojournalist, I went trigger happy and snapped shots of the banners-waving guys who happily posed for me and rejoiced in their freedom to protest; grinning at the Italian aunties and uncles in their white worker's labcoats blowing their whistles ever so enthusiastically.

Armed with my favourite cioccolato sfogliatella (which happened to be Napoli's premium pastry, what luck!), I headed back and packed my backpack for the last time and braced myself for the long depressing flight home. Just when I was reserving my Eurostar seat (22,20euros) to Roma at the cramped ticketing office, Alessandro called and caught me by surprise. I didn't expect him to remember that I was leaving today and my heart was weeping as we said our final goodbye and promised that we'd meet again. I don't know when but somehow I knew I'd be back for sure.

Mad in Napoli

I hadn't felt so suicidal since my first solo week in Europe as I waited at the Rinella dock mesmerised by the glorious dawn. The sun's first rays crept from behind the peaks as I thought how ironic that my impending depression was brought on by my reluctance to leave, compared to my first lonely night in the freakin' 90-euros-per-night designer hotel in Barcelona. I memorised the awe-inspiring Salina landscape one last time and sobbed quietly on the hydrofoil passing Lipari and Vulcano to Milazzo, overwhelmed by a flood of mixed emotions.

At 10.30am, Milazzo's motor and human traffic were already peaking and the blazing sunrays made me squint as I slowly woke up from my daze after my late morning obligatory caffe latte and ciccolato brioche. I caught a bus to the Milazzo treno stazione where the grouchy ticket officer told me I had to wait 2 hours for the 1pm train which would reach Napoli at 7.20pm but based on my well-honed Amazing-Race instinct, I decided to try my luck at Messina instead (30 mins away by train). And true enough, the motherly assistant there told me I could still make the 2pm Eurostar from Villa S. Giovanni on the mainland which would roll into Napoli at 6.18pm, an hour earlier than the other train! At that moment, I felt like the frontrunner in the Amazing Race!

With the help of a scruffy-looking boatman who was so tickled by the fact I spoke some Italian, I strolled into the cavernous belly of the large cruise after it was emptied of a long train of heavy containers. The girl in front of me was struggling with her luggage on the flight of stairs to the open deck so I asked her "è pesante?" (is it heavy?) and gave her a hand. Plus I also wouldn't want to miss the lovely view of the Messina town as we pulled away from the port.

As I sat there enjoying the warm breeze, I bid a heartfelt farewell to Sicily which had been so hospitable; her beauty was simply breathtaking and so timeless. The 20mins ride was non-eventful except for B, a therapist from Messina, whom I chatted with and he seemed genuinely friendly until he insisted on a complimentary pizza lunch but I politely declined giving an excuse that I was afraid I'd miss my train when I rather preferred to have some quiet time to digest my thoughts and my proscuitto-parmiggiano-funghi panino (3euros).

At S. Giovanni, the luxurious Eurostar (36,36euros) cruised past the rural, unspoilt Calabrian hills to my right and I battled fatigue and kept my eyes open catching last glimpses of the familiar tranquil blue sea on my left all the way to Campania where I spotted the sign for Paestum, bathed in the soft glow of the dipping sun.

Right on the dot at 6.18pm, the train rolled into Napoli and its first impression was a frenzied, chaotic concrete jungle - molto brutto (very ugly). And for the first time on my trip, this hooligan jumped in front of me for a cheap thrill and gave me a shock! I gave him a rude stare and told the old woman next to me that he was molto mati (very crazy), to which she agreed and pointed out where the main Piazza Garibaldi was.

The young receptionist Luigi and the bellboy at the nearby 3-star Hotel Ideal were suitably impressed by my Italian (by now I was already dreaming in Italian!) so I took advantage and bargained the price of the last double room for 45euros. When I told Luigi I'd like to explore the city, he warned me not to bring my bag out, advised on avoiding certain neighbourhoods and insisted I take the R2 bus if I really had to see the monuments at Piazza Municipio at that hour.

Sensing the caution and concern in his voice, and not wanting to court trouble on my last evening in Italy, I decided to call it a night and just enjoyed dinner at the popular Iris Ristorante a few doors away. The menu was mind-boggling and I remarked to the 2 lovely Australian ladies seated next to me that I was stumped for choice. Margie from Perth was nursing her fractured right arm in a sling (from netball, she pointed out)and her mother Rosemary had gladly accompanied her on the one-month holiday in Italy, relieved to be away from Papa New Guinea where her husband was posted.

We struck up a long hearty conversation while they shared a thin pizza and I went mad and indulged in the spaghetti alla frutti di mare (5,20euros), followed by the polpo (octopus) cooked with pomodoro, capers and olive oil (5euros), vino bianco and a glass of sweet but potent limoncello for dessert. I couldn't believe how cheap the dishes were and they couldn't believe I could eat so much for a tiny Asian girl.

We wished each other safe journey and I returned to the hotel and chatted some more with young Luigi who seemed adamant on marrying an Asian girl, preferrably from Japan or maybe Singapore, he added. I told him Italian women were so gorgeous but he mumbled something about them which I didn't understand. I also teased him that he was just a bambino (kid) at only 27 (he thought I was 20) and declined his kind invitation to check out the local nightlife because firstly I was molto stanca (exhausted), plus I didn't want to deal with his advances later. Yes, I could see it coming!

Filicudi Fantastico

I caught the 9am hydrofoil (6,90euros) to Filicudi, geologically the oldest island along with Alicudi, which was visible from Fili's shores. My adventures began on a hitched motorbike ride with the strappy long-haired Michele from the porto to the other bay, Pecorini a mare, as there was no bus on this tiny ulu isle, home to just 250! I had earlier approached a middle-aged couple talking to Michele and asked what was the best way to get around the isle, to which they promptly pointed to M who'd gladly give me a lift.

M was my age and had visited Singapore before in 1997. I decided he was safe company as he knew everyone on Filicudi and even waved to his mama whizzing past us in her red car. He tried to converse with me over his shoulder and even offered to let me ride his dirtbike but I rather he focused on negotiating his high scrambler around the sharp corners and I kept leaning back to avoid choking on his long hair twirling in the wind.

I could see why my amico Lorenzo picked Fili as his favourite island; it was a molto tranquila and bellissima oasis stuck in time. M apologised he couldn't take me on his fishing boat as he wouldn't know when he'd finish, but he was kind enough to ask his friend Domenico to send me to the porto later. I spent the next 30mins hanging out with the 2 old men fishing and thought the 60 year-old was especially kind and friendly, when he even let me reel in the fish. I had a change of mind when he professed within the next five minutes that he liked me a lot, invited me over for dinner and asked if I wanted to 'do love' with him after that!

Stiffling a fit of giggles, I promptly returned him his rod and waved at a passing small boat with 4 tourists for a 12-euros round tour. What luck, to the dirty old man's disappointment! The jovial Stefano, who also owned a pensione on the hill, led me, Andre and Valentina di Milano and another German couple on a glorious hour-long island tour. We visited the deep hollow Grotte del Blue Marino and took pictures of the caves along Punta Perciato. Beautiful isolated pebbled beaches beckoned at every turn and Stefano finally found a spot at Scoglio Giafante for us to jump in after making sure there was no school of 'medusa' (jellyfish).

Due to a previous ugly brush with a monstrous box jellyfish at Bintan in Indonesia which left me twitching for days, I was not convinced till the 2 guys inspected the clear water first and gave us the ladies the all's clear thumbs-up. The German lady and I leaped in, followed by the busty Valentina whose jump created quite a splash! Stefano joked he'd leave us all there so we could sleep on the beach and eat pesce crudo (raw fish) for dinner.

Back at the porto, I tried to bargain some more with Stefano in good humour but he was a tough Sicilian nut to crack. Hungry, I wiped out my pranzo di spaghetti alla Filicudi (8euros), a simple recipe of minced capers, fragrant rosemary and nuts (pistachio, I think) and browsed through some retro Sicilian cookbooks at the shop. With some time to kill, I seeked refuge under the cool shade of a big fishing boat on the warm pebbled beach. Ah, the weather was bellissima; the sky was like a stretch of blue canvas save for a few fluffy white clouds. I closed my eyes and locked that tranquil moment in my memory for keeps.

When I opened them again, I spotted and called out to my amici Enrica and Attilio from Bologna, who were on another excursion to Filicudi and Alicudi this time round. The 2 boatmen Franco and Giuseppe were also happy to see me and we caught up like old friends. I asked Giuseppe 'Avete una cigaretta?' and puffed on it while Enrica updated me that G's dad had a heart attack that morning and he was worried stiff. When it was time for them to leave, they all shook my hand and the guys saluted me while I blew them a kiss, sad that I'd probably not see them again.

Instead of waiting for the 6.20pm Siremar hydrofoil, I paid 8,20 euros for the 4.45pm Ustica ferry back to Salina so I could explore the Marina porto area. I very much preferred Salina as a base than Lipari, as it had all the basic conveniences but yet remained a really charming, quaint and laidback island. I popped my head into the lush private coastal residences, loaded up on last minute purchases of freshly-salted capers and sundried pomodoro, and ran my fingers through the colourful souvenirs and postcards at the shops.

While slurpping on a 2-euros fresh limone granita in-between a cigarette, I asked Domenico, a chubby jovial 34 year-old local 'scusa, l'autobus e qui?' and pointed to my watch if the 8pm bus was really coming. He advised that it was better for me to take the last hydrofoil at 7.40pm to Rinella and even accompanied me to the ticket office and jetty, complimenting on my 'bene Italiano e molto simpatica' pink camo bandana. We exchanged the usual niceties 'Quanti anni ha?/ Di dove sei?/ che lavoro fa? etc' and he said 'Ai-ya-ya' when he learnt that I was travelling 'da sola'. The men always seemed puzzled why I'd travel on my own and my reply was always 'perche mi piace' (because I like)!

On the hydrofoil, one of the crew B gave me the glance-over and asked if I wanted to have dinner but I lied that I was 'molto stanca (very tired) e non ho fame (not hungry)' to dodge his pick-up. Climbing up the harbour at Rinella, I spotted a backpacking French couple who seemed lost and gave them recommendations on the camere and campsite nearby, as if I had lived here all my life.

Luckily the pensione owners were still in their office and I told them 'Vorrei pagare adesso perche domani parti presto' (I'd like to pay now because I'm leaving early tomorrow.) It turned out they could speak Inglese as they had lived in Australia for years. The friendly elderly couple advised me on an alternative from Rinella to Napoli on the 6.30pm overnight ferry for only 25euros which would arrive there at 7.30am. The idea of roughing it out in a lonely depressing ferry for 13 hours lost out to the appeal of the luxurious Eurostar naturally.

A quick shower later, I returned to the nearby L'Ariana ristorante for the Ritorni alla Norma (10euros) - pasta con melanzane, pomodoro e basilico (they were out of pesce spada, damnit!) and chatted some more with the sweet soft-spoken lady waitress and kind chef who presented me with a complimentary shot of limencello. As the lemon liquor trickled down my throat, it also warmed my heart and belly because I noticed they didn't give it to the other guests earlier and they sincerely wished me 'buon viaggio'. I walked back in the cold hugging myself on the dimly lit street, feeling so proud that I managed to visit all the isole di Eolie, except for Alicudi which was not much.

I only wished I had climbed up Vulcano or Stromboli but to my credit, I didn't visit any tourist office and had no travel literature on the islands at all! Anyway if I had done everything, I wouldn't have any excuse to come back again to conquer the summit with my loved ones! Sigh, as my journey drew to an end, I was already planning my next trip to Italy. There were still so many places to visit, especially Umbria, Puglia, Calabria and Sardinia. Mi aspetti per favore, Italia!

Perfecto Paradiso

On Sunday, I dragged myself out of bed at 6.30am to meet G at the dock for a day trip to Filicudi as agreed but the idiot never showed up. Perhaps he overslept because we only left Chittara at 2am last night, or maybe he decided he was not going to waste time playing tour guide since I only wanted to be friends. Just as I was rubbing my eyes and cursing under my morning breath, I spotted Martine in pink squinting at me under the glare of the early sun and we were once again reunited! What a blessing in disguise!

It turned out she had ran off last night from the pack to look for me but didn't realise I was at the back. With some time to kill, we had colazione at her hotel and walked around Lipari dock harrassing the local fishermen cleaning their fresh catch and young navy men in their tight white uniforms for photo opportunities. When it was time for her tour group to board the hydrofoil, I was sad to see them off as everyone shook my hand, kissed my cheeks and gave me their blessings. And I was by myself again.

Feeling sleepy and boogle-eyed but reluctant to waste the lovely morning in bed, I pushed myself on visiting the Baroque-style churches, Museo Archeologico and ancient castello on the hill and sighed to the all-round panoramic views of Lipari (10 times better than Ibiza).

I also chanced upon a group of lazy gorgeous cats and poked my head into their owners' cluttered apartment and spoke to 2 sweet elderly brothers. The younger brother gladly pointed out all 14 cats, including one which just had an eye operation, and fished out the cat food to gather them for a group photo when I asked 'Posso fotograph?'. They were so lovely and generous with the cats; I'd love to listen to their life stories but I was cracking up in the heat and from the lack of sleep.

After a simple spaghetti alla pescatora (5,20euros) and feeling brain-dead, I had difficulty understanding the Italian auntie who was rattling on too fast and grouchily when I inquired her about the bus to the other towns. An old taxi driver quoted me 40 euros for a 1 and half hour tour of the island but I waved him off with 'Tanto per me perche sono sola' (too much for me because i am solo). Like a zombie, I walked along the dockside aimlessly for an hour till I got all hot and bothered and popped into a tour agency. Luckily the pretty English-speaking Marina told me which bus to take and I ran to the bus-stop just in time to hop onto one and saw the awe-inspiring pumice white coastline along Canneto and Acquacalda.
At 6.30pm smelling fresh post-shower, I soaked up the sunset at the communal terrace where I chatted with Jochen, an older German solo traveller. We cringed to the loud chimes from the church across the street and were calmed by a stream of harmonious chorus at the evening mass. As the sun dipped beyond the hills in full view, we compared notes on some of our best travels and family backgrounds, and he told me I had to climb Stromboli and crumble under its terrifying inferno hold.

Later we went to a nearby restaurant for dinner of mixed antipasti and involtini pesce spada (swordfish rolls with breadcrumbs, anchovies & red pepper) but I got uncomfortable with his laugh and excused myself to the L'Approdo wine bar again where my amici Aless and Sebastian treated me to fresh fruits and sesame biscotti with my discounted glass of Malvasia wine (6,50 to 4,50 euros). They were sad to find out I was leaving Lipari for Salina and hoped to see me again in future. "Spero, con mia amici prossima volta" (I hope, with my friends next time) was my reply.

Bellissima Salina

It was one of those lazy mornings when all I wanted to do was lie in bed and rot but Carl nagged and got me loading my backpack for l'isola di Salina. I alighted at the S. Marina port and took the blue bus to the other side of the isle Rinella, figuring it'd be a great way to see the small towns like Malfa and Leni on the way.

Salina was the 2nd biggest Eolie island but also the highest and greenest, evident from the lush Malvasia grape, caper, olive and wild cacti cultivation. The roads were winding and we all held our breath as the jovial, comedic bus driver sang and whistled aloud while happily manouvering the bus around the sharp corners.

I asked him to drop me off at a cheap camere where I bargained with the old man pleading with my sad puppy look and got the price down from 40 to 35 euros a night. Yay! A late morning cafe latte and chat with the voluptous Romanian waitress later, I made my way to the nearby secluded spaggia (beach) and made friends with the bubbly Elena and Alberto from Milano who were honeymooning in Sicily. Elena was my age, worked for a big English bank and thus spoke excellent Inglese. We yakked like longtime girlfriends in the fresco mare (cool sea), trying not to slip on the polished pebbles and keeping an eagle eye out for any Medussa.

Soon, they got hungry and rode off on their scooter while I waited 15mins for the bus to Pollara but got impatient and decided to hitch a ride instead. The rough-looking Marcello obliged saying he was going there too and I made some polite conversation while he chain-smoked. I was wary if he was to be trusted but to his credit, he was kind enough to stop for photo-opps and led me to the jaw-dropping Pollara bay, made up of a partly collapsed ancient crater.

I couldn't wait to take off my clothes and jump into the deep gorge but I could feel his eyes burning into my back as we sat there on the rough volcanic bay in silence. I waited 15mins and watched him perspire and melt under the intense sun before leaping in with a 'non mi aspetti!' (don't wait for me). He got the hint 20mins later and left when I ignored him and played hide-and-seek with the tiny colourful fishes attracted to my flowing mane in the crystal clear water.

Later I climbed into the backyard of Casa Pablo, the location of the famous Italiano film 'Il Postino', seeing that its front gate was locked (it's apparently available for rent). On my way down, I slipped and bloodied my big right toe on a rock and laughed myself silly! In any case, it was worth the picture and gloating to friends that I trespassed the property!

On the way up the slope to the piazza, two men ogled at me unaware that I was limping slightly. A snacks kiosk was blaring loud techno music and I joined 4 bored tourists, a sleeping dog and the lady kiosk-owner as her son kicked the football idly around the church square. On the bus, I had a good chuckle talking to the local pregnant auntie, her 2 young daughters and the hilarious 35 year-old driver (a deadringer to the actor in Il Postino!), who shook his head saying it was such a shame for a young lady to travel alone. Perche?!

Attack of the Zanzara

I woke up at 4am to the familiar irritating buzz of zanzara (mosquitoes) and splattered my blood on the wall when I managed to slap a fat bloodsucker bastardo! Refreshed but studded with fresh bites on my face, I left Vulcano early to catch the 9am hydrofoil to Lipari, the largest Aeolian island. Just as I was aiming my camera at the mud bath signage, my eyes were instinctively drawn to Lorenzo, a blue-eyed blonde bello who spoke Italian in an English accent. He was glancing at me curiously from behind the reception hut, so I said ciao and had a friendly exchange with him and his friend Francesco untill it was 5 mins before my water ride. I was almost tempted by their plea to stay on at Vulcano but I shrugged my shoulders and said the other islands were waiting for me!

At the bustling Lipari, incidentally also the most populated Aeolian island, I followed Lorenzo's instructions and was happily strolling down the main street Corso Vittoria Emanuele when Enza, an Italian lady with her dog on a vespa, inquired if I'd like to view her camere (rooms) upstairs. At 30 euros a night for a large room for 3 and a communal terrace overlooking the town and lush hills, it was an offer too good to resist.

She urged me in her rapid Italian to sign up for today's full-day excursion (25euros) to Stromboli and Panarea, so half an hour later after chomping down breakfast, I found myself on the crowded fastboat with 42 French-speaking Canadian tourists from Quebec and bonded with Martine, a youthful 47 year-old doctor, who said she spotted me yesterday at Vulcano walking around with my backpack.

When we reached Panarea island, I couldn't resist the cold blue waters after watching in glee how the first few brave ones leaped in. Everyone laughed when I pronounced in my rusty French "C'est tres froid mai tres bien aussi!" as I tried to stay afloat and surveyed the waters like a hawk for any jellyfish.

Martine and I got along really well as she had backpacked extensively as a solo female traveller. This time she had decided to join the tour for convenience but after hearing my adventures, she wished she had done the same. Shortly we climbed the winding streets up the pretty tranquil, lush hills on Panarea dotted with white-washed pumice stoned houses and flowering terraces overlooking the crystal clear sea and pebbled beaches.

At high noon, we dived into the sparkling sea to cool ourselves down, pronouncing it paradise and exchanged more life stories under the glorious sun. On the way back to the boat, we chanced upon a beautiful old cemetery and looked at all the elegant graves with vivid coloured photos of those rested in peace. Somehow I felt overcome by sadness and choked back my tears, reminded of my own mortality.

We visited more volcanic remains in the sea on the way to Stromboli for the 2nd largest and active volcano (after Mt Etna on the mainland), whose smoky vapour was visible from miles away. The island was equally tranquil and lush but more majestic with the towering volcano looming in the background. We broke away from the tour group of old foggies, poking our heads into cosy gardens, waved and shouted 'bravo' to the local kids playing soccer on the black dusty volcanic sand and gushed 'Tres jolie!' at every weather-beaten door and lodge.

Martine returned to the boat for dinner which was included in her tour package while I killed some time chatting with an elegant donna, Gena from Roma, over a cold birra and cigarettes, and took pictures of adorable Andrea, a 3 year-old toddler of the fruit-seller, licking his fast-melting gelato. At 7pm, this other young couple - Enrica and her boyfriend Attilio from Bologna - and I rejoined our boat companions and circled Stromboli at sunset witnessing its wrath as it sprouted luminous red lava in the dark.

The Sicilian boatmen Franco and Giuseppe chatted me and Martine up, and I had to play translator between M and them! It was hilarious! She spoke to me in French and English first, and I'd then speak to the men in my fast-improving Italian and vice versa. Imagine me, a Chinese girl from Singapore as the translator! I should have recorded our conversation for laughs.

Franco, the married 42 year-old sporting a goatie beard, whispered something in Italian in my ear but I couldn't hear above the din so in the end he shouted 'do you want to make love?' to which everyone could probably hear! I sniggered and proclaimed "Tutti Italian ragazzi sono matti!" (all Italian men are crazy!) and sarcastically replied that his 20 year-old son could be my boyfriend instead. He didn't look too pleased but after we chatted some more and got the sleaze out of the way, we could banter freely and smoked together as buddies.

This was not the first time I was hit on in this country by some of its infamous cassanovas and it further affirmed my belief that female solo travellers need a large dose of wit and patience to deal with horny Italian men! For me, I likened the experience as being humped on the leg by a poor puppy in heat and all you can do is laugh it off and pad it on the head. Or you can also slap it on its face.

At 9.30pm, we got back to Lipari and somehow I lost Martine while talking to the others, and was sorry I didn't get to say a proper goodbye to her. Hungry and tired, I popped my head into this chic L'Approdo wine bar near my camere and told the boyish 23 year-old waiter "Vorrei mangiare" (I'd like to eat). Sebastien, who always called me signorina from then on, showed me the menu and I lamented to the smiley bartender Alessandro that I liked cocktails but they were 'tanto' (too much) at 7 euros. To my amusement, he gladly discounted my Mint Daiquiri to 5 euros, saying "solo per tu" (only for you) because I was so nice and spoke such good Italian!

Not surprisingly, I lost track of time having a hearty chat with them and another regular guest Giuseppe who owned a shop nearby. All of them echoed 'brava' and gave me the thumbs up for travelling alone and "parla bene Italian" within the 2 short months. Giuseppe then invited me to listen to the live Sicilian band (his younger brother was the guitarist) at Chittara bar located at the nearby port. Before I accepted his offer, I made it clear to him that if we hang out, it'd be just as 'amici basta' (friends enough) and we shook hands on it, punching each other like sworn Sicilian buddies.

We lapped up the band's soulful performances over a glass of the local sweet wine Malvasia di Lipari. In between heart-wrenching Italian classics, our conversation turned to relationships and somehow G poured out his heart to me saying he missed the love of his life B and recalled his happiest moment was when he woke up and couldn't believe B was actually sleeping next to him after their first night together. It was a case of friends-turned-lovers and they even suffered a miscarriage. I could feel his pain when he revealed that B eventually left him for a friend who was handicapped.

He confessed that everyone knew him here and it had been a couple of years since they had seen him with a lady companion. I thought he might be uncomfortable but he shrugged and said he was not bothered by what others might think. To cheer him up, I showed my appreciation for the band with loud wolf whistles, much to G's amusement and drew giggles from him like a bashful schoolboy. I told G jokingly that I couldn't play any musical instrument but could sing, and he nearly dragged me up to sing a Chinese song! Just then at midnight, a flurry of wedding fireworks lit up the starry night and I gushed "perfetto - solo per me!", to which G agreed yes, it was only for me.

Island Girl

After leaving Taormina in the morning, I got to Messina and then Milazzo easily by two buses and hopped onto the fast Siremar hydrofoil to the nearest Eolie isola, Vulcano. The peaks loomed above the horizon even from afar and I had no freaking idea what to expect, armed with only Lorenzo's recommendations and a booklet of limited tourist literature on the cluster of volcanic islands from Messina. When I got off, my nose followed the sulphuric scent to the mud bath and I checked promptly into the beachfront Hotel Rojas (30euros only for a lovely room with a balcony!) with the help of the chubby and jovial Antonio.

The hotel's bar counter was stocked with a handful of snacks and seeing that I was stumped for choice, Antonio cheerfully recommended the Sicilian Arancini rice ball stuffed with cheese and ham (2euros), which was one of the things I had looked forward to trying in Sicily. It looked small and compact but filled my stomach easily, especially when washed down with my favourite Birra Moretti and a cigarette. Contented like a cat, I crossed the road, paid the 2-euros entrance fee for the volcanic thermal bath. The mud pool was thick, warm and bubbling as I slipped in gently and caked my grinning face and arms with the smooth greenish-grey mud baking quickly in the sun...ah.

It was an amazing vista - imagine a backdrop of volcanic hills and the open bath bubbling away while the pungent sulphur lifted by the sea breeze filled the air... A kind old gentleman said in a a splatter of Italiano and Francese that I shouldn't stay in the volcanic mud for too long, gesturing some kind of toxic sign. I figured he was trying to tell me that the sulphur was bad for my body if I stayed too long so I tiptoed to the rocky beach 5 metres away and plunged into the cold Mediterranean sea which was also bubbling and warm! I squatted over the bubbling spots, and thought how scary it'd be if the sea opened up now and the molten lava skined me alive! Ay-ya-ya!

With some time to kill and no map (since the tourist office was closed), I strolled around the tiny village and located the other black volcanic sandy beach which was deserted and I stared at the sea til i got bored and hungry. Dinner found me easily at Il Palmento, one of the few ristoranti, established circa 1968! I chatted to these 2 affable elderly Italian men at the menu stand which advertised the ristorante's local fresh catches, wood-oven pizzas and pastas. They were immensely curious about me and proclaimed 'Che una brava bella!' to travel on my own and even came to shake my hand when they left the ristorante later. The other amused diners and even the Indian-looking pizza chef looked at me, wondering if I was somewhat of a celebrity.

Ravenous and tired, I sipped the vino bianco and proceeded to slurp down one of the most exquisite pastas I had ever tasted. The spaghetti con sarde was screaming at me when I surveyed the menu and I didn't even ask the nerdy bespectacled waiter if it was any good. It didn't look appetising when it arrived shortly but my god the taste! I never knew such a combination could work so well - fresh sardines, tender fennel stalks, golden raisins, capers and pinenuts in a light pomodoro sauce sprinkled with fried toasty breadcrumbs for only 8euros! Buonissimo. Utterly divine.

Sicilia Adesso!

I woke up and found myself in a room full of strangers and suddenly remembered I was in Sicilia at a unisex youth hostel! After an early colazione, I bid farewell to the young Swedish couple and promptly found a cheap camera (35euros) by sheer luck at the family-run Inn Piero. The no-fuss cosy joint had a terrace overlooking the gorgeous coastline and vast open sea, while the vista from my room no. 3 was only slightly obscured by some brilliant bushy cyprese trees.

Armed with a map and stomach full of pasta and beer, I embarked on 2 recommended trails; one through the main shopping street shooting the ancient Greek-Roman monuments, historical churches and local pasticceria with windows of gleaming diabetic marzapane and cakes in all shapes and colours.

Unable to resist the dolci, I bought a range of different Paste di Mandorla (local specialty sweet almond biscotti) and gleefully stumbled on the winding foot path past lush home gardens to the charming Isola Bella (literally meaning 'beautiful island'). A protected U-shaped cove, the deserted pebbled beach was flanked by two inlets and dotted with pretty summer umbrellas.

The sea was too cold for a swim (at least by my Singaporean standard)so I snacked on my almond biscotti and dipped my tired feet into the clear cool waters, running my toes over the smooth polished pebbles. On my way back to town, I took the lazy option by hopping onto the funivia (1,80 euros) which made its steep ascend up the hilly slopes in time to catch the lovely sun casting its warm glow all around Taormina. I couldn't say this enough - the sunsets here were simply breathtaking.

At night I indulged in more Sicilian specialties at the nearby Trattoria-Pizzeria San Pancrazio, which caught my eye earlier in the day with its mouth-watering menu of seafood dishes. I was happy and hungry so I fired away my orders at Nino, the resident waiter-cum-manager who could manage un po' inglese. My piatto primo is a mezza portion (5euros) of Spaghetti with prawns, cherry tomatoes and pistachios (which I gobbled down in 2mins!) in the most savoury sauce ever.

This was followed by Nino's highly recommended Fresh catch of the day -the 'Alalunga' (11,50 euros) which is a long-fin white tuna considered to be the finest species in the tuna family and one of the local highlights (apart from the perennial favourite 'spada pesca', swordfish). Nino was spot on - the juicy slightly bloody grilled steak looked and tasted almost like meat and was truly 'buono' with a twist of limone, nothing more. He probably thought I was mad; this lone Asian chick smoking and nursing a birra, while copying the menu frantically and discreetly taking pictures of the food. Needless to say, I slept like a pig before midnight and woke up at 5.45am the next morning for a full-day excursion.

I had paid 47euros for a full Thursday trip onboard a coach-load full of mostly retired loud American tourists to Agrigento for the Valley of Temples and other equally impressive Greek ruins. Figuring it'd be too much of a hassle and expensive to spend a night there, the tour would be cheaper and less stressful. Or so I thought, until the Italian guide Santo's cheesy jokes started winding up the old foggies and fuelled their insane chatter. Oh god, help me.

Rescue came in the form of this friendly English couple, whom I got to know better over the lunch of grilled swordfish and vino bianco at a seafront restaurant. We then visited the Roman 'Ville del Casale' at Piazza Armerina for its century-old yet amazingly intact thermal baths and mosaics. There were awe-inspiring scenes of fierce battles, ancient game hunting, athletic bikini girls and heroic Hercules, composed from the tiniest prettiest mosaics on whole stretches of walls and floors, even in the servant quarters.

At night, I kept my promise to Nino and went back to San Pancrazio trattoria for the 'Cotoletta Palermitana' (8,50euros); grilled thin veal cutlets Palermo-style, coated with breadcrumbs, peanuts and pistachios, finished off with a dash of olive oil. As I was the last customer, Nino and I enjoyed a great conversation in Italian (the poor fellow was struggling in inglese!) and he told me about his wife and kids in Taormina and life in Sicily.

When I asked him about the food, he beamed proudly and raved about their produce from the nuts to the vegetables and seafood, and kindly offered me a complimentary dessert of Mandorla torta (sweet almond cake) and the prickly cacti fruit 'Ficodindia' from the dessert buffet counter inside.

You won't miss the cacti plant which grew abundantly all over Sicily, thriving on the dry climate. I'd always wanted to try the fruit but never got round to it until now. Nino told me with a laugh that it was also affectionately nicknamed 'Bastardone' as it was only available in autumn when summer was over! Under the curious gaze of the two cooks freed from the kitchen, he expertly removed the fruit's prickly skin and handed me the whole thing, insisting I eat the big crunchy seeds too. Its taste reminded me of a fresh firm juicy cucumber with a tinge of sweetness akin to a green rock melon. Yummy. We shook hands and I thanked him for his gracious hospitality. I think if I ever return to Taormina, Nino would still be working there and perhaps he'd remember me too.