Don't condemn Sicily and its people on the basis of the chaos at Catania Airport. Bodies pour in and out of this totally inadequate space, like lava from Mount Etna. Finding our pre-booked taxi driver was a triumph of instinct over any sense of geography, and then, in the gathering dusk, it was a case of Taormina here we come.
We were a disparate crew, comprising my 87-year-old mother, her 70-year-old mate, my partner, Iseult, and myself, and we had arrived from Verona on the foot of an offer we couldn't refuse from our philanthropic travel agent. We wondered at the wisdom of our choice as our taxi driver drove at a rate that gave us a glimpse of eternity. I was convinced after a week on the island that there are only two kinds of Sicilian driver, those who are dead and those who are about to die. The waterside location of the Hotel Villa Sant Andrea and the comfort of our rooms pushed our mortality further back in our minds.
Sun-worshippers were rolling out their towels when we arrived for breakfast the following morning, but we spurned the prospect of a sedentary week as we set out to sample what the island had to offer.
The stereotypical image of Sicily is one of violence choked in omerta. Our week on the eastern side of the island, far away from Palermo and Corleone, provided us with a very different impression of the island, one where the abiding memories were inspired by Greek rather than Italian influences.
Taormina, 204 metres above our hotel, is a short cable-car ride up Mount Peloritani. It reeks with atmosphere. Greek, Roman and Byzantine influences layer the town with interest. It is a delight to stroll through its narrow streets, or dive down some steep stone steps to discover a Roman walkway, a fine Arab palazzo or a cloistered monastery.
The dramatic position of the town is fully exploited by the Greek Theatre that stands just off the Corso Umberto, Taormina's main drag. Built in the 3rd century BC, it was radically altered by the Romans in the second century AD.
We saw a memorable performance of Edipo Re from its ancient terraces. The shimmering gold and silver costumes of Edipo, Creonte and Giocasta gave the movement of the main characters an iridescent vitality against a majestic backdrop. Through a gap in the ancient scena a shower of twinkling lights traced the delicate curve of the bay far below, while Mount Etna, in a show of primal power, puffed its fiery pipe in counterpoint to the chanting chorus.
Two hours away is the Greek Theatre in Siracusa, which was hewn from natural rock in the 5th century BC. Behind the scena, which no longer exists, Aeschylus and Epicarmo must have spent many anxious hours with clammy palms as their classic plays received their first airing. The theatre still hosts performances on even years, but our visit did not coincide with such a happening.
After the defeat of Athens in 413 BC, women of the nobility of Syracuse congregated above the nearby Latomia of Paradise, to lustfully gaze down upon captured Athenian slaves who were considered exceedingly handsome. The inaccessibility of the women and the name of the limestone quarry must have raised wry smiles from the toiling men. These monuments are in the precincts of the Archaeological Park of the Neapolis, which formed part of the ancient Greek city. The Altar of Hiero, an impressive sacrificial altar, the magnificent Anfiteatro Romano, complete with animal pits and Augustan Arch, and the numerous Greek, Roman and Byzantine tombs are some of the significant monuments to be seen.
Corinthians spawned the city from their first base on the island of Ortygia in the 8th century BC and dedicated it to Artemis, the huntress. Where the streets of Taormina are consciously pretty and well manicured, Ortygia is seamed with life. The past is not merely observed here, it is living and breathing in every stained building; in the people who talk as they hang, like their laundry, over the baroque balconies.
Close to the bridge joining the island to the mainland, is the Temple of Apollo (circa 7th century BC), while a stroll away is the spacious Piazza Archimede, framed by gracious buildings and crowned by the exuberant Fountain of Diane. Another short stroll reveals the graceful Cathedral, a fusion of architectural styles and belief systems set in a piazza graced with opulent palazzi. Once the celebrated Temple of Athena, it was transformed into a Christian church in the 7th century and given its present beautiful form by Andrea Palma in the 18th century.
During the week we circumvented Mount Etna, a disturbing presence, which was constantly puffing smoke and showering sparks. Eruptions have been regular enough in historic times - the last one was in 1992 - to discourage anyone from investing in real estate within the reach of its malevolent force, yet 20 per cent of Sicilians live and farm on its slopes.
As a boy I had a fascination with maps. One of the journeys I often traced on the well thumbed pages of my atlas was the journey down the spine of Italy to Calabria and then, with my amphibious finger, I would cross the narrow Straits of Messina to Sicily.
Partly to fulfill in the flesh this childish fantasy and partly to complete our diet of Greek culture, we set out to see the Riace Bronzes, a pair of fine Greek statues, hauled from the waters of the Straits in 1972. They now stand in the Museo Nazionale Della Magna Grecia in Reggio Di Calabria on the Italian mainland.
I set out in a state of juvenile excitement, looking forward to seeing Messina, where the Cyclops bombarded Ulysses, telling him to take his Odyssey elsewhere. Devastated by an earthquake and tidal wave in 1908, the port town was obviously thrown up again by some blind brickie with numb fingers. It was haphazard and awful, with no architectural feature that I could appreciate.
When we landed on the toe of Italy, we received something of a cultural shock. Never have I seen such haphazard and gruesome development as I saw between Villa San Giovanni, where we landed, and the town of Reggio Di Calabria. To add insult to injury, we had no opportunity to evaluate the quality of the statues because the museum was closed. I would have been fired on the spot by the itinerary planning department in our little group, but I accepted voluntary redundancy, as we were coming home the following day.
Although we succumbed to the heat during our stay and joined the sun worshippers on the beach for three days, we saw enough of Sicily to attract us back. It is an island, which appeals to many different tastes.
Abbey Travel organised our two centre holiday in Verona and Sicily. It was a tailormade package, which was not offered, in their promotional book.
A tip for would-be travellers: we found that by bargaining with taxi drivers we could hire them for a day to visit all the spots we wanted to see at our own pace, for not much more money than we would have spent between the four of us by taking the bus tours.