Travel is a privilege — a chance to step away from everyday routines and experience the world. It allows me the space to discover more about myself and the time to think and reflect about the world and how I see it.

Catania arrives all at once.

Dark stone. Heat rising from the pavement. Motor scooters and tiny cars threading through narrow streets with impossible confidence — and saintly patience. Laundry fluttering above balconies. Bougainvillea and cacti trailing down fences and cascading over terraces. Church bells rousing the city from slumber, alongside the steady hum of life lived loudly and unapologetically.

Catania may be new to me, but it is ancient and complex: a city founded by the Greeks in the 8th century BC, repeatedly reshaped by earthquakes and eruptions from Mount Etna, yet somehow always rebuilding itself again.

At first, Catania feels chaotic — but as the week progresses, a rhythm begins to emerge. This is a city shaped by fire and resilience, sitting firmly in the shadow of Mount Etna, where volcanic stone gives the architecture its distinctive charcoal colour and the mountain itself seems to watch over everything.

It is a working city, but turn your head in any direction and you will find beauty. Grand Baroque buildings softened by age. Tiny espresso bars tucked into ancient streets. Lush parks paying homage to the thinkers and creators who shaped this place. Fish markets bursting with colour, noise, and the kind of theatrical energy that feels entirely Sicilian.

Catania does not perform for visitors. It simply is what it is. I think that is what I like about it.

Life spills outward here: conversations from balconies, late dinners stretching into the night, generations gathering in piazzas as the evening heat finally softens. The people are warm and welcoming — though their disapproval is immediate and unmistakable when you ask not to have sugar with your espresso.

There is something freeing about arriving in a place that feels gloriously unscripted.