There’s nothing grand about Grand Hotel Wagner. Their booking adverts lied. No old-world charm here, it’s just old and dreary, shabby andneglected.
They offer us two other rooms, neither of which is any better than the one we’re already in. It’s 8 p.m., surely too late to change hotels, but Stuart goes out to try anyway.
He’s back in a few minutes saying the magic words: We’re leaving!
Grand Hotel et Des Palmes, only a two-minute walk from the Wagner, is a world away. As the doorman whisks open the door and swiftly relieves us of our luggage, I’m transported to a happy place.
The lobby is full of light, there’s lively jazz music in the air, and bright smiling faces at the front desk.
We go straight to dinner in the hotel’s rooftop restaurant. The evening gets even better as we take our bottle of lovely Sicilian white onto the terrace where a jazz band is playing.
Sunday, 12.
We have only two items on today’s agenda: lunch and the Serpotta sculptures.
As it’s Sunday and already past 3, we have limited options for lunch.
Bistrot 107 is packed. Mostly with hulking big men in black leather and heavy gold and silver jewellery. Hell’s bells, they’re Hells Angels!
Not the convivial atmosphere we like to linger in but the sardine involtini and the grilled gamberoni are really very good. We decide to take out the seafood risotto.
The back streets of Palermo don’t exactly fill one with a sense of well-being. The narrow lane we’re in fills me with dread. Are we on the right track for the oratory, I wonder.
Tucked away in a grubby street replete with graffiti is the Oratorio del Rosario di Santa Cita.
This is a magical place where stories traditionally told in paintings and illustrated in stained glass are here rendered in stunning 3D by Rococo sculptor Giacomo Serpotta.
Scenes from the life of Christ celebrated in the mysteries of the rosary are staged theatrically in a series of dioramas.
Biblical figures, allegorical characters, mythical creatures are all elaborately sculpted in meticulous detail in snow-white stucco.
Adorable impish putti frolic among fruits and flowers and cavort around windows, climb up to the ceiling, and dangle from sills.
It's closing time, so I rush to see the adjoining chapel which has original 16th century decorations.
It’s miraculous how this ancient structure, seriously damaged by WW2 bombs, has managed to retain this hoard of precious jewels of art.
There’s a mighty roar on the street as we come out of the Oratorio. Our lunch companions are on the move.
Monday, 13.
A profusion of architectural styles traces the history of the city.
Tuesday, 14.
Teatro Massimo Vittorio Emanuele.
The opera house, the largest theatre in Italy, is renowned for its perfect acoustics.
That iconic scene from TheGodfather 3, Al Pacino’s agonised silent scream when Sofia Coppola gets shot, is played out on these steps.
Teatro Politeama Garibaldi, home of the Sinfonica Siciliana, is an elegant Neoclassical structure.
Our day at the market fell flat at lunch, our worst meal on holiday. Stuart sent back his fish fry.
We’ve had several delicious meals at this osteria near the hotel.