We went to the southern Sicilian town of Favara a while back.

The historic town centre looked like a slum in Chad, or perhaps the most bombed-out district of Damascus. There were wooden boards and scaffolding around the derelict houses, to make sure pieces of masonry didn’t land on the cars. There were hoardings to keep pedestrians from walking too close.

We arrived in the dark, which made it all extra-scary.

“Why did you bring me to this dump?” I asked Hubby under my breath.

“I’ve heard it’s wonderful,” he replied.

We entered a bar through the back door – in Sicily they often open the back to let a refreshing breeze cool the whole place down. When we emerged through the front door, we found ourselves in a vast, grandiose piazza reminiscent of Piazza San Marco in Venice.

There were glamorous bars all around. There were spotlights set into the…