LUCK had it that we got through Palermo with our car intact. Drivers there like to create six lanes out of three and have tailgating down to a fine art.

We passed along the coast before banking inland to climb Sicily's mountainous interior. Our route took us snaking through mountain passes on an elevated roadway supported by thousands of concrete columns, some supposedly the location for Mafia victims, the so called lupara bianca ("white deaths").

Two hours later and we're suddenly staring at Mount Etna, which rose into view as we cleared the brow of a hill. Dwarfing the land around it with its 11,000ft bulk, covered in snow with a sprinkling of cloud hovering below its smoking summit, it was a mesmerising sight.

Taormina lay over the other side of the volcano high on a hill and was glistening like a jewel in the afternoon sun.

Our Christmas home was a cosy self-catering apartment on the Corso Umberto, the main street lined with 15th century palazzi and fashionable shops. From our window the Corso was filled with festive lights swaying in the breeze, and the dulcet tones of Bing Crosby sang Yuletide melodies from speakers.

The first night was plagued by the apartment's lights going out. It may have had something to do with the streets' Christmas light cable linked to the junction box under our window. Our satellite TV was only picking up Italian game shows and bad ones at that.

We spent the day before Christmas Eve exploring the sights and buying food supplies. We wandered through the Teatro Greco. Built by the Greeks in 3BC and used as a gladitorial arena by the Romans, nowadays entertainment comes in the form of bloodless drama and opera during the frenetic summer season.

On a crisp December morning it is peaceful and unhurried. The view from the upper tiers of the amphitheatre with a smouldering Mt Etna beyond and thunderous waves crashing onto the bay below was evocative. A fun way to reach the shoreline was to get the cablecar down to Mazzaro Beach and stroll out to the tempting islet of Isola Bela. That night we spent nearly £40 for fish and two large prawns. Next time I'll check the price per kilo first.

Christmas Eve was clear with a startlingly blue sky. Etna's upper slopes sparkled in the morning sun as we drove down from our rocky perch to explore the distant volcano. We stopped at Zafferana in the foothills to witness the lava flow that miraculously stopped short of the town in 1992. Continuing up beyond the snowline we decanted at the Silvestri crater, which was formed after an eruption in 1982 at an altitude of nearly 6000 ft. Clambering up the cone we discovered people sledging into the snow-lined crater. Inspired, I fashioned a sledge out of a plastic bag, a car mat and some cardboard and we were away in a shower of snow. A sign nearby pointed the way to the scene of the 2001 eruption up a 45-degree incline. I staggered up as far as I could in running shoes but stopped short of what could have been a bottomless crater. The view over the silent lunar-like landscape with a full moon rising was breathtaking, and the fact that this was a volcano that could spark to life at any moment made it even more memorable. Back in Taormina, Frank Sinatra was singing on the Corso Umberto. A shop had a full-sized Santa in the window brandishing a mobster's machine gun, and traditional Sicilian bagpipe players, the Ciaramellari, were in town playing to the gathering evening promenade. Taormina is Sicily's St Tropez, and the fur coats were out in force. Huge bonfires were lit in squares across town, great flames licking the night sky. Cue The Wicker Man. Then people drifted away into the night or slipped into church for midnight mass.

For Christmas Day we strolled after breakfast to the Piazza Aprile, the lively square where Burton and Taylor drank at the Wunderbar. The fountain danced in synch to Strauss for much of the day, and we climbed a long and winding old mule track to a deserted monastery on a cliff.

Church bells pealed as we paused to catch our breath, viewing Taormina clinging to the hillside below like a colourful limpet on a rusting hull.

The church in Piazza Aprile has an evening mass, and we stood in the doorway, our attention divided between listening to the singing whilst being distracted by Strauss and youths with firecrackers. Boxing Day saw storm clouds and rough seas, and we drove to the nearby city of Catania. In contrast to Taormina, it's dark, brooding and dirty, more like a real city.

In 1693 an earthquake killed two thirds of the population. Six years later it was overrun by molten lava from Etna. It's extraordinary to see the Castello Ursino, a castle that was once perched on a cliff by the sea, now half a mile inland owing to being encircled by lava that pushed the sea back. Exposed lava is visible in the moat.

The next morning we packed and sped off through fields of orange and lemon trees back to Palermo.

An overnight stop in the seaside town of Sferacavallo would not have been complete without a terrifically cheap meal at a menuless restaurant that offered 12 fish-only dishes and a bottle of wine for £30 for two.

From there it was time to leave, but it would be so nice to return.

l Flight: Ryannair from Stansted. £100 each return.

l Car hire: Auto Europa £240 for 6 days.

l Taormina tourist office website is www.gate2taormina. com