Making Amici in Palermo by James Wallman

‘Come! Come with me... for a glass of wine, some pasta and to meet mi amici!’

That wasn’t quite what Frederico said – but it was what he meant. My tourist’s Italian couldn’t keep up with the rapid-fire delivery of his machine-gun Sicilian dialect. But his ferociously friendly gesticulations said it all.

Four hours of fried squid and fish, wine, peaches steeped in wine, shots of local firewater, bouts of backslapping and stories half-told and half-understood later, I began to trace a route out of Palermo’s Albergheria slum towards my hotel at the Quattro Canti, the 17th-century Baroque crossroads of the Old Town. I’d first met Frederico there, a typical Palermitan taxi-driver.

Like all self-respecting mezzogiorno taxi drivers, he’d overcharge for whatever extras he could get away with – like helping with luggage or some strange story about the government changing the road signs – but it was all done with a smile.

Staying in the Old Town means you don’t need to get taxis often, though. Most sights are a short walk away and going on foot means a chance to see old Palermo properly, wandering streets hemmed in by tumble-down crestfallen palazzi.

To the north, these alleyways criss-cross the Vucciria, an ancient Arab market, where live mussels spit jets of water out of plastic washing up tubs, dead swordfish hold their long noses high and grubby children run amok.

Five minutes away is La Kalsa district, home to Museo delle Marionette, a spooky puppet museum. I was the only breathing guest. On entering each room, a light would see me and switch on. Then a thousand beady eyeballs – from Sicily, Holland, Africa, Cambodia – followed my every step.

Around another corner, in the Palazzo Abatellis, is one of the world’s best-curated museums. Its most famed work is the mural-sized Triumph of Death – best viewed from the mezzanine. In other rooms, the medieval art and sculpture are set as if to a hidden music, with each room a progressive note on the last.

I returned for simple, fabulous mozzarella and pepperoni pizza at Piazza Bellini, a perfect spot for people-watching. Wedding guests smoked last minute cigarettes before greeting bride and father at La Martorana, a 16th-century Baroque update on a Norman church. Three steps along a date-palmed bank is the much smaller 12th century San Cataldo topped with 3 red cupolas. Opposite is the imposing classical Sicilian parliament building. Round its other side the Piazza Pretoria has been restored to its former, sexually charged glory. The naked gods and goddesses would look more at home in a Tivolian garden than as a public statement of power.

A better declaration of potency is manifest in the Palazzo delle Poste, a 1933 Fascist classic. Above grandiose steps four-storey columns humble the onlooker.

From there it’s another short stroll to the neoclassical Teatro Massimo – the largest opera house in Italy, whose steps were immortalised in the final scenes of Francis Ford Coppola’s Godfather trilogy.

On the way is the artists’ quarter around Via Barra all’ Olivella. Each studio is also a shop, filled with intricate handiwork and art. Origami dragons and dinosaurs compete for attention alongside vibrant primary brushstrokes of red cupolas and blue Sicilian bays. Simple watercolours sit next door to miniature bookshelves, smaller than a paperback.

Many come for the designer shops on Viale Della Liberta. I passed on the way to find La Cuba – according to many of the city’s fashionable, the “only” bar in town. A converted 17th century Arab mosque, this slick cocktail bar has colonized a park near the Giardino Inglese, one of Palermo’s exclusive districts. It’s the place for Sicilian politicians, actors and actresses to see and be seen in D&G inspired fashions.

I met some Sophia and friends, who exclaimed to me in wavering falsetto and almost in unison:

‘You’re from London! We love London! Is so nice... you like Palermo? La Cuba is the only bar in Palermo!’

But there are other bars, of course. After one a.m. La Cuba’s crowd peeled off. My new friends whisked me to an out of town school disco.

Newly opened Qult, set-up by an ex-barman from Leicester Square’s Little Havana is more sophisticated. Its crimson walls, gold trim and low-slung jazzy atmosphere draws an older, funkier crowd.

The ultimate night out in Sicily’s capital, though, begins at Kursaal Khalesa. This bodega-bar-café-bookshop sits beneath 60 feet of reclaimed castle walls, and throngs with a sophisticated thirtysomething crowd. A wide steep staircase leads up to North African mosaics in the restaurant and an outdoor terrace. Out here, the murmur of a hundred conversations wafts up between medieval walls and a marquee bar. It feels like yesteryear’s summer balls.

Very civilised, but the real partying happens later at another of Palermo’s “only” nightclubs, igrilli giu. The black-clad fashionista set spill out of this tiny bar, gyrating to techno and sipping cocktails, against a filmic background of little Italian cars and medieval palazzi.

And the best way to end a Palermitan night? An invitation from your new amici for more wine and pasta in a Fifth Avenue meets 15th-century palazzo converted apartment.