Sicily
I’ve always dreamed of visiting the type of Italy my great grandparents could be from. Messy homes with poor refrigeration. Creaky floors and old doors. Windows without screens. Backyards lined with rows of tomatoes, zucchini, peppers, and herbs. But for a foreigner like me, that Italy doesn’t exist.
Still, Sicily was amazing. Even in a food paradise like Italy, it’s overwhelming to eat out for every meal. I try to cook as often as I can. We stayed for long enough that I was able to get friendly with our neighborhood market owner. I stopped in too late one day, and he had already run out of garlic. So he asked me to follow him, and we stepped outside. He shouted to a woman who lives in the apartment above the market. Within seconds she returned and tossed down a huge bulb of garlic–completely free of charge. She owed me nothing, yet was so willing to share with me. It probably wasn’t a big deal for her to part ways with some extra garlic, but for me it was a huge gesture. And a reason why I love Sicily so much.
Once I washed away all expectations, I learned to love Taormina.
I’ve become obsessed with alleyways. The terraces are draped in lush vines and drying laundry. The windows are always open . Neighbors all outside anywhere they can squeeze a few folding chairs together. I would love to hear what they're gossping about.
Perfectly unpretentious and uncrowded beaches. Mini-bottles of Prosecco & Nick. I don't think there's much more I need to be happy.
