I spent thirty days in Sicily, but it felt less like a trip and more like slipping into a life that had been waiting for me.
I didn’t come to rush from one attraction to the next. I came to slow down, to immerse myself in the culture, and to spend meaningful, uninterrupted time with my grandchildren. Sicily, in all its beauty gave me the perfect setting to do exactly that.
My days quickly adopted the gentle rhythm of Sicilian life. Mornings were unhurried—strong coffee, open windows, and the sounds of the neighborhood coming alive. Time here seemed to stretch, inviting conversation instead of agendas.
Although I was sick for a few days we still managed to get out and explore.
In Siracusa Ortigia, I learned how deeply history and daily life intertwine. Walking its narrow streets felt like stepping through layers of time. We lingered along the sea walls, watched fishermen bring in their catch, and sat in small piazzas where locals greeted one another like family. Ortigia taught me that beauty doesn’t need to shout—it simply exists.
We spent time in Taormina, where the views seemed almost unreal. Standing above the coastline, with Mount Etna in the distance, I felt both small and incredibly present. We wandered without a strict plan, stopping when something caught our eye—a café, a viewpoint, a delightful desert, a quiet corner away from the crowds. Those pauses often became the moments I remember most.
In Caltagirone, I fell in love with craftsmanship and tradition. The ceramic steps were more than beautiful—they told stories of patience, artistry, and pride passed down through generations. Sharing that with my grandchildren felt meaningful. This wasn’t just a place,it was a place of history and creativity.
Much of our daily life unfolded in Catania, vibrant and alive beneath the watchful presence of Mount Etna. The city buzzed with energy—markets overflowing with color, voices calling out prices, and the irresistible scent of fresh bread and street food. Oh and the fish market. The smells took me back to my childhood where I used to go shopping with my aunts and mama.
Here, immersion meant doing ordinary things: grocery shopping, walking to cafés, sitting outside in the evenings while the city softened into night. It meant listening, observing, and allowing myself to be part of the flow rather than a visitor passing through.
The most precious part of the month was time with my grandchildren—real time, not stolen moments between obligations. We walked hand in hand through ancient streets, shared countless gelatos, pizza, cornetos and sat together watching the world go by.
I watched them absorb Sicily naturally—the language, the warmth of the people, the slower pace. I saw how being here shaped them, even in small ways, and I felt deeply grateful to witness it alongside them.
Sicily taught me that culture lives in daily rituals: shared meals, long conversations, and the willingness to slow down. It reminded me that family is best nurtured in the quiet spaces between plans.
After thirty days, I left Sicily with more than memories. I carried home a deeper appreciation for presence, connection, and the simple joy of living life fully—one unhurried day at a time.
Sicily didn’t just show me its beauty. It welcomed me into its rhythm, its heart, and its way of life—and for that, I will always be grateful.
Con Amore,
Alexa
