So, I finally got to visit Sicily last month after dreaming about it forever. Grabbed my backpack and flew into Palermo. First thing? Dropped my bags at this tiny family-run guesthouse near the old market. Smelled like lemons and salt air already.
Beach Hopping Like a Madman
Woke up early and dove straight into beach hunting. Took a rickety bus to Mondello first. Powder sand, turquoise water – exactly like postcards. But here’s the real scoop: locals told me to skip the main stretch. Walked 15 minutes left past colorful boats to a hidden cove. Zero tourists, just fishermen mending nets. Jumped into the Ionian Sea completely alone. Magic.
Next day, rented a Fiat Panda (total tin can). Drove along the southern coast. Found Scala dei Turchi – those white cliffs look like giant meringues. Climbed barefoot while carrying my flip-flops. Pro tip: the clay mud near the shore? Slathered it all over my arms like the Italians do. Free spa day.
When in Sicily, Stuff Your Face
Food became my main activity. Seriously.
- Ate arancini every single day. Best one? Random alley spot in Catania – mozzarella so stringy I fought my own fingers.
- Tasted blood oranges at dawn in Ballarò market. Vendor sliced one open with his knife – juice running down my chin onto my shirt. Didn’t care.
- Gorged on cannoli every afternoon. Ricotta explosions everywhere. Found out you’re supposed to eat them IMMEDIATELY after filling or the shells go soggy. Now I judge all cannoli back home.
- Drank Nero d’Avola on terraces watching sunset. Swear it tastes different when Mount Etna is puffing smoke in the distance.
Views That Punch You in the Gut
Took the cable car up to Taormina. My jaw actually dropped. That Greek amphitheater framing Etna and the sea? Unreal. Sat on the ancient stones for hours watching clouds wrap the volcano.
But get this – the real mind-blowing moment came at night. Drove up to Castelmola village when the sky went dark. Looked down at the coast: all the fishing boats became tiny floating lights below, like fireflies on black velvet. Ate almond wine gelato with old Sicilian men arguing about football. Never wanted to leave.
Heads up though: Sicilian adventures require tough feet. Cobblestones destroyed my sneakers, and I got wildly lost in Palermo’s backstreets twice. Ended up in some courtyard where grandmas were hanging laundry. They just laughed and pointed me toward the church dome. Worked every time.
