Approaching the town of Noto in the afternoon sunlight, the golden color of the buildings on the hilltop was especially striking. After reaching our hotel, we stepped out onto the balcony for one of the best views in town. From the church to the town hall to the former fish market, we could see over the crumbling roofs to all of Noto. 

The following day, we left the town behind for a few hours basking in the Sicilian sunshine. Despite being early May, the Mediterranean looked too appealing to resist a swim. On a Saturday, locals carried barbeques down to the beach and flew kites. Surrounded by the local dialect, I was once again glad to have my trusty rental car, otherwise this was a sight I never would have seen.

In the afternoon we headed towards Siracusa, another of Sicily’s little treasures. The old town is surrounded by water on three sides, making for a beautiful stroll in any direction. We stopped in the main piazza for a cappuccino and before we knew it a crowd had gathered on the church steps. Soon after a shiny black car arrived and a bride stepped out to the cheers of her family.

For the affordable price of a tank of gas, I found myself in a series of situations to understand the Sicilian culture. From encountering a group of girl scouts painting in the park to senior citizens going for an evening stroll, my rental car gave me the chance to see a more authentic side to Sicily.

I feared this would happen during my recent trip to Taormina, Sicily, often called the most beautiful village on the island. I’m happy to report that the opposite occurred. Perched in the cliffs above the sea I was just as struck by the location and views as the Greeks, poets, and philosophers who first set eyes on Taormina before me. It is simply spectacular.

Arriving into Catania and securing our rental car, we set our sights north, past Mount Etna to the seaside village of Taormina. The ever-eager travelers, we took the first exit signposted ‘Taormina’ and wound up a few miles south of the main village. This mistake couldn’t have been more pleasant, as we found ourselves following signs to the village along a coastal road, past the train station, and ultimately winding up hairpin turns, climbing to reveal somehow better and more sweeping views. Everything was in bloom. Cars were honking at us to go faster. We had finally arrived in Sicily.

Old Photograph of Villa Nettuno

While most of this trip I was traveling on assignment for Luxury Travel Magazine, I also wanted to spend one night in a traditional guesthouse. With a recommendation from Budget Travel Magazine, we pulled up at a quaint guesthouse called Villa Nettuno, where Famiglia Sciglio, and our white-haired host have been welcoming guests since 1953. The review from Budget Travel couldn’t have been more accurate, and when they promised sea views, they meant it.

Climbing a set of stairs to the front entrance, we passed through a gate into a small garden. The largest lilies I have ever seen were potted and surrounding the welcoming door. With the ring of a bell, we entered the home of the Sciglio family. We were greeted by a white-haired man who I imagine has been doing the greeting since 1953. Despite the warm sunshine outdoors, he was wearing a heavy wool cardigan, and carried a tissue, citing the pollen as an irritant. He pointed around the house and into the garden at all of the lovely blooming flowers.

Given the key to our room, we climbed to the second floor. This affordable accommodation offered private bathrooms and a small wrought-iron balcony with a seat faced towards the ocean. Pulling up the shutters and opening the French doors, the coastline beneath was revealed. A garden was below our balcony, full of lemon and apricot trees, blooming flowers, and a few tables where I imagined having a cappuccino the following morning. And all of this was located right smack in the center of Taormina, just across the street from the cablecar that brings visitors down to the beach.

The best part of Villa Nettuno wasn’t our private balcony, but the series of terraces that are open for guests. After a ride on the cablecar and short snooze on the beach, we returned to Villa Nettuno to with a bottle of prosecco, freshly-baked bread, cheese, and strawberries for a picnic on the terrace. We were in prime position as the sun set, and no one disturbed us from our perch on top of the peach-colored building.

This was my first evening in Sicily. A bottle of prosecco, a setting sun, and the pastel colors of ancient villas built into the rocky coastline. Everything I had heard about Taormina was true – and even better than I’d imagined.

Two years ago I decided to make this travel dream come true by spending the months of February and March in Italy. Over a cold Christmas and New Years in New York I envisioned sunny days, strolling through cobblestone streets with a cone of gelato, and sipping an apertif at an outdoor cafe watching the sun set.

Cinque Terre, Liguria, Italy, by sunset.

The reality was much less romantic. After being very lucky for much of February (misty Venice was atmospheric, Cinque Terre was warm during the day with chilly evening breezes) the cold weather blues really set in.

We were spending two weeks in a mountain village just south of Salerno (with no heating) and a storm came through that lasted for 3 days and shook every windowpane in the house violently. I tried to keep the romance of ‘mountain village in Italy’ going by sipping hot cups of cappuccino and reading novel after novel while dinner simmered on the stove. But after day 3 – I broke.

I was tired of winter. I was tired of grey clouds. I was tired of being unable to feel my fingertips.

port in sorrento, march 2007

Luckily – after the storm passed, the sun shone brightly right on our mountainside balcony. We went for walks by the sea, and just basked in sunlight. The tiles of the balcony became warm from the sunshine – and I started to believe that winter might actually be coming to a close. That day, taking in the first rays of spring, we decided to head south and spend more time exploring Croatia – it had been a long winter and we were going to chase the sun.

This is how I felt again this week in Dublin. I had a bad case of the cold weather blues.

Yesterday I had just a 10-minute walk in the city and with snow blowing horizontally straight into my face and I realized winter will not go lightly this year. It will continue to taint our weekends, freeze our fingertips, and make Monday mornings just a little more miserable. When I finally got indoors – I didn’t take comfort in ANOTHER cup of tea – but in planning a springtime trip to follow the sun.

a sunny day in dubrovnik, croatia

My thoughts returned to Italy – only further south. I just finished a book on Sicily (Lampedusa’s ‘The Leopard’) and it has left me with a desire to explore this island on the fringe of Italy. I might just combine it with a trip to Malta as well. 

I might just go look up flights right now, as the rain falls drearily in the window beside me.

Where are you going for a warm weather getaway? Post below and give your fellow travelers some inspiration on where to follow the sun this spring and summer.

I was too busy taking pictures of quaint Frascati to notice that all the locals were in their seats for lunch.

Getting on the local schedule almost always guarantees finding the type of atmosphere that will bring a destination to life. Before you plan your next trip to any European city – do some research on local habits. What types of meals do they eat? (Small breakfast? Lunch as biggest meal of the day? Very late dinner?) What time are meals served? Are shops closed for siesta?

Over the last years I’ve found this out the hard way. Italy is a great example of the benefits of being on the local schedule. One afternoon, I was enjoying the sunny streets of a quaint town outside Rome called Frascati. We probably arrived on the train from Rome around noon, and thought we would wander around for a while before sitting down to lunch.

If I’d had a closer look, I probably would have noticed that right around 12, the tables were starting to fill with local people sitting down for their afternoon meal. At 2pm when we were ready to sit down for lunch, many doors had ‘closed’ signs hanging in the windows, and tables were finishing up espresso, not digging into pasta.

Fountain in the main piazza, Frascati.

After about the 5th or 6th restaurant we were turned away from, we started to lose hope. Bakeries were closed too – our plan B of just grabbing some bread or pastries to hold us over until dinner was failing miserably. 

Luckily, we turned a corner to see one last bright awning. At this point the clock was approaching 2:30, and I realized that we were no longer in the cosmopolitan city of Rome where we could always find something to eat. On first glance – there was no closed sign on the door, and with the ring of a bell, we walked inside.

It was exactly the restaurant I’d been hoping to find: small wooden tables, decorated with family heirlooms, and a glimpse into the kitchen in the back. There were only two tables that were occupied – one with a couple who were finishing up their main courses, and the table in the corner where the family who owned the restaurant were sitting down to their own meal.

Just as the chef was about to tell me they were closed, I smiled. Next I practiced my limited Italian to say, ‘Are you open, please?’ He directed us to a table nearby, and looking at the table next to us, I pointed at the dish the gentleman was having. Pleased with our quick order, the chef went back into the kitchen to whip up our lunch.

His three-year old daughter Isabella was shy when we first arrived, but after a few minutes she was running around the restaurant, playing with my scarf, even delivering bread. What came to the table next was one of the best meals I had during my entire few months in Italy. A handmade twisted pasta had the perfect rough texture to pick up a creamy, cheesy, bubbly sauce. Pan seared pancetta, onions, tomatoes, and other garden vegetables kept the dish light. 

1 Euro Coffee, Brilliant.

It could have been my extreme hunger at this point – but the red house wine and this plate of pasta is one of my most distinct memories of my time in Italy. As it turns out, the couple sitting next to us spoke some English, and served as translators with the chef and his family. We sat almost until the restaurant was opening again for dinner, lingering over our wine, followed by strong coffee. 

This was the Italy I had traveled to find – focused on family, good food, good company. While this story has a happy ending – I definitely learned my lesson about getting on the local schedule. When I’m in Italy, I make sure I’ve got my seat for lunch by 1pm. I don’t want to miss out on any of the atmosphere by being late.