Cefalu, on Sicily’s northern coast, moves at a slower pace than other seaside towns in Italy.VENI ETIAM/The Globe and Mail
I have my back to the town as our train zips along Sicily’s northern coast and pulls into Cefalu, but the wonder on my husband’s face says it all: This is going to feel good.
After a series of marriage-altering crises, we’ve come to Italy to reconnect with each other and, I hope, catch our breath. It can be hard to unwind in this country where your breakfast triples in price if you don’t consume it standing, where the assigned train track might change while you’re already on it and where you must be hungry for lunch at 1 p.m. if you want to fit in.
Ethan and I have been cracking Italy’s code since our 20s, when we’d spend our summers studying Italian in Florence. Since then, our love story has toggled between Canada and Italy, where I lived during grad school. We visit often, as Italy has always felt like our (endearingly infuriating) second home.
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Now, after years of accommodating my illness, surviving multiple surgeries and miscarriages, and recently losing two boys through surrogacy late into each pregnancy, we’ve officially been dealt more than we can handle. Our nervous systems are wired, our hearts are raw and we’ve been having trouble picturing how our life together can remain fulfilling in the wake of these harrowing experiences.
We’ve travelled to Cefalu for what our therapy sessions can’t offer: a chance to dilute our pain in the Tyrrhenian Sea.
The contrast from the grit and decay of Palermo, from where we’ve just arrived, is palpable as we take in the relaxed elegance of Piazza Garibaldi, one of the main squares. Towering over Cefalu like an absurd top-hat is La Rocca, an outcrop dotted with evergreen oak trees and ruins of a Norman castle.
Cefalu moves at its own rhythm.VENI ETIAM/The Globe and Mail
At golden hour, the town floods the senses: a blinding blue shimmers through every gap between buildings, striped curtains billow over balconies and wildly coloured Sicilian ceramics beckon us to the late-closing storefronts. Soon, rising decibel levels in Cefalu’s lively lanes will muffle the duomo’s bells.
Cefalu is on its own rhythm. At 7 p.m., its cobbled streets are packed with three types of bodies: those returning from the beach with an umbrella and sandy feet, those dressed up and scouting out a dinner spot and those rushing to the old fishing harbour for a sunset swim off the molo (pier).
Traffic jams are of a different variety here, with a slow procession building behind the day’s bride and groom and their photographer’s drone, while Italians shout their congratulatory auguri from passing scooters.
We begin our mornings with an espresso sipped at the counter of Antica Porta Terra in Piazza Garibaldi, plus a cornetto pastry oozing with pistachio cream – a Sicilian staple. We window-shop along Corso Ruggero and stroll the medieval streets while we have them to ourselves, then step inside the two-towered cathedral to admire the enormous Byzantine mosaic of Christ Pantocrator.
Mornings can be spent with an espresso perched over a counter or in Garibaldi Square.VENI ETIAM/The Globe and Mail
Before the summer sun gets unbearably hot, we hike up Salita Saraceni to the La Rocca park entrance. A well-delineated path flanked by cactuses and pink oleander leads to the remains of the fifth-century-BC Temple of Diana and an even older cistern.
The view of Cefalu’s terracotta rooftops, imposing duomo and curving coastline is an enchanting reward for the 45-minute climb to a lookout with a cross. On a clear day, the panorama stretches from Palermo in the west to Capo d’Orlando in the east. It’s a steeper climb to the summit and castle, which Ethan enjoys while I rest in the shade to a cacophony of crickets.
It doesn’t take long for time to stretch and our minds to slow. When grief creeps into our conversations and steals our breath, we let it. We witness each other. We cling to the simple abundance around us and ground ourselves in gratitude.
The view of Cefalu’s terracotta rooftops, imposing duomo and curving coastline is an enchanting reward for the 45-minute climb to a lookout with a cross.VENI ETIAM/The Globe and Mail
On beach days, we stop for fresh fruit at the ortofrutta on Via Vittorio Emanuele before heading to the lungomare seafront promenade. Renting two sunbeds and an umbrella costs €35 ($57) – more when demand is high – but there are ample stretches of public beach.
Here, playing in the tall, forceful waves with a view of golden Cefalu sprawled like scattered gems at the foot of the giant promontory, I embody myself fully for the first time in a while. I notice how not every daunting wave buries me in its aftermath and I’m comforted by the anchored boats on the horizon that I focus on to realign myself when I drift from the current.
I float for hours, my ears filling with salty sea and Italian summer hits blaring from the lido bars – a tender reminder of how listening to song lyrics was how I first learned Italian as a teen. It suddenly doesn’t matter how far I still have to go when I gather evidence of how far I’ve managed to come.
On beach days, stop for fresh fruit at the ortofrutta on Via Vittorio Emanuele before heading to enjoy the water.VENI ETIAM/The Globe and Mail
Sunset is the only non-negotiable on our daily schedule. We time our activities to admire it from the pier or from our Airbnb balcony as we enjoy regional delicacies and wine purchased from Sapori di Sicilia on Via Vittorio Emanuele.
Eating well is easy in Cefalu. Our most memorable meal is the supper we savour at Bastione & Costanza, an innovative culinary and cultural space built into the village fortifications off Via Bordonaro. From pizzas to complex dishes, the menu is a manifesto of Sicilian biodiversity. Everything is produced locally, including their flour. Ethan’s squid risotto on a pea mousse and purple cabbage is plated as beautifully as my slow-cooked octopus with caramelized leek and hazelnuts. In the dimly lit courtyard, we smile at each other over our plates and conclude that maybe all we should aim for in life is to eat well, love fiercely and go to bed calm.
Over our 10 days in Sicily, Ethan and I manage to tap into the lightness we loved about us 25 years ago, even if we’ve deliberately paused thinking about all the existential questions that linger, unanswered. It hurts to see kids play on the shore as we refrain from imagining how big our own would’ve been by now, if they’d survived. But as the hurt stirs, the sun helps and the sea reminds me to breathe.
Maybe it’s not the honeymoon that’s the most important trip a married couple takes, but the one you take in the thick of the storm. The one where you play in the tides and get slapped by roaring waves, but find your footing again, somehow, with tightly held hands and unexpected laughter.
If you go
VENI ETIAM/The Globe and Mail
Cefalu is reachable by train from Palermo (45 minutes) and Catania (four hours).
Sunset-seekers will enjoy Gramos, an enoteca with a sea view where you can order taglieri (boards) paired with Sicilian wines, including nero d’Avola, nerello mascalese, perricone, frappato, grillo and cataratto.
The best gelato or, even more refreshing, granita siciliana, is from Gelateria del Lavatoio, especially the almond (mandorla) flavour. Tasting a cannolo is a must in Sicily, especially when injected with ricotta on the spot for guaranteed freshness, like at Mon Chou Chou.
At Tinchite, be sure to try Cefalu’s signature pasta a taianu – a layered dish of lamb, tomato sauce, fried eggplant, pecorino, basil and spices. Historically prepared for the festival of the city’s patron saint in August, it is a perfect example of Arab influence on Sicilian cuisine.
