Last month, after a rather hectic Q1, we spent a long weekend in Sicily. It was wonderfully peaceful and restorative - except for the back injury one of our too-brave-for-her-own-good dogs sustained, and a lost iPad. (Now healed, now found.)
I saw Greek temples and Roman amphitheatres and turquoise waters and trees heavy with lemons. I met more wonderfully kind Sicilians and ate more indescribably good food. I practiced my Italian. I drove fast (Malta has no highways). I read. I fell in love with a Sicilian Chardonnay. I dusted off my camera. I finished True Detective.
I returned to Malta
trunk boot full of Modican chocolate, La Planeta wines, bits and bobs from IKEA, a Sicilian cookbook and my first pair of grown-up shoes (which cost as much as a plane ticket, but luckily not at Sicily's outlet malls).
And somewhere in Sicily I found words again.
But none of the right ones to describe how breathtaking Ragusa is in the morning light -- I'll let the photos talk instead.