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.
