Sicily and Sardinia: Family, Food, and Finding My Roots

When our plane finally left Newark, I sank into my seat and took a deep breath. Getting to Palermo had already felt like a marathon with delays, short staffing, and shuttle buses. We'd decided to upgrade to premium economy, and it was worth every penny. Wide seats, footrests, and actual room to move and stretch out. Gil sat beside me, Greg across the aisle. We were on our way to Sicily.

I’d been to Italy before, but this trip was different. I was about to visit the place where my great-grandmother, my bisnonna, was born and lived as a young girl before leaving everything she knew to come to America. And then, to actually vacation with my Italian cousins rather than just visit them… it was going to be unforgettable.

Caltavuturo

We landed in Palermo at 7:30 a.m., rented a Peugeot, and drove toward Caltavuturo, the village where Caterina Galbo Di Carlo was born.

She lived until I was about 10 years old, so I still remember her. She was, as you might imagine, an Italian nonna who wore housecoats and had uncharacteristically soft gray hair. She was sweet, kind, and spoke broken English. She always sent birthday cards, which amazes me now, considering she had eight sons and more grandchildren and great-grandchildren than I can count.

When we visited her, my brother and I would drink juice from Flintstones glasses and eat Lorna Doone cookies. Her bathroom had an old-fashioned toilet with the tank high up on the wall and a pull-string flush. We must have pulled it a dozen times. Those little things stick.

Caltavuturo is small, with about 3,500 people. It’s not a tourist town. People live, work, and raise families there. The streets are tidy, the buildings well kept, but no one speaks English. We saw “Di Carlo” carved on a monument, but no Galbos. Still, I felt her there. Standing on those same streets, I thought: If she never left, none of us—me, Greg, Gil—would be here.

Castello di San Marco

Our first resort, Castello di San Marco, sits between Mt. Etna and Taormina. The castle, once the baroque residence of Prince Gravina Cruyllas, is surrounded by gardens that reflect Sicily’s mix of cultures and history.

Greg and Gil spent hours perfecting their dives in the pool. I started falling in love with the food: simple, fresh, and full of flavor.

Taormina

And then there was Taormina. It tested every ounce of yoga zen I had.

We had a dinner reservation in this hilltop town perched almost vertically along the Mediterranean, and Google Maps took us on a wild ride: steep hairpin turns, streets so narrow I held my breath, and scooters flying past from every direction.

At one point, we accidentally drove into a piazza where cars clearly weren’t allowed. Hundreds of people were staring at us. One man shouted, “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here!”

It didn’t help that we were already yelling at each other in the car. Talk about a cortisol charge!

By the time we parked and got to the restaurant (an hour late), we had scraped the car along a building. I was sweaty, shaky, and ready to give up. But the staff welcomed us warmly and immediately settled our nerves. We sat under the night sky, overlooking the Mediterranean, and I sipped a sparkling rosé. I decided it was worth it. Greg… not so much.

Cefalù

Cefalù was calmer. Our suite at Alberi del Paradiso had two balconies, one facing the pool, the other the sea. When we arrived, there was a plate of fresh fruit of pears, figs, and plums waiting in the room. After the hot drive, cool air and fresh fruit felt like heaven.

But nothing is ever perfect. The bathroom was large and beautiful, but had no shower, only an oversized jet tub with a handheld shower head and no shower curtain. I was the first one to try it out.

Welp, the handheld slipped out of my grip, spraying water everywhere but on me: the walls, the mirror, the floor. I was slipping, ducking, arms flailing - straight out of an I Love Lucy episode.

And then there were the hornets. They were everywhere! The hotel gave us a bug zapper shaped like a tennis racket, and soon it turned into a family competition. Gil thought it was the best game ever.

In the evenings, we ate dinner on the terrace, watching the sun go down, the sky turn pink, and everything go quiet.

Patrizia’s House

One of my favorite days was visiting Patrizia from Sicilian Days at her home in Reitano.

Her house sat on acres of olive and lemon trees, with a view that opened all the way to the sea. Inside: stone walls, tile floors, mirrors everywhere. Even the tray she used to serve coffee was mirrored.

Lunch felt like being at a friend’s house. She gave us small jobs in the kitchen, poured wine, and set out her homemade olive oil with bread. Gil ignored all of it in favor of playing with her cats, Bella, Nini, and Mio.

She served caponata, linguini with Sicilian pesto, and meatballs with mint, fried instead of baked. We ended with coffee and biscuits on the terrace. Simple food, unforgettable moment.

Sardinia

From Palermo, we flew to Cagliari and drove to Putzu Idu, where my cousins met us.

It was hot, sticky, salty, sweaty. We spent most of our time at the beach. The water was a bright turquoise that didn’t look real. Greg and Gil even got me to float. If you know me, that’s a miracle.

The best part was watching Gil with my cousins’ boys—Leonardo, 16, is tall, tall, tall (6'3"). Gianluca, 20, also tall but not quite 6'3", studies biotech in Florence, and speaks almost perfect English. Both were so kind to Gil. They played in the water for hours! Seeing them together made me grateful for family ties that stretch across oceans.

Cala Sinzias & Naples

Our last stop in Sardinia was Cala Sinzias. Modern stone bungalows, two pools, a breezy bar, and a private beach. It was our favorite place. Breakfast and dinner buffets looked like something out of a magazine, and the food was just as good as it looked. It was so luxurious, we could have stayed here for a week.

Finally, Naples. By the time we arrived in Naples, we were tired and ready to head home. The city was noisy and alive, with more scooters and people everywhere. That night we had the best pizza and the freshest burrata salad. We went to bed with full bellies and full hearts, ready to fly home the next day.

Two weeks. Two islands. A lifetime of memories.

Sicily gave me roots. Sardinia gave me connection. Naples gave us one last meal to remember.

What I’ll remember most aren’t the big sights but the little things: scraping a rental car in Taormina, a rogue shower head in Cefalù, swatting hornets like it was a sport, Gil floating beside me in turquoise water.

These are the things that make a trip stick. These are the stories I’ll carry home.