I think I've eaten so many spinach arancini... at this point I could probably become a critic. The bad ones? Sure, I still eat them... but then I get irritated with myself for having ruined a perfectly good meal opportunity on something a bit ick. The Arancini of Palermo But the good ones? Man . l have to physically tear myself away... to prevent me just staying there and eating one right after another... I've taken this strange pride in tracking them down too... pinpointing

The other day, I took a tour up to some of the ancient ruins of Sicily and to a medieval town called Erice… and I will get to that part later, I promise. But first, I need to talk about the conversation that unfolded in the van on the way there. I was riding with three ladies from Houston, Texas... very thick accents, very kind, kinda quirky. Sicilian Street Art BUT... When I mentioned that I loved Palermo because of all its brilliant street art, one of the ladies shot me a

I left Ragusa early to catch my bus to Catania... again ... where I’d have to transfer to a train that would take me all the way up to the northwestern area of Sicily, Palermo. It was going to be a very long day. Ragusa For once, I actually felt confident about my bus from Ragusa. There was actually a bus station... AND a man at the ticket desk who specifically told me where to go, where the bus would be arriving, when to get on, and when it would leave. Phewf! What a refre

I have something I really need to admit... I am absolutely addicted to spinach arancini. I actively hunt them down. Yes, arancini is everywhere; of course, it's Italy. BUT it’s almost always the meat kind. The spinach ones are a different shape and size... and you can usually spot a hint of green peeking through... so I really do have to seek them out. I've become a bit of a pro, though. My two loves I’ve had to limit myself to one a day… even though, in my heart of hearts,

Catania. I'm unsure how to say it. Seriously. Do I put the emphasis on the “t”?? Or on the “nia”? I’ve been desperately trying to listen to how people pronounce it, but it seems to vary from person to person. Hmmm... Anyway… the flight from Geneva was relatively drama-free. No significant incidents... except that my phone was dying... but that ALWAYS happens. No big news story there. The flight was far from full... and because of it, I managed to snag myself a window seat.

WHO hands over their entire financial lifeline over... in Italy... the pickpocket capital of Europe... to a complete stranger?  WHILE I'M STANDING ON THE ROAD DRINKING!!! Me. Apparently, me. I spent the next ten minutes berating myself for committing what might (potentially) be the stupidest mistake of my entire travel career. Rookie move. Classic me.

I was beyond ecstatic to see the Florence Duomo once again. Anyone who’s ever talked to me about travel knows that the Duomo in Florence is one of my all-time favourite places in the world. In fact, I call it one of my “Nessun Dormas.” It fills me with such overwhelming joy and awe that I feel like Pavarotti should appear in the background, belting out the triumphant final chorus of Nessun Dorma. The power of that music perfectly captures what I feel when I see places like t