Newsletter: October 2026 – October in Sicily: A Feast of Food, Friendship, and a Few Close Calls
"Cu camina, 'mpara." - Sicilian Proverb, "Those who wander, learn."
October in Sicily was extraordinary. Although, looking back, I suspect the word extraordinary doesn’t quite capture a month that included a television cooking competition, an underground salt mine, a remarkably curious fox, several unexpected friendships, and a motorcycle that very nearly ended up in the Mediterranean Sea.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
With the autumn sunshine continuing to warm the Madonie Mountains, and the surrounding countryside looking particularly beautiful in its vibrant shades of green, Courtney and I decided to make the most of October by exploring as many of the surrounding villages as possible.
And explore we did!
By the end of the month, we’d visited nine villages, eaten enough Sicilian food to make a respectable dent in the island’s agricultural production, discovered fascinating local traditions, and encountered some rather memorable characters along the way.
We also had a few “adventures” that weren’t exactly on the itinerary.
As we’ve learned over the past three years of travelling, things don’t always go according to plan. Fortunately, Courtney and I have adopted a useful philosophy:
We eat challenges for breakfast!
Although, given the choice, I’d much prefer a cappuccino and a freshly baked cornetto.
Our adventures took us through Gangi, Castelbuono, Petralia Soprana, Petralia Sottana, Isnello, Cefalù, Polizzi Generosa, Sclafani Bagni, and Caltavuturo.
Nine villages. Countless winding mountain roads. And enough stories to fill considerably more than one newsletter.
So pour yourself a coffee — or perhaps a glass of Sicilian wine — and join us for a little journey through October in the Madonie Mountains.
Just keep an eye out for the wild boar.
You’ll understand why shortly.
Gangi: A Food Festival and an Unexpected Reunion with Mr. Tambourine Man
Our October adventures began with a beautiful 45-minute motorcycle ride through the Madonie Mountains to Gangi, one of Sicily’s most picturesque medieval villages.
Perched approximately 1,000 metres above sea level, Gangi is a magnificent collection of tightly packed stone houses, narrow stairways, ancient churches, and sweeping views across the countryside.
In 2014, it was recognized as Italy’s Borgo dei Borghi, or Village of Villages.
Quite an achievement, considering Italy has approximately eight thousand municipalities, many of which seem convinced they’re the most beautiful.
But we weren’t there simply to admire the architecture.
Courtney had discovered a fascinating food festival called Gangi Creative Experience — Cibo, Territorio, Cultura, held October 2–4, celebrating the connection between food, agriculture, local traditions, and the people who keep them alive.
Naturally, this sounded like an excellent excuse for another motorcycle ride.
The festival was much more than a collection of food stalls. It was a celebration of the farmers, shepherds, bakers, cheesemakers, and craftspeople whose traditions have shaped the Madonie Mountains for generations.
We visited a local baker who creates remarkable loaves of bread depicting Gangi’s history.
Imagine telling the story of your hometown through bread! I try to imagine EATING all that!
Most people write books. This fellow uses flour, water, and an oven.
And judging by his creations, he may be onto something.
We also watched a farmer processing a traditional variety of dark grain used in local breads and pastries. Seeing the work involved in producing something as seemingly simple as flour gave us a renewed appreciation for the effort behind the food we enjoy.
Courtney has been researching these agricultural traditions for a project she’s working on, so I’ll leave some of the more fascinating details for her to share.
That Saturday evening brought us to Piazza Zoppo, where three local restaurants — La Diora, Trattoria Sant’Anna, and Baglio Tramontana — offered traditional dishes for visitors to sample.
There was macco di fave, a hearty broad-bean purée; spezzatino in umido, a delicious slow-cooked meat stew; wild mountain greens; local cheeses; traditional sweets; and, naturally, Sicilian wine.
By this point, I was beginning to suspect that Sicily’s festival calendar had been deliberately designed to prevent anyone from going more than twenty-four hours without a substantial meal.
It’s an admirable public service.
The evening concluded with lively Mediterranean music from Sicula Banda, filling the old piazza with the sounds of celebration.
One of our most memorable discoveries in Gangi wasn’t something we ate.
It was someone we recognized.
A Reunion with a Living Human Treasure
While wandering through Gangi’s narrow streets, we passed a small workshop.
Inside, a man was quietly making a tambourine. Well, as quietly as one can be while carving and shaping a drum!
Courtney stopped.
I stopped.
We looked at one another.
Hang on a minute. We know that guy!
It was the very same musician we’d met the previous weekend at the festival in Bompietro!
During that earlier encounter, he’d been performing with a group of wandering musicians and had even handed Courtney his tambourine so she could join in. You can see his photo in our newsletter from last month on the streets of Bompietro!
Now, here he was, quietly making instruments in his own workshop.
His name is Fabrizio Fazio, and it turns out he’s not simply a talented musician. He’s a highly respected master craftsman dedicated to preserving Sicily’s traditional percussion instruments.
Born in Gangi in 1987, Fabrizio creates his instruments entirely by hand and was admitted to Sicily’s Register of Intangible Heritage in 2022.
His workshop, La Capra Canta, is a place where centuries-old musical traditions are kept alive.
What fascinated me most was his philosophy that every instrument has its own personality and voice, connecting music with nature, agriculture, and Sicily’s rural past.
And to think, only a week earlier, Courtney had been casually playing along with this “maestro” in the streets of Bompietro!
Had we known we were in the presence of a master, perhaps we’d have tried a bit harder to keep the drum beat for the music we were hearing.
It’s remarkable how often the same people seem to cross our paths in these little mountain villages.
Perhaps Sicily is smaller than we think.
Or perhaps we’re slowly becoming regulars.
Castelbuono: An Anniversary Dinner and a Bottle of Wine That Started a Friendship
Back in Castelbuono, we celebrated our anniversary with a special dinner at Palazzaccio, one of the town’s most respected restaurants.
Chef Sandro Cicero has built an impressive reputation for transforming traditional Madonie ingredients into sophisticated dishes while preserving their connection to the land.
The restaurant has received Michelin’s Bib Gourmand distinction for sixteen consecutive years, recognizing excellent cooking at reasonable prices.
A Bib Gourmand isn’t the same as a Michelin star, but it’s nevertheless a remarkable achievement for a restaurant in a small Sicilian mountain town.
The restaurant recently moved into a beautiful historic building in Castelbuono’s old centre, combining exposed stone walls with a contemporary dining atmosphere.
It was a wonderful evening and a lovely way to celebrate our anniversary.
Another dinner a few days later would lead to something neither of us expected.
UVA Club: When a Wine Recommendation Becomes a Friendship
One evening, Courtney and I returned to one of our favourite restaurants, UVA Club.
Tucked away along a cobblestone lane, UVA is a wonderfully intimate Sicilian taverna and wine bar with an impressive collection of more than 600 wines.
Six hundred! Seicento!
For someone like me, who can spend countless minutes deciding between two flavours of gelato, this presents a considerable challenge.
We were studying the wine list, attempting to make an informed decision, when a gentleman at a nearby table offered a recommendation.
Now, I’m not one to ignore advice from someone who appears to know his Sicilian wines. We ordered the bottle. An excellent decision, as it turned out. What followed was even better. The gentleman and his wife, K. and O., were visiting from Ohio. As we began exchanging travel stories, we discovered something rather remarkable.
We’d visited many of the same unusual places around the world.
Not Rome, Paris, or London. We were talking about Chiloé Island in southern Chile, the lesser-travelled coastline of South Africa, and even Lesotho, where we’d spent Christmas visiting a local Sotho community. What are the odds? Here we were, sitting in a tiny restaurant in a medieval Sicilian village, meeting strangers who had explored some of the same remote corners of the planet. We had also researched many of the similar destinations! How could these people know such remote and non-touristy type of places that Courtney has discovered through her exhaustive research?
Needless to say, the conversation flowed effortlessly.
One story led to another, and before we knew it, dinner had turned into an evening with people who felt like old friends.
Eventually, K. and O. invited us back to their Airbnb in Castelbuono, where we continued our conversation over a cigar and a bottle of sweet homemade wine produced by a local grandmother in Castelbuono. (That’s a sentence I never thought I’d write!)
I’ve come to suspect that Sicilian grandmothers are secretly responsible for at least half the island’s culinary reputation.
They simply don’t bother with Michelin inspectors.
We’d gone out for dinner.
We came home with new friends.
And as October unfolded, this would become a recurring theme.
Petralia Soprana: A Lunch That Came with a Side of Friendship
Our next adventure took us to Petralia Soprana, the highest village in the Madonie Mountains, perched approximately 1,147 metres above sea level.
Recognized as Italy’s Borgo dei Borghi in 2018, Petralia Soprana is a beautiful maze of medieval streets, ancient stone buildings, and spectacular mountain views.
We stopped for lunch at Trattoria da Salvatore, a family-run restaurant established in 1982 and known for its authentic Sicilian cooking. It’s the sort of restaurant where the tables are close together, the portions are generous, and you quickly begin to feel as though you’ve been invited into someone’s family home. We ordered an antipasto platter. A perfectly reasonable decision.
Or so we thought.
When it arrived, I stared at the table.
Then at Courtney.
Then back at the table.
Had we accidentally ordered the entire antipasto section of the menu?
There appeared to be enough food to sustain a small expedition across the Madonie Mountains. Fortunately, we weren’t alone. At a nearby table sat F. and A., another couple enjoying lunch. We struck up a conversation and soon discovered they were staying at a beautiful local agriturismo that Courtney knew well from her research.
Before long, we were exchanging stories about travel, food, and life in Sicily.
Our waiter, Salvatore, added to the experience, and we found ourselves increasingly comfortable speaking Italian throughout the meal.
After lunch, we wandered through the village, chatting with a local shopkeeper selling regional products and a bar owner and his wife, who welcomed us warmly.
One of the most rewarding parts of learning Italian is discovering how even a modest conversation can completely change an experience.
And for that, we owe a special thank-you to our Italian coach, Professoressa A.F.!
We’re certainly not fluent.
In fact, I’m reasonably confident we’ve unintentionally said some rather ridiculous things along the way. (Like the time I told somebody I had “two bombs” in my car instead of “two propane tanks.” Apparently I mispronounced “due bombe” (two bombs) with “due bombole” (due gas cylinders.) I’ll never forget what that man’s face looked like when I insisted they were in my vehicle. I wish I could hear how he tells that story to his Sicilian family, the time he met a nice Canadian man with “two bombs” in his car!)
There are moments when I begin a sentence with great confidence, only to discover halfway through that I’ve wandered into a grammatical neighbourhood from which there is no obvious escape.
Nevertheless, people appreciate the effort.
We’re discovering that speaking the local language opens doors that might otherwise remain closed.
Sometimes quite literally.
Other times, it simply leads to another glass of wine.
Either way, we’re making progress.
Petralia Sottana: Becoming Salt Miners for a Day
October also brought one of our most unusual adventures.
We were going underground.
Deep underground.
Our destination was the famous Raffo salt mine, operated by Italkali near Petralia Soprana.
Although we’d been exploring Petralia Sottana, the mine itself is located in the nearby hamlet of Raffo, within the municipality of Petralia Soprana.
The enormous salt deposits formed approximately six million years ago when the Mediterranean Sea partially dried up, leaving behind immense layers of salt.
Today, the mine contains more than 80 kilometres of underground tunnels and produces exceptionally pure rock salt.
The most remarkable feature isn’t simply the salt.
It’s what people have created beneath the mountain.
Hidden underground is MACSS — Museo di Arte Contemporanea Sotto Sale, a remarkable collection of sculptures carved directly from salt.
Imagine descending beneath a mountain, travelling through enormous underground tunnels, and discovering an art gallery surrounded by towering walls of salt!
The museum includes beautiful sculptures, an altar, and other works created by artists who have transformed this industrial setting into something truly unexpected.
For a few hours, Courtney and I became honorary salt miners.
Although I suspect the actual miners would question our qualifications.
After all, our primary responsibilities involved admiring sculptures, taking photographs, and trying not to get lost.
Not exactly a demanding shift.
Eventually, we emerged into daylight and continued to Petralia Sottana for lunch at Opateo, a charming restaurant combining traditional Sicilian flavours with contemporary cooking.
The restaurant’s historic stone arches, antique furnishings, and atmospheric Sicilian décor made it a wonderful place to relax after our underground adventure.
They even have an old corded rotary telephone!
After lunch, we wandered through the village, photographing its beautiful streets, sundial, decorative dreamcatchers, and magnificent mountain views.
From the depths of a salt mine to the heights of a medieval mountain village, it had been a remarkable day.
Unlike our upcoming motorcycle adventures, this particular expedition ended without any mechanical difficulties.
Isnello: Ancient History, an Alarm Clock, and a Very Wet Motorcycle Ride
Just thirteen kilometres from Castelbuono lies the beautiful village of Isnello, nestled among dramatic limestone cliffs and wooded valleys.
With approximately 1,400 residents, it’s a small village with an extraordinary history.
Archaeological discoveries indicate that people inhabited the surrounding area thousands of years ago, while the village itself developed through Byzantine, Arab, and Norman periods.
But one historical detail particularly caught my attention.
In 1788, the people of Isnello collectively purchased their freedom from feudal rule, decades before feudalism was abolished throughout Sicily.
Imagine an entire village deciding that enough was enough and buying its independence!
A rather impressive example of community fundraising.
Today, Isnello is known for its medieval churches, mountain traditions, and the nearby GAL Hassin Astronomical Centre, which takes advantage of the region’s exceptionally dark skies.
Courtney and I visited Isnello several times during October, exploring churches, cafés, restaurants, and the local library. We also stopped at the weekly market, where I made a rather unusual purchase…
An old-fashioned mechanical alarm clock.
Yes, an alarm clock. I had heard about the Pomodoro Technique, a productivity method that divides work into focused intervals separated by short breaks. The method was developed by an Italian, Francesco Cirillo, and named after the tomato-shaped kitchen timer he used as a student. So there I was, in Sicily, buying an old-fashioned clock to practise an Italian time-management technique named after a tomato. Somehow, it seemed entirely appropriate.
The Ride Home That Wasn’t Quite So Relaxing
One of our return journeys from Isnello provided considerably more excitement than we’d anticipated. After a fantastic meal at La Brace, Courtney and I explored the town. The weather had been pleasant enough when we set out.
But in the mountains, conditions can change quickly.
Before long, the sky darkened, the rain began, and we found ourselves riding through a torrential downpour.
Now, riding a motorcycle through the Madonie Mountains is normally a wonderful experience.
The winding roads, spectacular scenery, and fresh mountain air make it one of our favourite ways to explore Sicily.
Riding those same roads while being thoroughly soaked in a torrential downpour is somewhat less romantic. As Courtney would say, “it’s less than ideal.”
The rain was relentless.
Visibility deteriorated.
The road became slippery.
With every passing kilometre, I was becoming increasingly interested in the possibility of arriving home, changing into dry clothes, and never seeing another raindrop again.
Then, through the rain, I spotted something lying in the middle of the highway.
Something large.
VERY LARGE.
At first, I couldn’t make out what it was.
A fallen branch?
A pile of debris?
Then we got closer.
It was a dead wild boar.
And not a small one.
There it was, stretched across part of the road, apparently having chosen one of the least convenient places imaginable for its final resting spot. On a motorcycle, in pouring rain, with limited visibility, this is not the sort of roadside attraction you hope to encounter.
Fortunately, I managed to avoid hitting the dead wild boar, which is a sentence I never thought I’d write.
I assured Courtney upon arriving at home that it was totally safe and I was totally in control, as I had managed to miss hitting that dead wild boar by SEVERAL inches. Only afterward did the absurdity of the situation strike me.
I couldn’t decide which would have been worse — hitting the boar or having to explain to someone that we’d crashed our motorcycle into an animal that was already dead.
Either way, we were enormously relieved to arrive home in one piece.
Wet, cold, and slightly more appreciative of dry pavement.
Another challenge successfully added to our collection.
Another lesson in eating “challenges” for breakfast!
Although I was beginning to think we should reconsider the menu.
Cefalù: A Dead Battery, a Seaside Festival, and More New Friends
Our visits to Cefalù provided some of October’s most memorable experiences.
Courtney had discovered a new event called Tarabà — Il Festival del Mare, held October 16–18 along Cefalù’s beautiful waterfront.
The festival celebrated Sicily’s maritime traditions, local seafood, sustainable fishing, and the importance of reconnecting coastal communities with the Mediterranean Sea, or more specifically, the Tyrrhenian Sea along the north coast of Sicily.
Its name combines the Arabic words tarab, associated with musical ecstasy, and bahr, meaning sea.
Among the highlights were cooking demonstrations, seafood tastings, a traditional fish auction, and a competition called Il Mare Ritrovato — The Rediscovered Sea.
Five Cefalù restaurants competed to create imaginative dishes using locally caught fish, including lesser-known species often overlooked in favour of more expensive seafood.
Courtney and I even had the opportunity to participate in tasting dishes connected with an Italian television food programme.
A rather enjoyable assignment, I must say.
I’ve never considered myself particularly qualified to judge professional cooking, but I do possess several decades of experience eating food.
Surely that counts for something.
If the future of Sicilian cuisine depends upon volunteers willing to sample delicious meals, I’m prepared to make that sacrifice.
When the Motorcycle Decided to Take a “Holiday”
One of our trips to Cefalù began with a mechanical challenge. We’d stopped at a railway crossing to wait for a passenger train. I switched off the motorcycle engine, which seemed like a perfectly sensible thing to do. The train passed. The barriers lifted. I pressed the starter. Nothing. I tried again. Still nothing.
The battery was dead.
Completely dead.
Now, I should mention that the battery was approximately five years old.
In motorcycle battery years, that’s quite elderly, but this BMW X-Country has earned her name of “Old Faithful” for many reasons.
Still, the battery had chosen a particularly inconvenient moment to “retire.”
We were stuck beside a railway crossing, with a perfectly good motorcycle that had apparently decided it was finished for the day.
Then I remembered something my father had taught me many years earlier.
When he purchased a Mercury LN7 with a manual transmission, he explained that if the battery ever died, you could sometimes start the engine by pushing the vehicle downhill and releasing the clutch.
It’s called “popping the clutch.”
Courtney and I had actually used this technique during a previous adventure in Ireland in a rental vehicle, so we weren’t entirely unfamiliar with the process.
There was just one small problem.
Our available downhill slope in Cefalù came with a rather significant complication.
At the bottom was a concrete wall.
If I managed to avoid the wall, well, then I’d just have to break before riding into the Mediterranean Sea.
Not exactly an ideal arrangement.
Nevertheless, we pushed the motorcycle across the railway tracks and positioned ourselves for the attempt.
The plan was simple enough.
Build up some speed.
Release the clutch.
Start the engine.
Stop before hitting the wall… then brake immediately before any splashing occurs.
Preferably in that order.
I began rolling downhill.
Slowly at first.
Then faster.
The wall was getting closer.
I released the clutch.
For a brief moment, nothing happened.
The motorcycle continued rolling. Engine sputtering.
The wall continued approaching.
I began contemplating the possibility that my next newsletter might have to be written from somewhere in the Mediterranean.
Then—
The engine roared to life!
Just before reaching the wall.
I steered sharply away, pounded on the brakes and avoided the sea, and escaped with only a few scrapes and bruises.
A successful outcome by my standards. Although I suspect Courtney might have preferred a slightly less dramatic solution.
With the motorcycle running again, we found a replacement battery in Cefalù and continued our day.
We eat challenges for breakfast!
Preferably without having to push a motorcycle out of the sea.
A Chance Meeting at the Market
Another wonderful experience came while exploring Cefalù’s local market.
As we were walking back toward the historic centre, we happened to meet two American gentlemen, S. and H. from Florida.
We began chatting and quickly discovered we had quite a bit in common.
They’d recently purchased an apartment in Cefalù’s old centre and were enjoying their own Sicilian adventure.
Before long, they invited us back to their apartment for a refreshing drink.
Given the heat that day, a cool aperitivo was particularly welcome.
What began as a casual conversation on the street became another memorable encounter with new friends.
Our Cefalù adventures eventually brought us to Taverna Tinchite for another lovely meal… then on to the food sampling for the Italian food network at the local festival called, “Tarabà — Il Festival del Mare” where we sampled the food on Italian television.
By the time we returned home, we’d experienced a food festival, a televised culinary event, a mechanical breakdown, a near encounter with the Mediterranean, and another unexpected friendship.
Not bad for a visit to the coast.
Polizzi Generosa: A Canadian Connection and a Very Curious Fox
One of October’s most surprising experiences occurred in Polizzi Generosa, a beautiful medieval village approximately 920 metres above sea level.
Its history stretches back centuries, and its name — Generous Polizzi — is associated with Emperor Frederick II, who bestowed the title in 1234.
The village is a wonderful collection of narrow streets, historic churches, noble palaces, and breathtaking views across the Madonie.
It’s also famous for Sfoglio Polizzano, a delicious pastry filled with fresh tuma cheese, chocolate, and cinnamon. The words somehow can’t match its delicious flavour!
Lunch at Baroon and a Remarkable Coincidence
We stopped for lunch at Baroon Bistrot, an intimate restaurant where chef Stefano Barrancotto combines traditional Sicilian ingredients with creative contemporary cooking.
Earlier that morning, we’d actually encountered the chef at a local bakery.
We learned that he regularly visits the village’s food producers to select fresh ingredients for his lunch and dinner menus.
How’s that for a kilometre-zero menu?
There’s something wonderfully romantic about a chef who walks through town gathering the ingredients he’ll be cooking later that day.
No enormous delivery trucks.
No complicated international supply chains.
Just a chef, his neighbours, and the food produced around him.
Of course, this also means that if the local baker sleeps in, lunch could become a rather interesting exercise in improvisation.
Our meal became memorable for an entirely different reason.
We met another couple, J. and C., who were visiting from Canada.
As we began talking, we discovered that J. had been born and raised in Polizzi Generosa until the age of ten, when his family emigrated to a small Ontario city near my own hometown.
What an extraordinary coincidence!
Here we were, sitting in a restaurant in a tiny Sicilian mountain village, meeting someone whose family had relocated to practically my old neighbourhood in Canada near the town where I grew up.
The world suddenly seemed very small.
We spent much of lunch exchanging stories about Sicily, Canada, and our shared appreciation for the Madonie.
It turns out J. is also a passionate chef who loves preparing meals for friends and family.
Before we parted ways, he and C. invited us to return to Polizzi Generosa so he could prepare a special meal for us.
An invitation we’re very much looking forward to accepting.
I’ll hopefully have more to share about that in November’s newsletter.
At this rate, we may need to start scheduling our friendships around our meals.
Or perhaps our meals around our friendships.
Either way, it’s a pleasant dilemma.
Wildlife Along the Mountain Roads
The motorcycle ride through the mountains to Polizzi Generosa was almost as memorable as the village itself.
Along the way, we encountered a family of wild boar, two groups of deer — including two magnificent male bucks with enormous antlers — and a wild fox.
Now, we’ve encountered foxes before during our travels.
But this one was different.
Very different.
We first spotted him near the roadside, casually chewing on a few bones scattered across the pavement.
He seemed completely unconcerned by our presence.
We stopped the motorcycle and watched him for several minutes.
He looked back at us with an expression that seemed to say:
“Can I help you?”
Then something unexpected happened.
He began walking toward us.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
At first, we simply watched in fascination.
Then he came a little closer.
And a little closer still.
Now, I should point out that wild foxes are generally not animals one expects to approach voluntarily.
Especially when they’re busy enjoying what appears to be lunch.
This fox seemed to have other ideas.
He continued toward us.
Several metres away.
Then closer.
We could clearly see his sharp teeth and claws.
Suddenly, the encounter felt a little less like a charming wildlife documentary and a little more like a scene where the narrator says, “What happened next took everyone by surprise.”
Then he approached again.
This time, he came within just a couple of feet of us.
We were close enough to see recent scratches and claw marks on his left shoulder. He was close enough where I could smell him.
He appeared curious.
Almost as curious about us as we were about him.
For a moment, we simply watched one another.
Two Canadians on a motorcycle.
One Sicilian fox.
And absolutely no shared understanding of the appropriate social etiquette.
I could almost have reached out and touched him.
I didn’t, of course.
Wild animals deserve their space, and I’d already had quite enough excitement involving animals and motorcycles for one month.
There was something remarkable about the encounter.
The fox didn’t seem frightened.
He didn’t seem aggressive.
He simply appeared interested in these two peculiar visitors who had interrupted his lunch.
Eventually, we continued on our way, leaving him to his bones and whatever other important fox business he had planned.
It’s moments like these that remind us how extraordinary this region really is.
One minute you’re enjoying spectacular mountain scenery.
The next, you’re having a staring contest with a fox who seems to be wondering whether you’ve brought anything worth eating.
Given the amount of food we’d been enjoying throughout October, perhaps the fox knew we had some “left-overs” with us.
Sclafani Bagni: World-Class Dining in a Tiny Mountain Village
Another October adventure took us to Sclafani Bagni, one of the Madonie’s smallest and most fascinating medieval villages.
Perched dramatically on a rocky outcrop overlooking the surrounding valleys, the village has fewer than 400 residents.
Its narrow streets, ancient castle ruins, and historic churches reflect a history stretching back more than a thousand years. Sclafani Bagni is also known for its natural sulphurous hot springs, where mineral-rich waters emerge at approximately 37°C.
Our main reason for visiting was something rather special.
And, somewhat predictably, it involved food.
Terrazza Costantino: A Culinary Treasure
Hidden in this tiny mountain village is Terrazza Costantino, a remarkable restaurant created by chef Giuseppe Costantino.
Having trained in prestigious Italian kitchens, including the three-Michelin-starred Piazza Duomo, Giuseppe has transformed his family’s traditional trattoria into an exceptional dining destination recognized by the Michelin Guide.
Our waiter told us the restaurant seats just ten people.
Ten!
I’ve attended family dinners with more people than that.
But the intimate setting is part of what makes the experience so special.
Over the next two and a half hours, we enjoyed an extraordinary meal centred on the ingredients and traditions of the Madonie Mountains.
Wild herbs, seasonal vegetables, local meats, and regional products were transformed into imaginative dishes reflecting both the area’s heritage and the chef’s creativity. One course we had was an onion-flavoured gelato, with a caviar coating, dressed with local wild flowers. Now that’s a sentence and a food item that I never thought I’d ever get to eat!
What made the experience especially memorable was the atmosphere.
Rather than feeling as though we’d entered an exclusive fine-dining establishment, it felt like we’d been welcomed into an authentic Sicilian family home.
We had plenty of time to get to know the people behind the restaurant.
The chef himself came out to greet us, share stories about his life in the village, discuss his passions, and even offer a few culinary tips.
There was no sense of hurry.
No pressure to finish and make room for the next reservation.
Just wonderful food, warm conversation, and the feeling that we were sharing something genuinely special.
There’s something extraordinary about discovering this level of sophisticated cooking in a village of fewer than 400 people.
In many parts of the world, you’d expect to find such a restaurant in a major city, surrounded by luxury hotels and expensive boutiques.
Here, it’s tucked away among medieval stone houses overlooking the Sicilian countryside.
No valet parking.
No velvet ropes.
Just a chef with remarkable talent, a deep connection to his homeland, and ten very fortunate dinner guests.
It was another reminder that some of the most memorable experiences are found well beyond the usual tourist routes.
Caltavuturo: A Rainbow, a Family Bakery, and an Unexpected Sicilian Welcome
Our final village adventure took us to Caltavuturo, a charming medieval town situated beneath the dramatic Rocca di Sciara.
Perched approximately 635 metres above sea level, Caltavuturo is known for its ancient castle ruins, historic streets, and beautiful mountain surroundings.
The village also preserves Sicily’s fascinating blend of Arab, Norman, and medieval influences.
Courtney and I decided to hike up the Rocca di Sciara to explore the amphitheatre, the castle ruins, and the remarkable views over the surrounding countryside.
It was a beautiful climb.
And just as we reached the top, something rather wonderful happened.
A rainbow began forming in the distance.
Perfectly positioned across the landscape.
As though someone had been waiting for our arrival and decided the scenery needed one final flourish.
The mountains, the ancient ruins, the extraordinary views, and now a rainbow.
Honestly, Sicily was beginning to show off.
In a word, the hike was magical.
But the day’s most heartwarming experience was still to come.
Biscottificio Guggino: When a Bakery Feels Like Family
Courtney had discovered a small bakery called Biscottificio Guggino, a family business established many decades ago and known for its traditional Sicilian biscuits and sweets.
Naturally, we had to investigate.
Purely for research purposes, of course.
Inside, we discovered a wonderful family atmosphere, with freshly prepared treats and several generations involved in the business.
At one point, I noticed the grandmother working in the back, preparing some of the bakery’s specialties.
I asked the young woman at the front whether I might take a photograph of her grandmother.
A simple request.
Or so I thought.
Suddenly, the entire bakery came to life!
There was laughter.
There were smiles.
People began posing for photographs.
Canadians want to take photos?! Assolutamente! (Absolutely!)
The son appeared and immediately wanted a picture with his mother.
Before we knew it, what had started as a quiet visit to buy a few biscuits had turned into an impromptu family photo session.
And then came the food.
Oh, the food.
“Try this!”
“Have one of these!”
“Take some with you!”
And, naturally:
“Mangia! Mangia! Mangia!”
Every time we thought we’d finished sampling something, another delicious treat appeared.
It was beginning to feel less like a bakery visit and more like a carefully orchestrated campaign to ensure we didn’t leave hungry.
We did our best to keep up.
It would have been terribly impolite to refuse.
At one point, I began wondering whether the family had mistaken us for long-lost relatives who hadn’t eaten in several weeks.
Once again, our Italian lessons helped us communicate, joke, and share the experience with people we’d only just met.
Once again, we were reminded that some of Sicily’s most memorable moments have very little to do with famous attractions.
By the time we left, we felt less like customers and more like distant relatives who’d unexpectedly dropped in for a visit.
We’d arrived hoping to buy a few biscuits.
We left with sweets, photographs, laughter, and another wonderful memory.
Judging by the amount of food we’d been offered, perhaps the family was simply concerned that we’d never find another bakery for several hours! Not being able to eat for several hours?
A perfectly understandable worry in Sicily.
Looking Back: The Best Part of October Wasn’t on the Menu
When I look back on October, it’s almost difficult to believe how much we managed to squeeze into thirty-one days.
Nine villages.
Countless winding mountain roads.
Food festivals, an Italian television cooking experience, medieval streets, remarkable restaurants, an underground salt mine, traditional musicians, wild animals, and a few motorcycle adventures that tested both our problem-solving skills and our nerves.
We’d descended beneath a mountain, nearly launched a motorcycle into the Mediterranean, narrowly avoided a dead wild boar, and found ourselves face-to-face with a fox who seemed unusually interested in making our acquaintance.
Then there was the food!
From humble village pastries with ancient recipes to sophisticated Michelin-recognized dining experiences, we sampled traditional recipes passed down through generations, watched bakers and chefs practice their crafts, and discovered flavours inseparable from the mountains and communities where they’re produced.
If October had been judged entirely on its culinary merits, it would have been an overwhelming success.
Although my waistline might offer a slightly different assessment.
As Courtney and I reflected on the month, we realized something.
The experiences we remember most aren’t necessarily the meals we ate or the places we visited.
They’re the people we met along the way.
A stranger recommending a bottle of wine in Castelbuono, who became a new friend over stories of faraway places.
A couple sitting beside us at lunch in Petralia Soprana, turning an ordinary meal into a wonderful conversation.
Two Americans we happened to meet while walking through Cefalù, who invited us into their home for an aperitivo.
Fellow Canadians in Polizzi Generosa, whose unexpected connection to our old corner of Ontario led to an invitation to share another meal together.
A talented tambourine maker in Gangi, whom we’d first met playing music in another village.
A chef in Sclafani Bagni who welcomed us into his family’s restaurant and shared stories about his life in the mountains.
And a Sicilian grandmother in Caltavuturo, whose family welcomed us into their bakery with laughter, photographs, and more sweets than we could possibly eat.
None of these encounters were planned.
We didn’t make reservations to meet new friends.
We didn’t schedule conversations with strangers.
And we certainly didn’t set out each morning expecting to be invited into someone’s home or family business.
These things simply happened.
Perhaps that’s what makes them so special.
Over the past three years of travelling, we’ve visited some extraordinary places around the world. We’ve seen spectacular landscapes, encountered remarkable wildlife, experienced fascinating cultures, and enjoyed adventures that we’ll remember for the rest of our lives.
But the longer we travel, the more we’re beginning to understand that the real richness of a place isn’t measured by its famous attractions, beautiful scenery, or even its remarkable cuisine.
It’s measured by its people.
Here in the Madonie Mountains, something has begun to change.
We’re no longer simply travelling from one village to another, collecting photographs and experiences.
We’re beginning to recognize familiar faces.
We’re remembering names.
We’re being welcomed into conversations, workshops, homes, and family businesses.
Little by little, we’re beginning to feel less like visitors and more like part of a community.
That’s a rather wonderful feeling.
Especially when you consider that not so long ago, we were travelling around the world, never quite knowing where the next chapter would take us.
Now, here we are, in a little corner of Sicily, discovering that some of life’s greatest adventures don’t necessarily require travelling very far at all.
Sometimes, they begin with a bottle of wine recommended by a stranger.
Or a conversation over lunch.
Or a grandmother insisting you try just one more biscuit.
The food may be what brings us to the table, but it’s the people sitting around it who make us want to stay.
Perhaps that’s the greatest discovery of all.
After three years of travelling, we’re beginning to appreciate the difference between visiting a place and truly belonging somewhere.
October gave us plenty of reasons to laugh, a few reasons to hold our breath, and more delicious food than any two people reasonably need.
But its greatest gift was something we hadn’t gone looking for.
Friendship.
And unlike a good Sicilian pastry, that’s something we hope will last a lifetime.
Until next month, from our little corner of Sicily’s Madonie Mountains — salute!
