Newsletter – September 2025
Canada to Sicily (via Ireland): A Journey in Goodbyes, Coffee, and Castles
There was a moment in Canada that changed my life — one of those 3 a.m. lightning bolts of clarity that hits you harder than your morning coffee ever could. After a summer in Canada — one that included the unexpected and heartbreaking passing of my father — September was shaping up to be a month of bittersweet contrasts.
Bitter, because we had to say “arrivederci” to family and close friends. (Thanks MG, IG and LK for some last minute visits before we boarded our plane in Toronto!). Sweet, because our journey meant reconnecting with other friends continuing toward returning to our “home base” in Sicily.
To travel, or not to travel… that really was the question.
When Life Hits the Emergency Brake (and Throws Out Your Calendar)
When my father passed away suddenly, all plans stopped. The calendar, the to-do lists, the neat rows of flights and bookings — none of it mattered anymore. What mattered was family, and being close.
As days turned into weeks, I wasn’t sure what the future held. Would we still want to travel? Would Courtney and I reconsider our life in Sicily and return to Canada? Would we even want to leave again and risk being far from family? His passing forced us into some long, uncomfortable, but necessary reflection. Suddenly, the “life questions” weren’t theoretical anymore. They were urgent, and real.
And so began my 3 a.m. routine: waking up in the quiet hours and staring at the ceiling (because who needs sleep when you can wrestle with existential questions instead?). For nearly seven weeks, I’d spend hours each morning turning over my choices, my future, and what kind of life I truly wanted. It was terrible… and also strangely cathartic. And then one morning, the moment happened.
Wisdom from My Father’s Big Green Chair
Sitting in my father’s big green chair in the stillness of night, I picked up his tablet. He’d kept it in a protective case, and on the cover were words that felt like they jumped straight into my mind in his voice:
"Life is short. Live it."
That was it. My “ah-ha” moment. Suddenly, things clicked: I can’t live life for anyone else. My father wouldn’t have wanted me frozen in confusion or indecision. His message to me was clear:
“Miss me, but let me go. And keep living your life.”
Oddly enough, I’ve felt closer to him since that day than ever before — which is saying something, because we were already very close. Some things just can’t be explained.
By the end of August, after his “Celebration of Life” and precious days with my extended family, Courtney and I knew we were ready to continue our journey.
Yes, there would be distance between us and family — but only in kilometres. Emotionally, spiritually, technologically (thanks to WhatsApp and Zoom!), we could stay close. Before we left in the beginning of September, there was more food, more late-night talks, more card games with my mom — in other words, the perfect sendoff.
Ireland, Again!
(…because each trip is never enough…)
On the way back to Sicily, Courtney and I decided to make a short stop in Ireland — partly because flights worked out, but mostly because we wanted to reconnect with Courtney’s beloved family friend, “Auntie Annie.” We’re also big fans of the food we find in Ireland!
Courtney hadn’t seen her in decades until we visited in 2023, soon after we started traveling. It felt important to keep that connection alive. Also, let’s be honest: who says no to Ireland?
This was now my third time in Ireland, Courtney’s second, and by this point, the country was starting to feel like an old friend — one that always greets you with something unusual, a local beer, and perhaps a cheeky sense of humour. We LOVE Ireland.
A Wee History Lesson (Aye, With Castles and Coffee, Naturally)
We returned to the same rental house as last year—a cozy three-bedroom in Glengormley surrounded by our favourites: Frank and Honest coffee, and The Wee Bistro (because in Ireland, everything “small” seems to be described as “wee” instead: wee towns, wee lunches, wee cups of tea).
Glengormley (population: a wee 20,000) sits on the north edge of Belfast. Its Irish name, Gleann Ghormlaithe, means “Gormlaith’s valley.” Carrickfergus, meanwhile, with a population of about 28,000, takes its name from King Fergus, whose ship allegedly ran aground there. The imposing Carrickfergus Castle dates back to 1177 and still dominates the harbour.
For history lovers—or anyone who prefers authentic, non-touristy spots — these towns are hidden gems. Castles, pubs, local shops, and that unmistakable Irish warmth make this corner of the world a place Courtney and I will always adore visiting.
Our Favourite Memories from Our Time in Ireland:
1. Frank, Honest, and Caffeinated
Yes, the coffee brand is actually called Frank and Honest. And yes, we’re still amused by it. Try saying this in your best Irish accent:
“Aye, dis coffee ‘ere, I’ll be frank an’ honest wit’ ya… aye, it’s delicious!”
Somehow, the name sums up Ireland perfectly — straightforward, charming, and endlessly endearing. Our time in Glengormley and Carrickfergus is becoming familiar now, and that’s just… lovely. (Again, say it with an Irish accent. It sounds better that way.)
2. Climbing Rocks, Pretending We’re Giants
On our second day in Ireland, we were still feeling the effects of jet lag with a 5 hour time change. After we made an early morning pitstop for some “Frank & Honest” caffeine, Courtney and I drove up the coast of Ireland to see the infamous Giant’s Causeway. It’s a place that feels otherworldly and ignites the imagination.
Who doesn’t want to climb around on ancient hexagonal rocks formed by giants? (Or, you know, volcanic activity — but giants sound cooler.)
3. A ‘Wee’ Dinner and a Late Night Chat with Auntie Annie
We picked up Auntie Annie and went for dinner at Kamakura, a Japanese restaurant in Carrickfergus for what Annie called a ‘wee’ dinner — which in Ireland usually means ‘not so wee.’
Back at Auntie Annie’s that evening, Courtney and Annie drifted into distant memories of Courtney’s childhood. For me, it was a window into stories I’d never heard before — part family history lesson, part family legends, and almost all a pure comedy show. That night was full of laughter, the kind where you forget the time until you realize it’s nearly midnight.
4. Glenarm Castle and Royal Tea-Time with Auntie Annie
(Rain optional, scones mandatory)
The next day, we piled into the car for a coastal drive to The Glenarm Castle. Rain or shine, a castle garden stroll followed by lunch and tea is always a win. Throw in Auntie Annie’s company and it’s pure gold.
Lunch was served in the old stone hall (hearty soups, Guinness pies, and a dessert menu that nearly did me in).
Afterward, we wandered through the gardens, which were bursting with colour—manicured hedges, secret pathways, and flowers that seemed to bloom just to outdo each other. If there had been a ‘best in show’ ribbon for flowers, half the garden would’ve been tied up in blue bows.
When we returned to Carrickfergus that night, we went for dinner at The Windrose, a local pub, which overlooks the marina. The next table over, with a distinctly “distinct accent” sat a cheerful couple from Scotland. Before long, the Scotsman was teaching us a saying that I’ll probably misquote for the rest of my life:
“It’s a braw bricht moonlicht nicht the nicht”
(translation: It’s a beautiful bright moonlit night tonight.)
In context, this phrase appears in a Scottish song (“Wee Deoch an Doris”). I liked the sentiment — though my Scottish accent came out sounding more like a pirate from Dublin.
That evening, after another dinner out, we somehow ended up with another late night. By then, “wee drink” had become code for “don’t plan an early morning.” It was a day of laughter, bad Irish accents (mine), and enough photos and videos to fill an entire memory card. Annie seemed to enjoy every moment, and so did we.
Still, when we arranged a quick stop the following day before leaving for Dublin to catch our flight back to Palermo, there was no hesitation.
Courtney had some goodies she wanted to leave with Annie, and though it meant an extra 45 minutes on the road, I knew this “long departure” would be another one of those memories Courtney would treasure forever. Leaving Auntie Annie was tough. There were tears — the kind that say, “I don’t want to say goodbye, so let’s just call it “Arrivederci” instead.
Back in Sicily: Dancing, Bikes, and New Friends
Leaving Ireland was bittersweet, but knowing we were returning to Sicily softened the blow.
On the drive to Dublin and even on the flight back to Palermo, Courtney and I felt that buzz of excitement, not like we were heading to another ‘new’ place, but to a place where we are now spending almost half of our time. Getting to see our Italian friends and family again, along with getting to know our future home was something we have been enjoying.
Benvenuti a Castelbuono!
Have you ever seen a movie where some “tourists” are in the streets late at night in a traditional old Italian town, and suddenly music is playing and people are dancing throughout the streets? Well, that sums up our first weekend back in Sicily.
In our small town of Castelbuono, there was a Sicilian Lady Gaga impersonator concert, “Chromatica – Lady Gaga Experience”. Italians don’t just set up a show — they mount a production. The show itself was pure spectacle: lights, sound, costumes, the works. And the after-show was even better!
On our walk back to our car, we stumbled into a smaller piazza where “Barracuda Entertainment”, a local quartet, was playing some snappy jazz music. Soon, a few brave souls started a conga line. Naturally, Courtney and I jumped in. Before long, 30 or 40 of us were winding our way through the streets, led by a tenor saxophone. Thinking back on it, it felt like a dream, only louder.
Welcome home, indeed!
Life as “Usual” in Castelbuono: Gelati, Apperitivi, and Ristoranti, oh my!
In the last couple of weeks since being back in Castelbuono, we’ve revisited some of our most favourite spots—tasted the delicacies at Fiasconaro’s and Sferruzza’s cafés, had a few late evening aperitivi and amazing cuisine while absorbing the evening twilight around the Madonie Park.
We indulged at the rustic Sicilian restaurant, Antico Baglio, which has an amazing view overlooking the Madonie Mountains. We were equally impressed by the candlelit tables, local wines and beers, fresh pasta, and so much of that Sicilian food we adore! It has been a couple of weeks where the food competed with the atmosphere for the headline.
Research and a Tour of Noko Bikes
Courtney and I have been wanting to purchase a couple of e-bikes ever since we first arrived in the Madonie Mountains. Courtney has 17 years of cycling experience around Victoria on Vancouver Island, and I have just a few years of experience mountain biking with friends on Vancouver Island and the various smaller Gulf Islands. We found a company in Sicily that designs what seemed to be our “perfect” e-bike!
After contacting Noko Bikes, they offered to provide us with a private tour of their assembly warehouse in Catania, just a couple hours away, for test-riding various bikes, chatting with staff about design and battery life, and we jumped at the opportunity.
Fast-forward through lots of research, purchasing accessories, and many “challenges” with “remote” delivery options (we eat challenges for breakfast!), and we now have our new “Blaze” bikes… and still enough energy and desire to tackle the local hills and mountains!
An Unexpected Friendship
Through it all this month, I still remember, “Life is Short… Live it!”.
I’ve been sleeping better lately, but there are still those 3 a.m. mornings when sleep just won’t come. Rather than fight it, I’ve started treating it as a gift—a chance to watch the Sicilian sunrise.
The Italians say, ‘Il mattino ha l’oro in bocca’—the morning has gold in its mouth.
When it’s ‘coffee o’clock’ and I’m sitting in those quiet early mornings in solitude, I think about how grateful I am. For meeting Courtney at just the right time (ok, admittedly, it still feels like I had to wait sooo long!), for family, and for friends —old and new. I’m grateful for the unexpected turns that became blessings. For mornings my father would have loved to see with me.
Sometimes, it’s the interruptions—the things you didn’t plan—that make life feel so full.
As I write this, I’m sitting outside of our 150-year-old stone future home. The air is calm, and the bells in the distance are chiming, which around here means one thing: sheep.
Sure enough, Vincenzo—our seventy-seven-year-old shepherd neighbour—emerges from the trees, his flock trailing behind him, their bells chiming like a chorus of wind chimes in the breeze.
He carries himself with the vigour of a man half his age, and his smile is the sort that disarms you instantly.
Vincenzo is one of those Sicilian men who always seems to carry happiness close at hand. Ask him the reason, and he’ll point to his wife, Agadina. She keeps him grounded, well-fed, and she runs their household with the quiet authority of so many Sicilian women in these hills. In his words, they met as children in Castelbuono, and ever since, they’ve been striving to live as a good team.
Vincenzo speaks no English, and my Italian is pieced together like patchwork, yet he is endlessly patient with me. To an outsider, we must look like an unlikely pair, but something binds us: the rhythm of tending sheep. Although I once kept a small flock on Vancouver Island, Vincenzo’s is larger and he is far more seasoned.
Our conversations—half gestures, half words—range from where I bought my boots, the perfect time for lambing season, to the small daily frustrations and joys of caring for sheep with devotion.
As a third-generation Sicilian with Maltese roots, Vincenzo seems woven into the very fabric of this land. He shows me how to trim my olive trees, tells stories of the man who once owned this old stone house—Manuel Fiasconaro—and accepts my invitation to allow his flock to graze in my lower field.
None of this could have been arranged—it simply unfolded— quietly and naturally, with a sense of joy and peace.
Sitting together in silence, watching over his flock, I feel the quiet ties of neighbourliness take hold—two men from very different worlds, equally marvelling at the friendship forming between us.
These impromptu sessions with Vincenzo remind me that a full life is built less on what you own and more on what you share.
Thinking of one of my father’s favourite sayings, I tell Vincenzo, “È una bella giornata luminosa e soleggiata.” Looking around, I know it to be true—it is indeed a “Nice, bright sunny day.”
Vincenzo smiles and answers with a single word, “Paradiso.”
I reply, “Assolutamente meraviglioso.” (Absolutely wonderful).
