Newsletter: June 2026 – Authentic Experiences from Sicily, Ireland and Canada
The month of June gave us another reminder of why we’ve fallen so deeply in love with Sicily.
My niece came to visit from Poland, eager to experience the Sicily we’d spent months describing to her. Not the version found in glossy travel brochures, but the real Sicily—the one hidden in mountain villages, long conversations, family dinners shared together, and roads that seem to wander simply because they’re in no particular hurry to arrive anywhere.
We were delighted to play tour guides.
"Chi va piano va sano e va lontano." (He who goes slowly goes safely and goes far.)
A Hike Into The Madonie Mountains and Lunch at The Cheesemaker’s House
One of our favourite excursions was to go to the Adventure Park, or perhaps a hike in the Madonie Mountains, to Pizzo Carbonara, or really any number of hikes that can be found throughout the Madonie Park. I also heard that there was a local cheesemaker who lived up in the mountains, and I really was excited to sample a few of his cheeses before continuing on with our day.
Since we have many favourite excursions in the Madone Mountains, such as the Madone Adventure Park or the hike to Piso Carbonera (Sicily’s second-highest peak), we had a hard time settling on only one thing, so we started with food!
We heard about a local cheese maker who lived up in the mountains, so we were really excited to have an authentic experience with a local and to sample a few of his cheeses before continuing on with our day.
We should know better by now.
In Sicily, accepting an invitation for “a little lunch” is much like accepting “just one more” card game of Scopa. Neither finishes when you think it will.
Upon arriving in the Madonie mountaintops we were invited to lunch at Giacinto’s house, the local shepherd and cheesemaker. We found ourselves sharing a table with three fascinating people who worked for an NGO in southern Sicily. Within minutes, conversations drifted effortlessly between food, culture, travel, agriculture, and the different ways Europeans and Canadians approach life. Like so many meals we’ve enjoyed here, the company was every bit as nourishing as the food.
Meals in Sicily Never Seem to End
The meal itself unfolded with the slow confidence that only Sicilians seem to possess. Naturally, we began with cheese. After all, arriving at a cheesemaker’s home and not starting with cheese would probably be considered illegal. Then came an “antipasto” with meat, cheese, and frittatas. Next, we had fresh panini sandwiches with a side of sun-dried tomato fritters! Then came fresh panini sandwiches.
Just as we thought lunch might be winding down, someone casually announced that the pasta was almost ready. We smiled politely.
Then the meat arrived.
First sausage.
Then lamb.
Then steaks.
By this point we were convinced we had accidentally wandered into a wedding reception. Just when we collectively surrendered and admitted defeat, our hosts reminded us—with great enthusiasm—that we should save room for dessert. I’m increasingly convinced that the reason Sicilian lunches last three hours isn’t because Sicilians enjoy lingering over food. It’s because the human digestive system simply demands an intermission between courses.
The seven-course meal ended with a shot of Limoncello as a salute to all of our new friendships. Let’s not forget the giant Provala cheese that we brought to take home!
Quality Time Unfolds Slowly… Piano, Piano (Slowly, Slowly)
Having my niece with us also gave us the perfect excuse to revisit some of our favourite places. We spent a sunny afternoon snorkeling in the crystal-clear waters off Cefalù. The sea was so calm, and we swam through hundreds of fish right off of the shore.
We had a wonderful start to our day with a trip up to the mountain town Geraci Siculo, where we slowly toured the town. No one appeared to be in any particular hurry.
We settled into the piazza with some drinks, a sweet treat, and a deck of cards for several spirited games of Scopa. It was a true test of Italy’s impeccable craftsmanship as we stood on the Salto del Ventimiglia, a glass platform that hangs over the cliff with incredible panoramic views of the valley. According to legend, in 1337 Count Francesco, the First, Ventimiglia leapt to his death at this exact spot as he was being chased by the royal troops for treason.
Our afternoon led us to visit Pollina, another nearby town during sunset. The outdoor Teatro Pietra Rosa with pink-hued stone was breathtaking. The entire town set on the peak of a mountain, with clear views all the way out to Castelbuono and the majestic Madonie Mountains on one side and the stunning Tyrrhenian Sea on the other.
We’ve discovered that taking these trips slowly is often the best way to enjoy Sicily.
One of the greatest joys of my niece’s visit was introducing her to many of the friends we’ve made over the past few years. Two of our friends joined us for morning espressos and cappuccinos, and what began as just a coffee quickly became the sort of conversation that stretches comfortably into late morning. We found ourselves comparing life in Europe with life in Canada, discussing everything from work-life balance and family traditions to food, community, and what it actually means to live well.
Experiences that Rarely Appear on Travel Itineraries
It is difficult to find authentic experiences in guidebooks or listed on maps.
Yet they’re the moments we remember most.
The mountains, the sea, and the medieval villages certainly make Sicily beautiful.
But it’s the people—and the generous way they welcome complete strangers to their tables—that keep calling us back.
Sicilians understand that life has seasons, that departures are simply part of arrivals, and that if you’re lucky enough to leave somewhere you love, you’re lucky enough to return.
That became our theme for June.
Leaving Sicily doesn’t feel like leaving a holiday anymore. It feels strangely like locking the front door of your own house before heading off on an extended trip. We packed our suitcases, enjoyed one final walk in the piazza, exchanged a few lingering “Ci vediamo in autunno” (“We’ll see you in the fall”), and pointed ourselves west.
As excited as we were for the adventures ahead, there was a quiet sadness sitting beside us on the plane.
Fortunately, travel has a wonderful habit of not giving you too much time to dwell on yesterday.
From Belfast’s Past to Back to the Future
Our first stop was to Dublin to get our rental car, then immediately the next morning we were off to Northern Ireland and Carrickfergus.
It wasn’t exactly easing us gently back into the slow travel world. Our drive was interesting, particularly when we saw two DeLoreans (yes two “Back to the Future” cars!) The drive from Dublin to Belfast was pleasant, but we were a bit unsure what to expect when we arrived in Belfast.
The news that week was filled with images of protests and unrest surrounding immigration. Roads had been closed. Some houses and cars lit on fire. Crowds had gathered. Reporters wore that familiar expression that says, “Things are calm… for now.”
Naturally, one of the first places we visited was the Europa Hotel… where I saw another DeLorean! Perhaps it was a DeLorean Convention? Only later did I fully appreciate that the Europa has the rather unfortunate distinction of being one of the most bombed hotels in Europe during The Troubles, a 30 year period of unrest in Northern Ireland.
Most hotels advertise comfortable beds or complimentary breakfasts. The Europa can casually mention surviving dozens of bomb attacks.
And yet today it stands as one of Belfast’s great symbols—not of conflict, but resilience.
After walking through its elegant lobby, sipping a Guiness and enjoying a birthday dessert beneath sparkling chandeliers, it becomes almost impossible to imagine that these peaceful surroundings were once the backdrop to the photographs of shattered windows that filled newspapers.
Places heal. Sometimes more slowly than people would like. But they heal. That may be Belfast’s greatest lesson.
"A hurried traveller reaches the village. A patient one knows the people." In Ireland, the road will wait until morning, but a good conversation will not.
King Billy Parade in Carrickfergus
It was a real treat to meet Courtney’s Auntie Annie again, and to walk around Carrickfergus amongst what seemed like the entire town who were out enjoying the festive King Billy Parade! That King William sure was a “wee” sized man, and the reenactment of his arrival by boat and then “hopping” up onto a tall horse was more than just historical, it was pure comedy. When the crowds stopped cheering, of course King Billy requested more applause and more cheers as he trotted by on his tall white (or was it supposed to be black?) horse.
One thing I’ve learned while travelling is that history becomes infinitely more interesting once you’re standing where it actually happened.
Watching the Billy King Parade in Carrickfergus reminded me of that.
If you’d asked me a few years ago about King William III, I probably would have confidently answered… something embarrassingly incorrect. Standing on the streets as bands marched past with drums echoing between old stone buildings, however, the history suddenly became real. Northern Ireland wears its history openly. Sometimes proudly. Sometimes painfully. The parades commemorate King William’s victory at the Battle of the Boyne in 1690, a moment that continues to shape identities centuries later. As visitors, we’re not there to choose sides. We’re there to understand. Travel, at its best, quietly dismantles the dangerous belief that every complicated story has simple heroes and villains.
Thankfully, understanding history works up quite an appetite.
That led us to one of many of our restaurant experiences with Auntie Annie! Some of our favourite discoveries of the month—The Wee Bistro, Castello Italia, Ownies Bar and Bistro, Windrose Bar & Restaurant, as well as the local Carrickfergus Golf Course where we met our 80 year old waitress named Flo! We, like many, have decided to “Go with Flo!” She’s incredibly Irish, and instantly likeable. She even let Courtney keep her glass from her cider drink, the “Out-cider!”
I love restaurants that don’t seem particularly interested in impressing anyone. No theatrical smoke drifting over your steak. No menus requiring a translator and a chemistry degree. Just genuinely good food served by genuinely kind people. The meals were all outstanding. The service was very Irish, and if you’ve been to Ireland, you know what that means. The sort of places where you may arrive a stranger, but you always leave as friends feeling like you’re part of the family!
Hillsborough Castle
Hillsborough Castle is a place where you wander through elegant state rooms and peaceful gardens, gaining a fascinating glimpse into centuries of royal history, diplomacy, and life at the official royal residence in Northern Ireland. The castle has hosted royalty, presidents, prime ministers and diplomats from around the world. Oddly enough, the gardens didn’t seem particularly impressed by any of them. Ancient trees continued doing what ancient trees have always done.
Flowers bloomed entirely unaware of international politics. Ducks ignored constitutional importance altogether. There’s something wonderfully comforting about places that remind us humanity’s biggest headlines are often just brief interruptions in nature’s much longer story.
Connecting with Family in Ireland
Of course, if we’re being honest, none of these places were the real reason we travelled to Northern Ireland. The true destination had nothing to do with castles. Or parades. Or restaurants. It was Auntie Annie. Courtney hadn’t come to see tourist attractions. She’d come to see family.
Watching Courtney and Annie sit together over endless cups of tea (and cocktails!) was one of those quiet travel moments that rarely make it into Instagram posts but somehow become the memories that last the longest.
One story reminded Annie of another. Which reminded Courtney of something she’d completely forgotten. Photographs appeared. Names resurfaced. Entire decades unfolded across every meal we shared together.
Hours disappeared.
Nobody noticed.
I’m becoming increasingly convinced that the world’s greatest tourist attraction is simply uninterrupted conversation with someone you love.
Especially with all the laughs included.
Flame N’ Ukes at Ownies’s Bar
One evening we wandered into Ownies Bar to enjoy a dinner and a drink on a typical Wednesday night when a few dozen ukulele players performed live music for the evening. It appeared to be the United Irish Army of ukulele players.
There really is no sound quite like 35+ ukulele players all playing in rhythm while Annie and I sang “The Wild Rover” by heart! If you know all the lyrics to The Wild Rover, then that really does feel like you’re on your way to being part Irish, that’s for sure!
This room really could beat the Guinness Book of World Records for the most ukulele players in an Irish pub, as I stopped counting somewhere around “far more than seems statistically reasonable.”
Every corner of the pub seemed occupied by smiling musicians cheerfully playing songs everyone somehow knew. Within minutes complete strangers were singing together. Nobody seemed self-conscious. Nobody cared whether they were perfectly in tune. It struck me that perhaps we’ve accidentally overcomplicated happiness.
Maybe all you really need is a wooden instrument with four strings, a pint of Guiness, and friends willing to sing slightly louder than they should.
A few nights later we found ourselves at Kelly’s Corners, one of the oldest pubs in Belfast established in 1720!
Traditional Irish music drifted through the room while bowls of Irish stew arrived at our table.
Irish stew has absolutely no interest in being fashionable. It’s simply determined to make sure nobody leaves hungry. The serving size would’ve fed all three of us! Like so much traditional cooking around the world, it’s proof that recipes perfected by grandmothers rarely require improving. Good food doesn’t need reinvention. It just needs patience.
Exploring Northern Ireland – Up the Coast to Ballygally
One glorious afternoon we drove north along Northern Ireland’s Antrim Coast toward Ballygally.
The road seemed determined to outdo itself around every bend.
Green cliffs plunging into the sea.
Brilliant blue water stretching to the horizon.
White sheep… everywhere.
Tiny villages somehow clinging to impossibly steep hillsides, as though gravity had politely agreed to make an exception. Northern Ireland receives enough rain that the arrival of sunshine feels almost like a national holiday. The moment the clouds part, everyone appears to reach the same unspoken conclusion: “Whatever we were doing can wait. Time to grab our swimsuits!” They’re absolutely right.
Some days deserve your full attention.
An Italian Evening in Ireland
One of our final nights in Carrickfergus brought an unexpected surprise that instantly transported us back to Sicily.
We stopped for pizza. We dressed up for a special dinner at Castello Italia, an Italian restaurant overlooking the water. We all decided to order pizza.
Nothing unusual about that. Then our waitress greeted us in Italian. Without thinking, we answered in Italian too.
Months of awkward conversations, butchered verb conjugations, confused hand gestures, and patient Sicilian smiles suddenly came flooding back. The language we’d worked so hard to learn no longer felt foreign. It felt familiar. Like unexpectedly running into an old friend on the other side of the world. After dinner we wandered down the street for gelato.
Pizza.
Italian conversation.
Gelato.
For two wonderful hours, Sicily didn’t feel over 3000 kilometres away. Then, almost as quickly as it had begun, our time in Ireland came to an end. Travel has a peculiar habit of doing that.
Just when a place starts to feel familiar enough that you know which bakery opens first, where the locals go for coffee, and which streets are best walked without a destination, it’s time to pack your bags again.
Becoming Familiar Again with the Unfamiliar – Life back on Vancouver Island
You know you’re on Vancouver Island when you look out the window and see someone strolling casually down the street… while enthusiastically playing an accordion.
He wasn’t busking. He wasn’t performing. He wasn’t attracting a crowd. He was simply walking… and playing the accordion. Nobody else seemed remotely surprised. Vancouver Island has always attracted wonderfully interesting people.
After travelling through thirteen countries, I’ve stopped asking whether something is normal. I’m much happier simply appreciating that it happened.
Being back in Victoria, BC also meant returning to one of our favourite summer rituals—cycling.
Victoria seems to have been designed for bicycles almost as much as cars. Bike trails wind through forests, skirt the coastline, circle quiet lakes, and meander through neighbourhoods where front porches are still places to gather instead of merely architectural features.
Travelling by bicycle feels remarkably similar to travelling slowly.
You notice the conversations drifting across front yards. The smell of fresh bread escaping from neighbourhood bakeries. Children chasing bubbles through the park. Blackberries quietly ripening along the trails. Cars usually arrive first, but cyclists usually remember more.
For the summer we’ve settled into a lovely little home in Fernwood, one of those neighbourhoods that seems to encourage people to slow down.
Since being back on the Island I’ve already caught up with friends over a film at The Vic. We watched The Tuner, and the movie gave us just as much to talk about afterwards as some of our favourite films often do.
Another evening, I met a friend at Spinnakers Brewpub where we sampled a flight of local beers and discovered that good friendships have a wonderful ability to ignore the passage of time. We simply picked up the conversation where we had left it nearly a year earlier.
Text messages help. Phone calls help. But sitting across a table from someone you’ve known for years reminds you that friendship, like travel, is always better experienced in person.
Courtney and I also spent an evening walking the shoreline along Dallas Rd with our friends R. and F., watching paragliders soar silently above the water like oversized seabirds riding invisible currents. It gave us time to catch up, share stories, and enjoy one of Victoria’s most popular places to go for a ‘passeggiare’ (a stroll.)
Moments like these have become some of our favourite souvenirs-not the ones we pack into our luggage, but the ones we carry inside of us as memories that’ll last a lifetime.
Taking the Time to Be Grateful for It All
It’s funny how travel quietly changes what you value.
Years ago, I probably would have measured success in square footage, horsepower, or how full the garage happened to be.
These days, I measure it by much smaller things.
Can I walk to buy fresh bread?
Do the neighbours ‘nod’ or acknowledge me when they pass?
Do church bells—or, here in Victoria, the occasional accordion player—become part of the soundtrack of an ordinary Tuesday?
Somewhere along the way, Sicily rewired the way I look at life.
It taught me to notice.
To linger.
To leave enough space in the day for conversations that were never penciled into a calendar.
It reminded me that a life doesn’t become rich because it’s busy. It becomes rich because we actually have the time to experience it.
One of the greatest gifts we’ve been given is family who understand this journey.
Courtney’s mom has a remarkable habit of appearing wherever we happen to be in the world. We jokingly say she has mastered the art of teleportation. This summer, she arranged to look after a home and some animals on Vancouver Island—bringing her all the way from Ontario—not simply for a change of scenery, but so she could be close when we arrived home.
That kind of effort isn’t something you measure in kilometres. You measure it in love.
Of course, over the next few months we’ll miss the Madonie Mountains. We’ll miss the Sicilian rhythm where no one seems terribly concerned about the clock. We’ll miss hearing Italian echo through narrow medieval streets. We’ll miss our friends, our favourite cafés, our familiar walks, and the little routines that quietly became part of who we are.
But perhaps that’s the greatest gift slow travel has given us.
At first, you think you’re collecting destinations.
Then you realize you’re collecting places that begin to feel like home.
And what an extraordinary thing that is.
One home now waits patiently for us beneath the mountains of Sicily until autumn arrives.
Another welcomes us here in Victoria, surrounded by friends, familiar faces, and family.
Not everyone gets to feel at home in more than one corner of the world.
We never expected that would become part of our story.
It’s something we don’t ever want to take for granted.
It’s something we’re profoundly grateful for.
