Cannoli for Breakfast: Day One in Taormina

Date: November 18
Location: Taormina, Sicily
Weather: Mid-60s with off-and-on sprinkles in the morning and evening

I woke up at 9 a.m. to a completely empty house. I assumed the ladies were out on a mission – specifically, a coffee-and-pastry procurement mission – so I got myself ready before their return. Sure enough, they came back armed with the most glorious pastries: pistachio cannoli and a flaky puff pastry overflowing with cream. Breakfast of champions.

Marta offered to make me an Americano. “Si, si, si!” I practically sang. We carried everything out to the private patio, where we had a distant view of the ocean and the kind of quiet morning air that makes you want to breathe deeper.

But there was one pressing issue: the cannoli staring me down. Was this the moment the trip’s inevitable calorie avalanche began? Would my pants still fit by Friday? Do calories even count in Italy? (Surely not. Their ingredients are pure. Holy, even.) Besides, I’d be walking plenty today, so really – why fight destiny?

I took a bite. Then another. I had planned to eat only half. That plan lasted approximately four seconds. Sicilian cannoli – especially pistachio ones – are far too good for restraint.

It was a very sweet beginning to the day.

Our Airbnb is absolutely perfect for the four of us – three spacious bedrooms, three bathrooms, a small living area, and a clean, modern kitchen with all the updated touches. Nothing fancy, nothing fussy, just exactly what we need for the week.

Carlotta had been to Taormina recently with her father, so she slipped naturally into the role of local guide. Her plan for the morning: Marta would walk us over to the famous Greek Theater ruins while she stayed behind to go to the market and prepare lunch. She insisted that cooking for us would be her happy place – and honestly, when someone says their joy in life is grocery shopping and feeding you in Sicily, you don’t argue.

With the promise of a home-cooked Sicilian lunch waiting for us, we set off with Marta to explore.

We strolled through the charming streets of Taormina on our way to the Greek Theater, and Carla and I were absolutely giddy to be back in Italy – especially in a place this picturesque. The streets were practically empty, the shops were open, and it felt like the entire town had been reserved just for us.

Carlotta had warned us that in the summer these same streets become a human tidal wave, shoulder-to-shoulder crowds shuffling along at a snail’s pace. But on this quiet November morning? Bliss. Pure, quiet, postcard-worthy bliss.

The town itself is stunning – full Amalfi Coast vibes, dramatic cliffs, pastel buildings, the sea shimmering in the distance. I was suddenly very happy I pushing myself to try something new and different at the start of this trip. It was exciting to be exploring a new place in Italy.

We arrived at the Greek Theater after an easy ten-minute walk from our Airbnb. You need a ticket to enter, and it was absolutely worth it for the views alone. We wandered through the ruins, taking in the sweeping scenery while Marta played the part of our unofficial guide. We stopped for a coffee at the top, lingering over the view and catching up on all her latest news.

At one point Marta asked when I planned to buy property in Italy. Ha! She’s not the first to ask, and she won’t be the last. And honestly… I can’t say the idea hasn’t crossed my mind more than once.

After a long, relaxed visit at the top, we made our way back down. Along the path I spotted a group of four American tourists – two older couples – and asked if one of them could take our picture. The chattiest woman in the group immediately launched into a whole backstory for us. She declared she just loved my “American accent” and proceeded to tell her friends that we were three beautiful sisters traveling around Italy together. We smiled, nodded, and didn’t correct a thing. Who were we to ruin her imaginative narrative? Personally, I was fine with the story – and delighted to star in it.

We stopped at the store for a few essentials (aka wine), then headed back to the Airbnb. Carlotta had the table beautifully set outside and lunch completely ready – a pasta with sausage and artichoke stems, a crisp salad, bread, and wine. It was all delicious, and Carla and I felt thoroughly spoiled. Eating outside in the perfect weather made it even better.

After lunch, Carla and I headed down to browse the shops. We didn’t buy anything, but the walk was nice and just what we needed. There were more people out in the afternoon, but still nothing like the summer crowds we’d heard about.

Eventually, Carla said she wanted a nap. I knew this was the “death curse” for a good night’s sleep – give in to the 3:30 p.m. nap on day one, and your circadian rhythm is toast. But when you’re tired, you’re tired. So back we went.

Having our own rooms was a blessing – Carla went into full hibernation mode, and I settled in to start writing my first blog post of the trip. The house was quiet, as Carlotta and Marta had gone out on their own adventure. I wanted to capture the saga of our journey while it was still fresh, and honestly, the quiet afternoon was perfect for it. I finished the blog just as the girls returned with dinner.

They brought us the famous local arancini – glorious rice balls stuffed with herbs, meat, peas, and melty mozzarella, then breaded and fried to golden perfection – as well as lasagna and more wine. We set another beautiful table outside. I went to wake Carla, who had been asleep for four hours! She didn’t want to get up but knew she had to, or she’d be awake until sunrise.

Right as we settled outside, it began to sprinkle, so we moved everything indoors and finished the meal around the kitchen table. Carla joined us, feeling much better after her marathon nap. We ate, cleaned up, and drifted off to our rooms for early bedtimes.

I felt so grateful for a peaceful, stress-free day and the joy of finally being here. Of course, true to jet lag form, I didn’t fall asleep until 12:30 a.m.… and then woke up at 3:30am. I lay there for hours before giving up and blogging again.

So here we go – the jet lag chapter begins. Good thing I’m in a country that happens to have the best coffee on the planet.