Susafa became the unexpected beginning of my journey toward slower travel.
When we planned our trip to Sicily, I wanted to see everything.
In just four short days, we packed in day trips to Taormina, Palermo, Erice, Cefalù, and even a visit to Porticello, the small Sicilian fishing village where Jerry’s ancestors once lived. At the time, it felt like the right decision — after all, who knows when we would return to Sicily again?
What I didn’t fully realize then was how much constant movement can quietly take away from the experience of a place.
Poor Jerry spent hours navigating winding mountain roads, chaotic Sicilian traffic, confusing toll booths, and aggressive Italian drivers while I enthusiastically added “just one more stop” to the itinerary. At one toll booth, the attendant became visibly irritated with us, though between the stress and language barrier, we never fully understood what we had done wrong. After that, we started avoiding toll roads whenever possible, choosing the longer scenic routes instead.
Ironically, slowing down began almost by accident.
Each evening, we returned to the quiet hills of Susafa exhausted from another full day of exploring. Yet the moments that stayed with me most weren’t necessarily the famous landmarks or carefully planned excursions.
They were the quieter moments in between.
A rooftop dinner overlooking the rolling Sicilian countryside. Storm clouds moving across distant hills. A wandering Weimaraner looking for attention. The peaceful silence that settled in after a long drive.
Somewhere during those evenings at Susafa, I began realizing that the places I love most are rarely the ones I rushed through checking off a list. They’re the ones where I finally slow down long enough to notice how I feel while I’m there.
Somewhere in the quiet hills of Susafa, my idea of travel began to shift.
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