Italy

Both Sardinia and Sicily belong to Italy.

We landfalled in Syracusa, Sicily, and instantly fell in love with the old walled city of Ortiga. Charming sidewalk cafes under glistening umbrellas fringed the quay. On Sunday afternoons, young adults and teenagers made their passeggiata, strolling down the main road in their finery, talking and joking, then turning like a school of fish and strolling back. Wandering through the delightful warren of cobbled alleyway and staircases between the baroque limestone old apartment buildings became our main past-time during our stay. One morning, a stout woman leaned over her wrought balcony to dump a bucket of soapy water on the pathway, narrowly missing me in the shadows below.

A proud history lies behind the Sicilians. The old fortified city of Ortiga was once a powerful state, rivaling Athens. And when the Romans tried to seize the city, the Sicilians trapped them in the Bay of Syracusa, creating balls of fire in their sails using mirrors and lenses. Archimedes devised huge catapults to aid in the attack.

Northern Italians regard the southern Italians as a scruffy boot bottom, and Sicily as the object poised to be kicked by the boot. In Rome during the 1990 World Cup soccer tournament, the lead scorer was a Sicilian. Next day, a sign announced, ‘Great Play, Too Bad He's Sicilian’. Sicilians are also called terroni, or people of the earth by northerners; Sicilians retaliate by calling northerners polentoni, after polenta, a northern cornmeal mush— as if they have no flavor.

We found them charming, especially the men, of course. They like to tease and flirt, so shopping at the local farmers' market was always an adventure. The merchants would slip extra tomatoes in my bag, or give a wedge of cheese to Bella, our little black dog.

One guy did try to cheat me, and I wasn’t surprised, as it was once part of the game here: The Mafioso originated in the hills of Sicily, set up during feudal times by strongmen who collected rents for landowners and handled disputes without courts. They were bound by omertà – a strict code of conduct – “I didn't see anything, and if I was there, I was sleeping”.

Ours sons arrived with their Will from yacht "Twilight", who grew up with them in the Bahamas. Adam stepped off a yacht he'd recently served as 1st Mate across the Atlantic, Warren from Costa Rice where he'd recently complete photojournalism and Spanish courses, and Will from Florida. It took Warren three days five planes, and two trains to find us; Adam three in two ferries to it on his route. This is Will's second visit on Scud - we just love having such a funny guy around!

After two weeks onboard, they boarded the train to backpack through Europe on a Eurail Pass, journeying for two weeks to a possible 18 countries. They chose six, starting with Rome, Venice, and Zurich - their favorite, so far. Their email read: "We crashed on a dock overnight because we couldn't find a room, and woke up to a lake and snow-capped mountains." 40' dive boards enticed them up tall ladders for some serious free-falling.

The local Turkish bath was a popular hot spot for backpackers and Sicilians, helping to assuage the summer heat. We spent most afternoons here, after strolling through the ancient alleyways of the old city, pausing to sample the local ice creams – it was invented here. Warren and Will skateboarded, nearly colliding with a couple lampposts and tiny Citrons. They were ushered out of the piazza in front of the cathedral when they started boarding the stairs. I turned the corner, acting like I’d never seen them in my life!

There is always something interesting to watch. Serious athletes took to their kayaks for an afternoon game of – what? Water soccer? There's a reason why you see them donned in helmets: We saw more than a few injuries inflicted when battling after the ball; there was lots of bellowing and mad strokes with the paddle. Every weekend, brides flocked to the city to hold beautiful weddings in the small chapels and grand cathedrals. After the ceremony, the bride promenaded the lanes in stiff heels, followed by crowds of family members dressed in black, for photographs – by the old well, by the fountain, or lying supine on the granite piazza in mock lovemaking with her new husband. And if you're still looking for action, there's always a regatta going on somewhere in the harbor. You should have heard the slinging of good-natured insults across those bows!