Siracusa

The shimmer of the sea, broken only by small, elegant ripples, is how I’ll remember Siracusa.

At first light, fishermen line the shores of Ortigia, hoping for a lucky catch.

It’s there again as we enjoy the ritual of an afternoon aperitivo. Draught Birra Messina and salted San Carlo crisps, feeling on top of the world as the warm December sun made us forget Christmas was only two weeks away.

A sparsely populated bar with Corona’s 90s hit The Rhythm of the Night as company, and a man sat nearby with an unlit cigarette in his hand, presumably wrestling with whether to light it or not.

The narrow passages of Ortigia open into a bustling marketplace, where lemons the size of footballs compete for attention with ceramics shops filled with local oddities.

I buy a pair of sunglasses I don’t need and take the odd step of comforting myself at the purchase with a local speciality; a horse meat sandwich from a van parked down an unassuming side street.

But, it is the shimmer of the sea again that hooks you in, in this corner of Sicily.

It may be December, yet it is warm enough to swim with the locals in the sea - reached by a small scaffolding platform and a few rocky steps. I feel fully content with life.

Later, as the sun sets, we sit on or little balcony, enjoying a glass of wine to the sound of swifts swirling around above our heads. The sea in front of us is almost still. A smooth ripple appears as a fishing boat heads back towards the harbour. Its diesel engine competing with the screeching of the birds above.

It passes by and now it’s just me, my wife and the sea - all purple and orange as the last of the sun dips below the horizon.

It’s all so simple. Yet I struggle to remember the last time I felt so content.