Siracusa

The shimmer of the seas, 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 evening aperitivo. Draught Birra Messina and salted San Carlo crisps, feeling on top of the world as the warm December 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 ceramic shops filled with local oddities.

I buy a pair of sunglasses I don’t need and justify the purchase with a local speciality: a horse meet sandwich, from a van parked down an unassuming side street.

But it’s the shimmer of the sea that hooks you, in this corner of Sicily. It may be December, yet it’s warm enough to swim with the locals, 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 our balcony, enjoying a glass of wine to the sound of swifts swirling 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.