Umbria - Of fireflies and hippies.

Awoke to a thrush singing and breakfasted under an enormous, ancient plum tree with fruit almost ripened. The heat was already palpable but at least, unlike Australia, it's a dry heat. We're on the move towards Umbria and the partner's sister's family who are staying in Umbertide. The car rental guy told us yesterday of a few places to visit along the way. Lago di Bracciano is our first stop and then to Calcata.

Calcata was condemned in the 1930's because of the fear that the volcanic cliffs would collapse. It was repopulated in the 60's by hippies, artists and new age characters who have created a community here after the government rescinded it's decree. It's an interesting place, full of quirky houses, murals, sculptures. A tiny hamlet set up in the hills. We park our car outside of the old town and walk down through a forest of ancient hazelnut trees with the sound of clucking chickens accompanying us to the village, which appears teetering on the brink of the hillside.

Ps. This is a stock photo as somehow I lost most photos from June.

We're hot and slightly out of sorts from not sleeping well after our jaunt yesterday; I feel we may have a slight case of sunstroke as neither of us had hats and there was no respite from the heat but we are intrepid explorers. We find a restaurant, an old inn where the menu is simple and updated daily. We had sausage and mushroom pasta made with pork sausage, black truffle and sheeps milk ricotta that is creamy and delicious. The salad is so delicate, the leaves so young, it compliments the pasta dish to perfection.

Then we're off to visit the partner's family. We stop on the way at a supermarket and the partner, who loves food, goes a little crazy in the deli section, in most sections! I'm excited to buy both hazelnut and pistachio spreads. We go a bit crazy in the bread, cheese and wine section. It's like a supermarket for the rich and famous and yet, it's a simple, cheap supermarket. But Italians wouldn't expect anything less.

We leave loaded and drive up into the mountains, past broom trees and forested hillsides, arriving just in time for a platter of various bruschettas, seated on a circular stone sea, overlooking a sinking sun that is colouring the skies in lines of azure, saffron, persimmon and the lavender colour of the hillside.

As night falls, the fireflies began their short lifespan. I hang out of the little veranda outside our room, watching their love dance amongst the trees, a slight breeze finally cooling the heavy heat of the day.

Next day we head off on foot for a family dinner at an agriturismo; these are farms that produce most of the foods that are available at their restaurant. A huge table is set under a trellis covered with grapevines. We have homemade cheese and salami; tomato and capsicum bruschetta; funghi lasagna; meats, salad and a Limoncello mousse-like dessert.

Stuffed to almost bursting, we walk back through the beautiful forest along the strada bianca, the white pebbled back roads of Italy.

The next day we shop at Gubbio, a small medieval hillside town that I went to 32 years ago on my first trip to Italy. It has the second largest surviving Roman theatre outside of the city and is full of beautiful linen shops, ceramics and art everywhere. More spending happened here, more food was consumed, gelato sampled. Such is Italian life.

Tivoli. Of temples and visions.

We took the train from Messina to Rome. Around 11, the train was put onto a ferry to cross the Straits of Messina. The partner was excited, I wanted to sleep but we made our way out of the train onto the boat and up the stairs to witness the passing. It was worth being up there, our faces bathed in a sea infused breeze, the lights of Italy across the way.

We awoke to a packaged croissant and an espresso just before we alighted in Rome, then had a better pistachio croissant and coffee at an amazing food market near the station on the way to pick up our rental car. I was nervous to drive out of Rome, a legacy of my back surgery - anxiety and being overwhelmed about things I used do without too much fear.

The partner drove, I directed which was nerve wracking. The daughter usually was my guidance and she was good; I wasn't. But we made it to Tivoli, to our castle hotel on the hill. Torre Sant Angelo. We're lead into a waiting room whilst they see if our room is ready and bring us chilled mineral water. We shower and get ready for our day of visiting gardens that I've arranged as the partner is a landscape designer.

Our first stop was Hadrian's garden, finding it another issue, finding a park another. We did but it was further away than we thought and 42 degrees, in the shade. The grounds were massive, 80 hectares, the most complete estate to have survived the fall of the Roman empire. Hadrian was a ruthless military leader but an intellectual, poet and designer. He had this complex built in 120 AD. Hadrian had travelled extensively in his military days and the buildings are a mixture of different cultural designs. Baths, theatres, libraries and apartments were built here and in his latter years, he ruled from here with a postal service to Rome.

We walk through the searing heat. Because the site is so amazing, we are spurred on by the remains of what once had been. Extraordinary vision the creators had, but the heat eventually wore us down and we found our way back for lunch at a restaurant where fans spun out mist so we could cool down. We shared a radicchio and gorgonzola gnocchi dish but it was too hot to eat more.

After recovering we went to Villa d'Este, a 16th century estate built by Cardinal Ippolito Il D'Este. His ambition to become Pope was thwarted five times as his extravagant lifestyle worked against him. He was made Governor of Tivoli which gave him jurisdiction over Hadrian's villa and other sites of antiquities which enabled him to furnish his villa and gardens with anything he wanted to acquire.

It is a magnificent site, built in the 9th century on an old Roman villa which later became a convent. He wished to extend the convent and design and build gardens that would exceed anything the Romans had built. It was the quintessential Renaissance garden and he stopped at nothing to make it work, even diverting the nearby river to bring water to his fountains. The people of Tivoli brought lawsuits against him to no avail. He had houses, roads and public buildings demolished to accomplish his incredible gardens.

Another couple of hours here and we head home for a swim and a rest and then out for dinner at a place suggested by the manager. It didn't look that exciting as we walked down the stairs but then we were lead outside and found ourselves on a parapet high above a forest park that looks out over a beautiful small rounded temple and a waterfall. The air is full of swallows doing their late afternoon meanderings and divings; the air is still and the sunset is colouring the air with shades of buttermilk and pink.

We dine on a risotto of pear, taleggio cheese and walnuts, a salad and cool white dry wine, watching the shadows darkening the valley and the Temple of Vesta across the way which is lit up as night falls. Italy, you never fail to impress.

Cefalu. The return of the travelling bag.

Oh citizens of Cefalu, we love you! We arrived via a change at Messina and were about to get into the taxi when the partner discovered he'd left his small backpack on the train. And the train had left the station. The young, handsome taxi driver was most concerned. He went to speak to the station master, who rang up the train driver, who sent one of the inspectors to look for it, who found it, who made sure it was put on the next train back when it reached Palermo. Really? Can you imagine that happening in Australia? I have to say skepticism was my major emotion at the time but the taxi driver said: "Don't worry." and drove us to our hotel. He said he'd return to the station for the Palermo train, collect the belongings, then return with it and visit his girlfriend at the same time. All good. Skepticism again.

We settled into Il Pino e la Rosa, a beautiful old home of the manager's cousin's mother. Yes, family is still the go in Sicily. A huge marble bath dwarfed the bathroom and when we went out on our balcony, you could see the swallows diving and flitting over the clay tiled rooftops out to the sea. How the taxi got down our street I didn't know, it was made for horses and people only.

We had a walk around the cobbled streets full of craft shops, ceramics and restaurants to return at 7 for the return of the bag. We waited. And waited and I was just about to say something like 'I told you it wouldn't be delivered' but they were never to be said. Handsome taxi driver and likewise stunning girlfriend knocked at the door with said bag. My husband had lived in Palermo for six years of his life. The partner said maybe there was a link with the bag getting to go to Palermo for a brief visit. It was a lovely thought. We went out to celebrate.

We found a place by the sea and were seated with a view of what would be a magnificent sunset. We ordered a typical Sicilian seafood pasta of sardines, wild fennel, raisins, pine nuts, sprinkled with sauteed breadcrumbs instead of parmesan because, as every good Italian knows, you never, ever have parmesan with seafood! Also they are obsessed with pistachios here so we choose the seafood ravioli with burnt butter and topped with delectable bits of pistachio and a cold fish caponata. We drank and ate as the sun set slowly as it does in the Mediterranean, turning the sea copper, bronze and then to platinum and then made our way back to the piazza near our place. An old church sat slumped in the back of the square, as we ended the celebration of the bag's return with a shared gelato that was pistachio and chocolate in different intensities, in seven layers. Unbelievable!

The next day we breakfast on pistachio cake and macchiatos and then headed down to the little harbour for a swim. It's waters, although inclusive of a small fishing fleet, were crystal clear. We had morning tea of pistachio and mulberry granita in the square, changed and headed back down to the famous Pizzica that makes Arancini and nothing but Arancini. We walk to the Portico dei Pescatori, an archway leading to a little beach, and devour them on the steps there. I have a pistachio and speck one, it's heavenly. Stuffed with a gooey cheesy filling, the outer layer of rice is light and not heavy and it's lightly fried to perfection.

Fortified , we wander along the tiny streets, past the fish net shop of Instagram fame, finding an art shop where the owner is painting tiny miniatures of Cefalu, to shops of beautiful red and orange Sicilian ceramics, silver jewellery and little handmade holy water fonts in ceramics. We go a bit crazy and buy interesting art works here. We run into the vegetable truck, overflowing with crates of luscious fruits and vegetables and watch as he holds up an ancient weighing machine to do his calculations as the Cefalu inhabitants crowd around.

We sit on our verandah, listening to the church bells, watching the swallows until it's time to dine yet again. Honestly Sicily shines with it's cuisine. We sit in a bar overlooking the harbour and I have an Amaretto cocktail at Il Molo. A woman next to us starts chatting. She's Florentine and owned a restaurant there, her husband died, creditors took the restaurant and she has had to move to an apartment and open an Air BnB. This is her first holiday since his death five years ago.

We dine on anchovy pasta this time, laced with chilli and toasted breadcrumbs; and a sea bream pasta with tomatoes, mint, garlic, tiny coral shrimps and pistachios in place of parmesan. We are again in time for a long, slow burning sunset and a bit of drama from a couple opposite us. He leans over to show her a photo, she takes his phone and starts scrolling, he tries to get it back unsuccessfully and too late, she obviously sees naked photos of another girl, she 's English and she questions him, he's Italian and he tries to explain it away in his broken English. It doesn't go well. She screams at him, he denies everything, she throws the phone across the table and walks off. He sits back and scrolls through, seemingly having moved on from the drama he had enacted and casually finishes his drink. No doubt a tourist romance. She's probably thinking she'd like his head in a pot, growing some basil.

On our walk back we stop by the square, buzzing at ten pm at night. Babies, children playing and laughing. No worries about getting the kids to bed early here. I love it. We stop at our favourite gelateria and have a tiny cassata cake, we can't leave Sicily not having had my late husband's favourite cake. Sponge cake stuffed with ricotta and choc chips, covered with pistachio marzipan, topped with a cherry. Sicily, we love you!