Even if it’s a short detour, I’m determined to go via Taormina, firstly because it would be criminal not to set foot on Sicilian soil, but also because the name of this town, which I’ve never visited, has been a dream of mine ever since I saw The Big Blue. From Bova Marina, we hence head due west.

Approaching the Bay of Taormina is a bit dizzying, as the bay is immense and it’s difficult, even with the precious help of Navily (a collaborative app listing Mediterranean anchorages with a wealth of information and comments from yachtsmen), to know where to anchor that’s both authorized (min. 300m from the beach) and practical for disembarking on land, but also because it’s shared with a staggering number of super – or even mega – yachts, leading us to speculate that there must be some G8 thugs about.

Suffering from the heatwave, we stayed on board, or in the water, until late afternoon, then set off to explore the waterfront, following our instincts in this unusual and contrasting setting, between the majesty of the bay, and the hill from which the town of Taormina hangs, and the facades that haven’t been renovated since the 70s, with their exposed air conditioners and dubious mosaics, all set to the noisy soundtrack of cars, Vespas and fire and ambulance sirens blaring day and night. Once the sun is low on the horizon, the streets of Naxos are alive and well, and we can’t resist the call of pizzas to celebrate our arrival in Sicily, nor the call of the soft ice cream served with a spatula, and are won over by the Profumo di Sicilia, which marries the freshness of lemon, the creaminess of almond and crunchy pistachio pieces, all enhanced by a hint of cinnamon.

The next day, despite the heat, we set off for a day of strolling through the streets of Taormina. We discovered the Trinacria, the emblem of Sicily, with a woman’s face with a pair of wings instead of ears, snakes for hair and a triskel of bent legs around it, which can be seen on every street corner and on the signs of most shops. Another ubiquitous symbol in the town’s shop windows, courtyards and balconies is the Testa di Moro (also known as the “Grasta”), a porcelain vase representing a Moor’s head (often accompanied by his belle), whose sordid legend has it that a young Sicilian woman seduced by a Moorish traveller, when she discovered that he was leading a double life, cut off his head to make a vase for herself and grow basil, which she watered with her tears.

There are plenty of tourists, and the view from the 9th of April square doesn’t extend as far as Mount Etna, hidden behind the mist, but the city’s gracefulness lives up to our expectations. We appreciate its colorful atmosphere, its labyrinthine alleyways, the greenery of its public gardens, where we find a little coolness next to a pair of bronze angels embracing on a bench for eternity, and its historic buildings, notably the Duomo, where we meditate in front of the silver-framed icon inlaid with semi-precious stones, and in front of the bas-relief of the Last Supper, whose expression of misunderstanding, even accusation, by the apostles perplexes Azur, and which I am unable to explain (calling on my good friend Ariane to the rescue, who refers me to the passage in the Bible where Jesus announces that he is going to be betrayed by one of them).

We also enjoy the arancini (stuffed and fried rice dumplings), as well as the granite and brioche combos that the locals are said to eat for breakfast, but which we prefer to devour for afternoon tea. On the other hand, the taste of rancid oil from an unfresh canelli makes us regret our visit to the last flashy bakery at the entrance to Corso Umberto.

There’s no time to dwell, as a weather window presents itself for crossing the Strait of Messina, so we’re off to Scilla for two short nights, just enough time to skip stones along the beach as usual, stroll along the steep streets, pose in front of the statue of Scilla, play with the setting sun, and be moved by the sight of freshly caught swordfish (a local specialty) resting sadly in the boot of a car, before continuing on to the Aeolian Islands.