The man vacuuming sand off his footpath

A block from the beach in Capo d'Orlando, on Sicily's north coast, we watched a man vacuum sand off the footpath outside his house.

He was thorough about it. Methodical. And a hundred metres away was a long, straight run of sand with a light onshore breeze doing exactly what a light onshore breeze does. It was completely futile and he clearly knew it, and he was going to do it anyway, because it was his footpath.

We were in Capo d'Orlando in late September, and the week had a very simple shape. Cross the road, swim before breakfast, come back. The water was still warm, the crowds had thinned enough that we could just wander down and pick our own place on the sand — and small fish would come in and nibble at your toes while you stood there deciding whether the day needed anything else in it.

It's not a town that's arranged for visitors. This is where Sicilians go to the beach, including people driving down from the mountain towns inland. The menus aren't in four languages. The centro fills up with music and bars after dinner rather than the seafront. And the seafood restaurant down our street, Doria 66, did the best meal of the stay — a degustation menu, everything fresh — which you book, because even in shoulder season the good places still fill.

What makes it worth a week rather than a night is the marina. Boats run from there out to the Aeolians and across to watch Stromboli after dark, and there's a train station on the Messina–Palermo line, so you can get along the coast without a car. A beach town that's also a base is a genuinely useful thing.

I wrote the whole thing up this week: Capo d'Orlando: Where Sicily Goes to the Beach — the beach, the evenings, where to stay, and the one thing it's not close enough for.

See you next Friday.

— Robert