After an hour at the wheel and two spent traipsing up and down identical streets – slippery cobbles, dark ground-floor apartments, overpriced minimarkets, modern buildings with peeling plaster, cars parked on the pavements or at the foot of some church steps – they would stop at a bar to drink a Campari at a plastic table, reminding themselves that they were in Sicily, they were near the sea, they were branching out.
