The arancino came first, warm from a supermarket rosticceria, spinach and rice bound together with mozzarella, eaten standing up outside. It cost almost nothing and tasted exactly like the kind of food that doesn’t need context to make sense. Then the drive toward baroque Ragusa Ibla, the older of the city’s two halves, where history feels less preserved than unresolved.
The 1693 earthquake that flattened southeastern Sicily created a peculiar urban split. Survivors rebuilt in different places: some on higher ground, forming what became Ragusa Superiore, others returning to reconstruct the old town below. From a distance the city reads as one place. Walk Ibla’s streets and the seam becomes visible. Baroque facades protrude at competing angles, balconies catch light mid-turn, and the layout resists the kind of logic that makes cities easy to navigate quickly.
The Cathedral of San Giorgio doesn’t sit at the centre of the Piazza del Duomo. The dome appears behind the bell tower by design, visible only from certain positions, a small architectural decision that most visitors walk past without registering. Once noticed, it tends to stick. The piazza is uneven underfoot throughout, stone steps and sloped surfaces, so comfortable shoes matter from the start. Cafes on the far side of the square are good for a pause without much commitment.
At the edge of the old quarter, the Giardino Ibleo dates from 1858 and is well kept without feeling managed. Dogs on leads are welcome, worth knowing if you’re travelling with one. We arrived the previous evening, parked nearby, and fell into conversation with other travellers that ran until midnight. By the time goodbyes came the following morning, Ragusa already felt like somewhere we’d spent longer than two days.
The Ruin You Probably Won’t Visit
Fornace Penna sits just outside the old town, down a track that looks trivial on a map and less so in person. Built between 1909 and 1912 for the Penna family, the brick kiln is large enough to surprise on arrival. The stonework is detailed in a way that suggests the building was constructed to last and then simply abandoned. A young man appeared carrying fresh asparagus and described tunnels running beneath the site, now sealed as unsafe. A railway siding may once have served it for loading, though nothing remains. Sturdy footwear and attention to footing are essential. It is not signposted or curated, and that is most of the point.
Swimming in November
Modica Beach Resort doesn’t appear in most itineraries, which is part of why it works. Low-rise houses, dunes, and water clear enough to see the bottom from several metres up. In November the Mediterranean is cooler than summer but not cold by northern European standards, warm enough to swim impulsively rather than deliberately, which is what happened. Shore access is straightforward, though the rocks and small caves along the coast require careful footing beyond the main beach.
Lunch afterward in the shade, with enough time to watch the light shift across the water. A camper parked above a small cave added to the casual, lived-in feel of the place. The following morning brought a slow walk along the beach and a second swim before loading the car. In the car park, a stranger handed over a jar of homemade pasta sauce along with suggestions for the road ahead.
Chocolate, Stairs, and a Fiat 127
Modica climbs hard from the valley floor. Modica Bassa connects to Modica Alta by staircases that are unambiguous about the effort required. Garages are cut directly into the rock face, sized for smaller cars, and building walls merge with the hillside rather than sitting against it. Carry water, take the climb at a measured pace, and allow time at the top. The view back down over rooftops stacked at angles that shouldn’t quite work calls to mind Matera, though smaller and far less visited.
The chocolate is the other reason to come. Cold-processed and made without milk, butter, or oil, it retains granulated sugar that gives it a texture unlike anything produced by conventional methods. We tried chilli, pistachio, citrus, and a variety paired with Nero d’Avola. The salted version, which had won recognition at Vinitaly, was the one worth lingering over. Shops are generally open most days; Sundays can complicate parking near the better-known producers.
Near the top of the town, a Fiat 127 looped the piazza towing a gelato cart. Nobody seemed to find this unusual. Walking back down, the city rearranges itself with each change in elevation, tilted rooflines appearing from new directions, shadows falling differently across the same steps. Sicily in November is quieter than the brochures plan for, and more persistent in the details it leaves behind.
