He stirs the mixture of hot sugar, just one point in the process to create a simple candy cane. A father lifts his son on his arms to see the silver saint as an entire island elbows in between. And a lighthouse watches over a Christmas tree composed solely of lobster traps. I don’t often travel in December, mostly due to family filled schedules and of course the chaotic airport scene. After boarding a flight on Monday, a boarding process that took far longer than it ever should, I watched as people jammed their holiday gifts and jackets in the overhead bins, ignoring all announcements to leave the space for those with actual bags. It is not always a pleasant scene, the act of December travel. Snowstorms, inexperienced travelers and the overall stress of the holidays don’t always lend the best of recipes.

When I do travel in this month, I have managed to uncover a sweet December, a month unlike any other time of year. One of my favorite aspects to travel is its ability to connect one person from another culture or background with another. December might be the best month to see this first hand traveling. Most of the world is doing something different from the rest of the year, whether it is putting up extra trees about town or finding a certain faith in tradition. It is December that connects the traveler to customs of their home, even if they may be half way across the world. It is the act of tradition, the act of doing something special and different that makes this month the same for us all. While my travels haven’t led me too far away from home for December, I have found a few moments away from the familiar and entrenched in an undeniable connection found in this magical month.

The Nubble Lighthouse, Maine

On the southern coast of Maine, you will find the Nubble Lighthouse near York village. Perched on its own green island, I visited this site when most wouldn’t dream of getting out of their cars, December. The wind whipped me into a spinning shivering mess, but I didn’t care. The lighthouse to me was iconic December. With no sun in sight, the white and red lighthouse oozed the holidays.

Just across from this famous lighthouse, a restaurant set up its own holiday decorations, a lobster trap Christmas tree. Countless traps went into its construction, something you would only see in this part of the world. It was Maine’s spin on December and yet still a familiar sight.

Candy Cane Factory, Colorado

It’s not everyday you sit down and ponder how your candy cane came to be. Hammond’s Candy Cane Factory offers free tours of just how those classic December treats are made. Turning out 1,000 pounds of sugar a day, Hammond’s began in 1920.

I toured the factory several Decembers ago. While mostly children participated in the tour, I watched as employees of the factory twisted, pulled and pushed sugar into the red and white ribbons of a candy cane. As I watched behind a glass window, you could see the smirks on the candy cane makers faces. To them, it was a job. To most of those watching, they were pure Christmas elves. This candy cane factory visit reminded me that every aspect to December travel, right down to those candy canes you see everywhere, is an entire process, one that calls for several individuals to make successful, not just one.

Sicilian December Festivals

I had never traveled outside the country for December until I studied in Sicily. I was able to participate in two of the island’s biggest events, the Feast of Santa Lucia and the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. On December 6^th, the town of Siracusa parades a statue to Mary throughout small, snaking streets. It is still a sight I can’t wipe from memory, countless Sicilians so dedicated and devoted to a single cause.

Later on in the month, the town and island celebrates Santa Lucia, Sicily’s patron saint. On December 13^th, all of Sicily seems to arrive to Siracusa’s Piazza Duomo. Fathers hoist their children on their shoulders in hopes of catching a glimpse of Santa Lucia, a silver statue to the saint hailing from the 16^th century. The town processes yet again through the streets of Ortigia, with several men needed to carry Lucia. In old uniforms and costumes, I watched this scene from my Sicilian balcony.

December might not be the best month for travel with chaotic airports and hefty ticket prices, but it is all worth it to me in the end to see the powerful link of tradition and the shaking up of routines across the globe.

Do you travel in December? Have you found more events and iconic cultural moments throughout the month?

On the streets of Taormina, I stumble over the clutter of antique shops spilling out into the streets. The clutter is not limited to objects, but also people. Taormina is not the sort of place you come to for anonymity, but rather to see and be seen. Throughout history, writers, artists, aristocrats, royalty and celebrities have vacationed in this resort town on Sicily’s northeastern coast. Despite all of the activity in late summer, the shine of Taormina, right down to the glaring sun off of those sliver antique candleholders is endearing to say the least.

I make my way to the town’s premiere attraction, the Teatro Greco. Constructed in the 3^rd century B.C., it is the second largest on this island. Scaffolding is up, hinting a production is eminent. In Taormina’s warmer months, performances take the stage here.

Set in between the sea and sky of Taormina, Teatro Greco proudly holds one of the best views of the town. One particular bend is a stopping point for pictures by most who pass through here. Even the skeptical of this tourist town can’t deny this view, myself included.

I continue on to Piazza Duomo, the center of activity in any Italian town. Taormina’s Duomo almost looks more fortress than religious institution. The 13^th century cathedral fills on Sunday nights with locals taking a seat on wooden pews.

Taormina’s perfection makes a full circle at Villa Comunale, the city’s gardens. Created by an English woman, the hanging gardens present a lush paradise in the midst of a coastal dream.

Clutter aside, Taormina’s appeal comes in its position, up high on a hill, almost like that forbidden toy as a kid, up high on the top shelf. However, Taormina still can’t compete with Mt. Etna glaring in the distance.

As rain approaches, the active volcano turns unquestionably gray, but Taormina is still keeping up shiny appearances right down to its own private island, Isola Bella.

This week’s Wish You Were Here post comes from Matt McCall.

As the weather is finally warming up, I find myself often daydreaming of past trips to the Mediterranean. On one trip to Sicily in the early Spring, I ventured to the Aeolian Islands to the northeast of the mainland. Only having one day to make it out to the islands, I was able to see the islands of Lipari and Vulcano.

The ferry took me from Messina to Lipari, the largest of the seven islands. Immediately after departing the ferry, I was greeted by people wanting me to book any combination of boat ride offers. I normally do not jump at such offers, but on this day, the spirit of island adventure intrigued me. The trip included a trip around Lipari island with a stop for swimming followed by a two hour stop on Vulcano. While ultimately the swimming stop turned out to only be about 15 minutes long, it was some of the clearest water I have ever seen, tucked away in a remote corner of the island.

Afterward, the trip continued on to Vulcano, where the ancient Romans believed the god Vulcanus abided, making weapons for Mars. They believed that the ash and smoke from Vulcano came from Vulcanus’s workshop chimney. You can still see the giant smoking gently today. The Romans used the island for harvesting raw materials, including sulfur, the smell of which will sting your nostrils as soon as you step off the boat.

Today, you can go to the island and enjoy a sulfur mud bath or Laghetto di Fanghi. After soaking in the sulfuric mud, you jump into the Tyrrhennian Sea to rinse off and then rinse that off with a cold outdoor shower. The effect is good for your skin and your health, at least so they say. Be warned, however, to wear an old bathing suit that you can throw away afterward, for the sulfuric smell will want to stay with you as a memento if you let it.

Have you been to these islands or any of the other five?

Sicily is a place you can’t really escape after visiting. I was putty in Sicily’s hands, returning after just a year of being away. I found myself back where I started, but not. I was looking for a “slow travel” day. Alone on an island, I felt somewhat useless. If I have a day here and there when I travel where I don’t get out and see the world, I feel like I have let myself and the place down.  As a result, one gray day, I boarded a train to Ragusa to go see, as they say.

Not really knowing much about the city, I sat in the Siracusa station as construction workers kept trying to make eye contact. I knew what everyone was thinking. What is this girl doing here? I felt those eyes on me as I jumped up to the train and took a seat.

I kept my eyes on the window, admiring the Sicilian countryside in winter. Having spent the end of a summer in Sicily, I was used to seeing sun scorched lands and little greenery. This ride was different as sunlight burst around green hills and rocky roads.

As the train pulled into Ragusa, I couldn’t seem to find the “quaint” and “charming” old town I had imagined. I had read you needed a bus to get down to it from the modern part of Ragusa. Trying to make sense of the Italian bus schedules, I gave up and thought I could find this historic old town center on foot.

Truth be told, I am stubborn and shy by myself. I should have reached out to a local for directions. I should have asked someone, but I didn’t. I just kept walking around a modern town as locals gave me the hairy eyeball. Hungry and tired of looking, I popped into a shop for a sandwich. An old couple ran the shop and looked at me as everyone else did. What is this foreign girl doing in the middle of the commercial center of Ragusa? I ordered and collected my salami sandwich as though I was a regular, despite resembling nothing of the sort.

What they don’t tell you to do in guidebooks or nearly every other travel publication is to go somewhere with no rhyme or reason, no plans, no idea what you are doing, no knowledge of what you will see, what you might accomplish. There is generally a purpose to going somewhere, a reason to visit. You read about some festival. This town makes some ancient wine you want to try. With so many reasons behind travel, it can be a bit draining on the traveler to live up to those purposes.

You don’t have to go where someone tells you. You don’t have to have a reason for going. You don’t have to socialize all day with locals. You don’t have to go alone, with someone or on a tour. You can do it your way. You can have moments of traveling just for the sake of travel.

Perhaps I was lonely. Perhaps my purpose was to sightsee had I found the historic city center.  I think I just needed a day to sit on a train. I needed a day to have people wonder about me. You might need to go from here to Ragusa and back with nothing really obtained, no greater sense of the city, but just a moment of travel cleansing, an unadulterated movement.

I have nothing to show for Ragusa. I don’t have a million photographs of the city. I don’t have exchanges with locals that were intensely powerful. I do have that travel, that act of moving from place to place, for no real reason other than to get away. I remember the back and forth movement of the train. I recall passing tiny homes and countryside. I can even imitate all of those looks I received. I may have nothing from Ragusa, but a memory of traveling for travel’s sake. Robert Louis Stevenson said it was a great affair just to move so I will take a note from him.

Have you ever had a day of travel for no rhyme or reason?

If you have traveled anywhere, generally some acquaintance wants to pass along a friend’s number in need of advice. A parent is worried about their daughter studying abroad. A couple wants to know where to wine and dine in Barcelona. While I agree, research is a key part of travel, it seems we sometimes forget to let travel come, as it will.

No longer do we just hop on a plane without knowing where we are going or what to expect. We must be prepared, have all the necessary travel gadgets and tools to get us there. Travel involves a great deal of preparation, of knowing what to expect, what to bring, how to call home, etc. The list goes on and suddenly, travel becomes nothing of surprise. Well, that is not entirely true.

I am not the most prepared traveler. Research beforehand is often my weakness. I seldom search the Internet for articles of where to eat and what to see. I try and just arrive and see where the place will take me. In an effort to go back to the days of old, when we didn’t have a million sources and services to prepare us for travel, here are a few of my favorite travel surprises. No one told me about them prior. I didn’t have the proper foot gear everyone “must have”, and for that, they were all the more memorable and greater in my mind.

Climbing Mount Etna Completely Unprepared

When I set out for a semester abroad in Sicily, I thought all I needed were sundresses and sandals. Little did I know I would arrive to a brisk fall and biting winter. When I decided to climb Mount Etna, I was not prepared with hiking boots or any sort of gear. I looked ridiculous with yoga pants and several jacket layers piled on top of the other. In the end, I can still remember the cold that encased any patch of exposed skin, the surprising vision of seeing snow on a volcano and the rich fall colors. It wasn’t an experience I planned on or thought I would enjoy without the proper footgear, but I did.

Living With Florentines Mauro and Loriana, Again

When an au pair job turned out to be prison, I ended up on the doorstep of my former host family in Florence when I studied abroad a year prior. They welcomed me with open arms and plenty of pasta. Their generosity in my time of not knowing what I was doing was a travel surprise at its finest. Living with them lent the great not knowing of travel. No guidebook or travel blog will tell you how living with a host family will be. The personalities and homes are so different, creating a great sense of not knowing in regards to travel. Open the door. You never know what you might get behind it.

Surviving La Tomatina

I was mortified of the La Tomatina Festival in Spain. Throwing tomatoes in a space where you can barely move for me seemed like the ultimate recipe for disaster. I went into La Tomatina extremely prepared with goggles and tennis shoes. However, I wasn’t prepared for surviving the festival. In my mind, I would be that person trampled or drowned in a sea of tomatoes. I survived and for that I am truly thankful. La Tomatina surprised me in that I had to step outside my comfort zone, I did and I am still here to talk about it.

Experiencing One of Sicily’s Biggest Parties

I had only heard of Saint Lucy in regards to Scandinavia. She was always the candle headdress wearing blind saint we discussed in Catholic grade school. Little did I know I was being fed lies. Santa Lucia was born in Sicily and her feast day is celebrated in Siracusa with utmost importance. Priests from Sicily had spread her story to Sweden where it became their own. Watching a whole island congregate in Piazza Duomo in Ortigia or observing the procession of the silver Santa Lucia from my seaside apartment balcony gave me a feeling you can’t read about before hand. Festivals and celebrations are often unexpected, another great surprise of travel. If you stumble upon one, you have hit travel gold.

What are some of your favorite surprises of travel? Share your stories below.

I wrote an article for On UR Way Magazine last week about the lessons I learned while living in Ortigia, Sicily. I would love for you to give it a read, but in the mean time, I thought I would share some views of Ortigia by boat. One of my first few days in town, I took a boat tour around the jutting little old town center of Siracusa. The lighting was almost too perfect, not quite night and not quite day. Seeing the town from the water seemed to yield a greater insight into Ortigia than wandering its streets. No man may be an island, but Ortigia certainly made me want to consider striving towards isolation if my island could be at these waters.

Castello Maniace in Ortigia, Sicily

The Ecstasea (also known as my yacht in town)

Who needs a dryer when you have Ortigia's winds to dry your clothes

Ortigia in its entirety

Would you like to have your photo featured here? Email me at suzy [at] suzyguese [dot] com. I will link back to your blog or website.

When the chaos of the outside world grows, expands, and engulfs everything in my travel path, I head not to a museum, hotel, or restaurant for respite but rather to a church. Throughout Italy, a Catholic church seems to be the requirement in every town, along the same lines of having a supermarket or a post office. Those without are normally towns along the side of the road merely consisting of a café, bank, and tabacchi, the religious rejects if you will. The outside world whizzes on by. Cars honk loudly and vespas interject throughout most side conversations. When I need a break from that loud world, I go sit in a church. The quiet is usually enough to keep my travel sanity.

If it is Sunday, I try to participate in services. There is something about going to a religious gathering in another country. Traditions and customs are all shaken up, spilled out differently, exposing new sides like thrown dice. In Italy, instead of forming a uniform line up to the altar, little old ladies scramble, cutting in front on one another, vying to get their Communion first. It seems like a contradiction to the whole “the first shall be last and the last shall be first” saying, but for some reason, it is not.

Then, there is the language barrier. You may have no idea what is being said, but the emotions still carry. Going to Mass proved useful toward improving my Italian. The priest would ramble on and on, as I caught words like faith, prayer, and God. Apparently homilies are universal in any place.

My time spent sitting in churches around Italy also allowed me to appreciate architecture. Most cities poured everything they had into creating and maintaining these houses of worship. One after another, I am still impressed at their beauty. They lent me those peaceful thoughts I needed daily. If you are traveling throughout Italy, go sit on a few of these church steps and see what you uncover.

Santa Croce in Florence, Italy

When I first laid eyes on Santa Croce, it looked simulated to me. Careful pink and green accents decorate the façade. Even more impressive are those that reside within Santa Croce. The tombs of Michelangelo, Galileo, and Machiavelli remain inside the church. My favorite moments with Santa Croce came just sitting on its steps outside. Tour groups would pass by and the occasional Italian man would sit on down, hoping to exchange phone numbers. Watching Florence go by from Santa Croce’s steps gave me an inner peace and relaxation. It also granted my aching feet a break from traipsing all over Florentine cobblestone.

Cagliari Cathedral in Cagliari, Sardinia

On a quiet summer night, I stumbled upon the Cathedral of Cagliari. Hinting at Pisan influences through its facade, the glow of the church radiated the heavenly. I plopped down on its steps, too late to enter. With Sardinian beer in hand, I probably appreciated the Cathedral a little too much, but there was just something so captivating about being the only one in its presence. Perhaps it was the time of night, but this Cathedral wedged into a small nook of Cagliari gave off humility yet glowed at the same time.

Duomo di Santa Lucia in Ortigia, Sicily

I entered the monstrous doors of the Santa Lucia Duomo in Ortigia, Sicily weekly. My knees would bend, parking in a spot on a wooden chair in the back. A few others scattered about the church. A man in tight jeans and euro-style yellow glasses seemed to be running the show. Little old ladies stared at me. I appeared to be the youngest person in this house of worship. Even the walls make me feel like a newborn. To my left, giant columns showed what this structure used to contain, a Greek temple. Originally the home of Athena now houses the patron Saint of Sicily in baroque fashion. The blinding white church made me feel a part of generations of practicing Sicilians.

Most church experiences or other houses of worship start to blend after visiting a few handfuls. Some can’t take entering just one more, while others, like me, seek out these religious refuges for a little time with whatever is dwelling in and around these impressive structures. You don’t have to be religious to appreciate them. All you have to do is bend those knees and sit on down.

Where do you go to find a little peace, quiet and serenity when you travel?