Nebrodi Park

The outing that rescues a sirocco afternoon: half an hour's walk to a thirty-metre waterfall plunging into a rock pool.

A lake at 1,278 metres ringed by beech forest, Etna as a stage backdrop, horses grazing free and fifteen degrees less than on the coast.

A salami that is Sicily's only IGP, a Slow Food Presidium cheese, and the lemon that built this town's wealth. Between coast and mountain everything changes within half an hour's drive: what to look for, and in which season.

Thirty-three barefoot hooded penitents carrying a crucifix, two giants dancing through a village square, devotees running bare-chested in January. In the Nebrodi they celebrate twelve months a year: the full calendar, and the four not to miss.

On the coast they celebrate bluefish and granita; up in the mountains, mushrooms, hazelnuts and chestnuts. The real sagre of this area, month by month — and nearly all of them fall once prices have already dropped.

86,000 hectares of beech forest, lakes and pastures, with mountain roads that climb from sea level to 1,300 metres in an hour. It's the other half of the holiday, and almost nobody uses it.