One Sweet Stop in Noto: Caffé Sicilia

Since 1892, Caffè Sicilia has been a pillar of tradition, flavor, and family legacy in the baroque town of Noto. This fourth-generation, family-run café isn’t just a place for a quick espresso — it’s a destination in itself. And if you ask me, it might just serve the best granita in Sicily.

A sweet spread: Sicilian granita, cannoli and brioche — all made in-house.

A Town Build for Wandering

Noto, located in southeastern Sicily, is a masterpiece of Baroque architecture and a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The town is filled with golden limestone buildings, wide boulevards, and sun-soaked streets.

It’s the kind of place where life moves slowly — where every corner invites you to stop, look up, and take it in. And right in the heart of it all sits Caffé Sicilia, a must-visit for anyone who appreciates craftsmanship, tradition, and very, very good desserts.

The Caffé Sicilia sign, proudly welcoming guests on Corso Vittorio Emanuele in Noto.

Caffé Sicilia: A Story in Every Bite

Located along Corso Vittorio Emanuele, Caffé Sicilia is a cultural landmark and a culinary treasure. The Assenza family has been running the café since 1892, with pastry chef Corrado Assenza now at the helm, bringing global attention to local Sicilian ingredients and age-old techniques. You might recognize the name from the Netflix series Chef’s Table, but despite the fame, it still feels local, loved, and entirely grounded.

What sets this place apart is not just the quality of what they serve — but the heart behind it. You can taste the care in every bite.

Behind the bar — fresh orange juice, friendly faces, and the feeling of being a regular, even on your first visit.

Granita, Cannoli, and Everything Else

When I visited with my mom, we basically planned our day around how many times we could come back here. One stop for granita, brioche and cannoli. Another for espresso and gelato. Maybe a third just to marvel at the pastry counter again.

Everything is incredibly good — the kind of good that makes you pause mid-bite. The ingredients are local. The recipes are timeless. And everything feels like its own little love letter to Sicily.

Pro tip: To recognize real, high-quality gelato, look for flat, understated presentation — often hidden in covered steel tins. The over-styled piles you see in touristy spots? Usually not the real deal.

House-made gelato — from classic pistachio to seasonal flavours.

Planning a Visit?

There’s something special about places like this — where food meets feeling, where craft meets comfort. Caffé Sicilia is more than a café. It’s a reason to return to Noto.

Caffè Sicilia
Corso Vittorio Emanuele 125, Noto, Italy 96017

Open most days from 8 a.m. to 10 p.m. — but check google maps for current hours.

⇾ View Caffè Sicilia on Google Maps
⇾ Follow @caffe_sicilia_noto on Instagram.

Caffé Sicilia, marked with its historic roots — “Noto dal 1892” — a family legacy in every detail.

Still Collecting Places

This guide will keep growing — and I’ll keep sharing more as I go. Cafés, markets, creative corners and stays that feel like postcards come to life.

Got a place you think I’d love? Send me a note @journeyed.co or through the contact page.

— Jessica

Places I've Loved Staying In — Indonesia Edition

This is a collection of places that felt like something more than just a bed for the night. These are homes away from home — places that made me pause, breathe deeper, and remember why I love to travel.

They held space. Told stories. Fed me, creatively and emotionally. And if you’re someone who values detail, beauty, local connection, and that quiet feeling of belonging — even just for a little while — this guide is for you.

Bali is full of beautiful hotels, guesthouses, and villas — here are a few of my favourites so far.

1. Bandido – Bingin, Bali

No wonder my dog used to wander in daily. Bandido feels like a stay you dreamed up with your most creative friends over a long dinner, and then actually built.

Bamboo villas. Thoughtful curves. An open kitchen that practically demands you slow-cook something barefoot. Created by a group of friends (and their dog Bandida), each villa is named after their mothers — which tells you everything you need to know about the warmth of this place.

Think open-air spaces, natural textures, local art, and soft angles made for slow days and gathering nights.

What I love most is how alive the space feels, like it’s designed for connection — lazy mornings by the pool and conversations that stretch far beyond what you expected. Trendy, yes — but deeply rooted in Bali, in community and in craft.

If this place was a person: Warm, wildly creative, wearing a perfectly worn-in T-shirt and some saltwater. The kind of friend who throws a dinner party just because it’s Tuesday.

Location: Bingin, Bali

Open-air bamboo villas and slow gatherings at Bandido, Bingin. Follow @bandidobali for more.

2. Roots Tree House — Ungasan, Bali

Yes, actual treehouses. But also, full comfort. Roots is hidden in lush Ungasan, surrounded by birdsong and just the right kind of stillness. You enter through a round door that feels like a storybook — but the kind designed for grownups with a soft heart and a travel itch.

Each treehouse is unique and every corner is intentional: textured interiors, hand-build structures, filtered light. You wake up naturally, You feel calm. Roots is made for for slow mornings and early nights.

There’s a yoga shala, a peaceful pool area, and just enough company without ever losing your solitude.

If this place were a person: Nature-loving, journal nearby, always awake at sunrise. The kind of friend who brings herbal tea and never rushes your quiet.

Location: Ungasan, Bali

A quiet hideaway in the nature, where you can hear yourself think. Follow @rootstreehouse for more.

3. La Joya Biu Biu — Balangan, Bali

Cliffside calm and saltwater dreams. La Joya is a peaceful, tucked-away retreat built of stone, silence, and stunning views.

I stayed in the cliff-front bungalow with a private pool — and It felt like waking up mid-dream. The pool drops away into endless sky, and below, a private beach waits if you’re up for the climb.

The design is rustic and rooted in Bali style: natural textures, open-air spaces, and big, breezy rooms. There’s an ocean-view spa (no joke — the best massage I’ve ever had), generous pool areas, and cliffside dining that includes delicious BBQ nights under the stars.

It’s romantic, grounded, and serene — made for honeymooners and solo dreamers alike.

If this place were a person: Sun-kissed, sarong-wrapped, always chasing golden hour — and the kind of friend who never says no to a sunset cocktail.

Location: Balangan, Bali

Cliffside calm, sunsets, and a secret beach below. Follow @lajoyabiubiubali for more.

4. La Siesta Bungalow — Gili Air, Lombok

Tucked between sandy paths and papaya trees, La Siesta feels like an island secret. Cozy teak wood bungalows, soft white cotton curtains, and an open-air bathroom with a bathtub nestled among green plants — everything about this stay invites you to exhale.

It’s beautifully designed, simple yet intentional. Butterfly pea flowers bloom in the garden. The pool invites you for a dip in the midday sun. Cows roam just outside the hotel. And you? You’re somewhere between a morning coffee and an afternoon siesta.

Gili Air has no cars, no scooters — just bikes, horses and time. And this little stay fits right in.

If this place was a person: Rested, soft-eyed, always offering coffee and a quiet place to sit. The kind of friend who reminds you to slow down and stay a little longer than planned.

Location: Gili Air, Lombok

Soft light, teak bungalows and that kind of stillness you don’t want to leave. Follow @lasiestagiliair for more.

Still Collecting Places

If you ever find yourself nearby, I hope one of these places gives you something, too. Maybe rest. Maybe inspiration. Maybe just one really good morning.

This guide will keep growing — and I’ll keep sharing more as I go. Cafés, markets, creative corners and stays that feel like postcards come to life.

Got a place you think I’d love? Send me a note @journeyed.co or through the contact page.

— Jessica

Not a Tourist: Life in Sri Lanka (And the Story In Between)

This isn’t a travel guide. It’s what happens after the arrival, after the airport taxi pulls away, after the sunsets. It’s what life looks like to stay — to build something in a place where you don’t fully belong, but partly begin to. This is a small story from Sri Lanka — of dogs, power cuts, broken plans, and why I created Journeyed in the first place.

A monkey chilling on an electrical pole in Weligama — early mornings in the south of Sri Lanka.

When Travel Becomes Life

I’m writing this on a day with no electricity and no Wi-Fi. Looks like today is about enforced stillness — and, well, writing this post. Power cuts like this are normal here, sometimes lasting from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. You learn to work around them. Or surrender to them.

Last night, the neighbors had a big birthday party. They danced until the early hours. And while there’s something beautiful about being folded into the rhythm of a local neighborhood, you definitely lose sleep sometimes.

I live in a small neighborhood in Dickwella, just inland from the more well-known Hiriketiya Beach. It’s not touristy, but not fully off-grid either.

I share a big three-bedroom home with my kitten, Mango, and, residing in the garden, a street dog family: a mama dog (currently pregnant again) and her four pups. I helped vaccinate and sterilize them while working briefly with a local animal rescue.

Fun fact: the mama dog bit me once. Right through my lip — during a vaccination and neutering attempt that didn’t exactly go to plan. That moment kicked off a seven-shot rabies journey and a crash course in navigating Sri Lanka’s local hospital system.

Surprisingly, it works well. I felt always welcomed and looked after — even if it wasn’t the same standard I’d grown used to growing up in Finland. (Pro tip: one private clinic quoted me $700 USD, but I got the exact same treatment for around 5,000 rupees in Matara.)

Locals gather at Dickwella's Saturday market — a weekly rhythm that starts around 6 a.m.

The Big Plan (and the bigger lessons)

When I returned to Sri Lanka this time, I had a plan: renovate a little oceanfront bungalow and open a stay. I had the land, the company was set up, I had the structure, the design vision — and a full-on “I can do anything” mindset.

What I didn’t have? A realistic idea of the actual condition of the bungalow and land. Or how much construction would cost here. Or that I wouldn’t just be able to “fix a few things” and call it done.

Things unraveled quickly.

I picked up part-time work. I moved to a different area for a while, just to get by. Then came what felt like the dream job — closer to my land, aligned with everything I was trying to build.

Finally, I thought. This is it.

But life had other ideas.

Friends got dengue. One of the pups was attacked. I ended up with a pierced lip, a couple of dentist visits, and a few “what is even happening?” kind of days. The holidays ended. And there I was — in the middle of tropical paradise — feeling more lost and alone than I’d ever expected.

Tuk-tuks and everyday life on a busy street in Ahangama.

The Turning Point

There’s something about sitting in stillness — no noise, no distractions — after your plans have completely fallen apart. It strips things down. It makes space.

I quit the job. I booked a flight to Europe and I didn’t know what would come next.

But then something unexpected happened. I started creating again.

With no formal plan, no business model, and definitely no polished pitch, I began building Journeyed. It started at my kitchen table in Dickwella, with street dogs asleep outside and my head full of “what now?”

Journeyed is a collection of everything I’ve lived, built, captured, and carried with me over the years. The photos, the projects, the journal entries, the little pieces of life that don’t always make it to social media — but change you anyway.

It’s my life’s work in motion. Rooted in creativity, storytelling, and slow living.

And the stay I dreamed of building here? It’s still part of the vision. Journeyed isn’t separate from that dream — it holds space for it. One day, I’ll bring people into that physical space too. But for now, I’m laying the foundation through words, images, and ideas.

Journeyed was born not out of certainty, but from the in-between. And maybe that’s what makes it honest.

Fresh fruits and local food at Sun & Moon — a humble local spot filled with colour and kindness.

What Sri Lanka Gave Me

This island gave me more than I expected: intense heat, unpredictable beauty, emotional chaos, spontaneous community, and a different kind of freedom.

It gave me a kitten. A new space. A deeper trust in improvisation — and in life showing up in its own timeline.

No, I didn’t open the stay, not yet. But I still believe in it and the dream hasn’t disappeared, it’s just evolving. Maybe it will take shape differently than I imagined. Maybe that’s the point.

Journeyed was born here. Not with a big launch. Not on a timeline. But from the middle of a mess — from power cuts, broken plans, and the quiet urge to keep creating anyway.

My neighbor’s kids in Weligama, welcoming a new family member — tiny paws, big smiles.

From Here On

I’m still figuring it out. Still learning how to live between places, build something real and lasting, and share through the becoming.

But here’s what I know: the in-between chapters matter. They shape you. They show you what’s worth holding onto — and what it’s time to let go of. And sometimes, they quietly build the next version of your life.

Thanks for being here. If you’ve ever stayed somewhere long enough to be changed by it — I think you’ll understand exactly what I mean.

I share more photos and stories over on @journeyed.co Instagram. Come say hi.

— Jessica

A colourful local shop in Weligama selling coconuts, water and snacks.