"I felt like an immigrant even though my family is from here," Serramarrocco tells me. "I saw a Sicily that I didn't know, and I was passionate about getting to understand it better." Now he plans to restore the old baglio (farmhouse) and turn it into a cellar, tasting room, and small guesthouse, as well as to devote himself to the vineyard. As Serramarrocco sees it, he is part of a generation of people in their thirties and forties "who are proponents of a new type of place that is less old-fashioned but who respect the old stories too."

Alongside its wine production, Trapani has traditionally been a center of both tuna fishing and salt harvesting. Spring still brings the mattanza, a famously bloody hunt in which fishermen harpoon the finest red tuna prized by the Japanese. But beyond that, overfishing has caused the stock to plummet. Now the coastline is devoted to more recreational activities, and even on fall days, men wear bathing suits and sandals as their seaside uniform. The city of Trapani received a big face-lift when it hosted the America's Cup in 2005, but it is still not particularly pretty, apart from its historic center. The nearby salt pans are a patchwork of watery fields hemmed in by submerged stone walls. The industry was decimated by global competition in the 1960s, but the few pans that remain are of the highest quality. In the late morning, the salt stands like mounds of snow, the hue fading from red brown to bright white, marking the stages of evaporation. On the mountain above is Erice, with striking views, where a fortified castle now houses a small hotel. (It's also said to be where Daedalus made his first successful landing, unlike his unfortunate son, Icarus, whose wax wings melted in the sun as he tried to fly too high from the summit. Everywhere you go in Sicily, it seems a mythological event has taken place.) The town stays cool even in the stifling summer months because of its altitude, and people from Palermo and Rome have started buying up abandoned buildings for weekend retreats.

Not far from Erice is the scruffier Menfi, a victim of the 1968 earthquake that destroyed much of the Belice Valley. Here I meet Gabriella Becchina, a thirty-four-year-old who is considered one of the new ambassadors of the area. Once an art historian in New York, she returned to Sicily a few years ago to help her father turn his olives into an upscale business for oil and tourism. Tenuta Pignatelli comprises a one-hundred-acre expanse of olive groves and lemon trees with a historic main villa from the early 1800s. It is immediately clear that Gabriella has a flair for marketing as she explains the changes she's made. The place has morphed from being a very good olive oil producer with a few bedrooms for rent to hosting tastings, yoga retreats, and cooking classes. Fresh figs, just-picked flowers, and huge jugs of green oil lie around the open kitchen. We wander through the main building, and Gabriella tells me that she and her family take guests to local markets so they can understand the ingredients before they cook together. The olive harvest is a communal event, and a new store showcases the different oils for sale. In the guest cottages nearby, Gabriella has kept the antique pieces that the family collected and is now looking to add more-modern amenities such as an infinity pool and spa. Nonetheless, her approach remains artisanal rather than slick. "Our vocation is to make Sicily less rough but still authentic," she explains in a sound bite that becomes clearer as I continue my tour of the island, and something I will hear from many people her age.