I shouldn’t have been surprised that each region of Italy
that Tim and I visited recently—Sorrento, Naples, Capri, and Ischia—had their
own distinct vitality; after all, even my home state of New Jersey has
different personalities from north to central to south!
I won’t bore you with the details of our eight-day
adventure—my first time to Italy—but there are a few things worth sharing . . .
First, it’s true; the food is good no matter where you go
(as long as you stay away from the tourist-trap port locations in Naples). The
way the pizza is made seemed slightly different in Sorrento than in Naples (or
perhaps it’s just the owner); sometimes a thicker crust that makes a slice more
the foldable New York style, and always delicious. Two of my favourite food experiences were a
chance visit to a small osteria on a cobbled street in Naples, and the
waterfront view of our last night in Ischia where fish and veggies were finally
back on the menu. It’s the little things you miss.
On our first night in Naples we didn’t have a plan for
dinner—we had walked the winding streets for hours in the morning, strolling by
shops filled with limoncello and/or gigantic lemons and dozens of lemon
products, statues of the Pope and footballers, and assorted tourist tat. We shared
an early taxi from Sorrento with friends who had a flight back to Heathrow so
our hotel room wasn’t quite ready upon arrival; with map in hand from our host
Franco, we found an outdoor café, sipped a coffee, and found enough energy and direction
to start exploring. It was a beautiful, sunny morning and everyone in Naples
had their laundry hanging from the balconies. The traffic was chaotic on the
main streets, but once we wandered into the quarter where small shops and
restaurants lined the narrow lanes it was easier to walk and admire the
architecture and the people.
Yes, Naples is a bit grimy—we observed minutes after leaving
the hotel that that when the bin men came they focused solely on emptying the
bins and ignored any spillage or neatly-piled trash next to the bins. If it
wasn’t in a container, it was left behind. There is graffiti is everywhere, too;
I occasionally found myself frowning at the scrawls at eye level on beautiful
old buildings. Fortunately there seemed to be a lack of stray animals, although
we did see the occasional feline.
As we meandered around the Centro Storico, the old town, we’d
spotted several options for dinner along the way, but hadn’t settled on one in
particular. There is a place which claims to be the original home of margarita
pizza called Brandi, but we’d already had a pizza for lunch and I was looking
for something else a bit lighter. In the early evening back in old town we
found ourselves fighting the motor scooters for space instead of people—the bikes
seem to come to life at night. Having dodged a few coming down a hill, we
spotted a small restaurant called Osterio Il Gobbetto that put a sign at the
corner, and quickly decided after a glance at the menu that it looked
worthwhile.
Tim went to open the door and, surprisingly, it was locked.
The proprietor immediately came and let us in, and motioned to a table for two
that was available of the dozen or so in the place. He promptly locked the door
behind us. I suppose with a small space it kept people from wandering in where
there wasn’t really any place to stand and wait for the next available table. At
least I’d like to think that’s why it was locked—by the time we left there was
a queue out the door; I think we were fortunate to wander toward Vico Sergente
Maggiore.
I decided to order a glass of wine; Tim was having a beer
and I didn’t want more than one glass. And oh, what a glass. I ordered the
house white, and within minutes a nice-sized empty glass arrived with the bottle
and the lovely waitperson poured. And poured. And poured. She kindly left enough room at the
top of the glass so that I could bring it to my lips without spilling it. It
cost 3 euro. And it was delicious.
As was my spaghetti con vongole; it was in a light, lovely
olive oil and the clams were fresh and the pasta delicious. Tim was thinking
longer and the proprietor suggested his favourite—a curly pasta in pomodoro
with a bit of cheese. I tried it. Perfect flavours. Oh, and Tim decided on a
glass of red. Same glass, same pour, same 3 euro.
And the atmosphere! Lots of Italian chatter around us, and
the proprietor took a turn dancing with one of the patrons, I think for her
birthday. It was so convivial and comfortable, a real delight to end the day. I’d
have most certainly returned if we were to spend more time in Naples.
I think it was the atmosphere that made my second favourite
food experience special—a table near the waterfront watching boats arrive as
the sun set. This one we’d planned, a choice from the rough guide as the number
of restaurants on the waterfront, side by side, is in the dozens. I was looking
forward to some fresh fish, and as we were strolling by taking our long walk
along the pier before dinner the gents at Gennaro’s were just setting out the day’s
fare on a bed of ice. A lovely salmon, some plaice, tilapia.
We took a table in the centre of the outdoor area, not quite
at the edge but set back just a little for a bit of privacy from the near-
endless stream of walkers. We were recommended an aperitif—prosecco with a tangerine
liquer, which was quite refreshing. We sipped and took our time looking at the
menu, watching the yachts, just taking in the atmosphere. With the evening just
beginning the restaurant staff were happy to have us enjoy it all slowly.
I decided on the salmon, and Tim on an assortment of fish,
and we both ordered a rocket salad, mine with prawns, Tim’s with prawns and
veggies. I also wanted a vegetable with my fish, and having worked down the
list of what was on the menu only to be told it wasn’t available or wasn’t in
season, the waiter paused, excused himself, and came back with a huge bunch of “asparagi”
to which I remarked “belissimo”!
Having not had much green food in the previous week, I was
glad the rocket was fresh and peppery, lightly dressed with olive oil. Both salads
were huge, but so was the price—10 euro—and we probably could have shared. But
there was no rush to our meal, and we took our time savouring it, ordering wine
to heighten the experience, as wine does.
To be honest, the salmon was very good—not outstanding, just
simply grilled, and the asparagus nicely steamed and finished with a bit of
butter. It was the atmosphere—the out of doors, the passersby, the waterfront, the
last night in Italy—that made it special.
But isn’t that often the case—that it’s the combination of
sensual delights that makes the moment special, memorable. What I can say is
that should you find yourself in Italy, and particularly in Naples, be
prepared!
And be prepared for the crush of the underground and the
trains to travel—it’s wonderful to have the option to not take a taxi, though
the train ride to Herculaneum was a bit, well, hot and cramped. Once there
though, even with the long queue and the number of tourists already there we
were able to wander up and down the streets and marvel at the ruins, said to be
the best preserved from the Vesuvius eruption. Looking at the remaining walls
of shops, homes, and even a hotel, it is truly amazing how some bits and pieces
survived the intense heat. I felt guilty walking on some of the remaining tiles
of the floor, thinking these should somehow not be tread upon hundreds of
thousands of visitors!
Sorrento, too, was lovely—pretty shops and prettier views,
and we enjoyed a wonderful, delicious dinner with friends at a place they’d
chosen having been there before. I really liked the Lacryma Christi, wine from
the red grapes that grows on the slopes of Mt Vesuvius. It is said to be the
nearest equivalent to wine drunk by the ancient Romans.
And the island of Ischia, well, is a very different
atmosphere. We stayed at a hotel that was on the beach which was lovely, although
the water was a bit too bracing for a swim. The lounge chairs were set inches
apart, and there was a constant chatter of Italian around us; not quite the
peaceful experience of lying on the beach with a book that I’d expected, but it
didn’t matter; I was enjoying the sun and breeze, and managed to read a few
pages of my guilty pleasure (one of Phillippa Gregory’s historical fiction
novels). I had to say “no, grazie” quite
often to the vendors hawking costume jewelry, scarves and tunics from lounge to
lounge.
There are lots of lovely shops in Ischia, some posh (but not
as posh as Capri where I spent a day while Tim was in his conference), and the pedestrianised
walkways in Ischia made it a nice experience to walk leisurely and not have to
dodge scooters or cars. And of course, there are lots of restaurants. For lunch
on our first day we found a place with a view and the food was lovely and the
waiter spoke perfect English—he was from the Phillippines. He also spoke
Italian quite well, and most of the clientele was in fact from Italy; we
occasionally heard German, and very little English. It was a decidedly older
crowd in Ischia—I can count on one hand the number of under-50s we shared the
beach with, and it wasn’t much different anywhere we went on the island. I am
glad we went, and particularly at the end of the week, as it gave us a chance
to unwind and relax after spending most days walking for hours to take in as
much as we could.
I won’t go back to Naples, or Sorrento, or Ischia—but don’t
get me wrong, it’s not because they’re not wonderful cities to spend time in.
They most certainly are, and I think Naples is my favourite for its edginess,
its architecture (truly a church on every corner), its friendly people and its
vibrancy. No, the reason is that there are other cities to conquer in Italy—Rome,
Florence, Venice—that are on the list.
By the time I’m finished, I may figure out how to properly
use “prego”!
