BATH, CINQUE TERRE AND SARDINIA DAY 12 – BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE, BEAUTIFUL PLACES

 

It’s a hiking day, and we’re dressed for it.  But we’re not dressed for breakfast at Hotel Cala di Volpe.  It’s Vuitton to open and the more experienced players raise the stakes with head to toe Dior or Chanel, more subtle without the obvious logos.  For the men, it’s linen with the cuffs rolled once to expose the watch – Rolex for the newbies, better and more tasteful makers for those in the actual know.  Maybe it’s random, maybe it’s our room number, but we’re seated at the see-and-be-seen table, Columbia boots be damned.  It’s a Connecticut country club on the Tyrhenian Sea.

We drive to the seaport town of Palau where we catch the 20-minute car ferry to La Maddalena, the big island in the archipelago of the same name.  The island wasn’t really discovered by tourists until about 15 years ago.  Until 2008, the US naval base was the main source of commerce here, but when that closed, the locals embraced travelers as a source for replacement revenue.  In the blink of an eye, the islands were transformed to the Italian Caribbean.  With no plans, we hit the ring road that loops around the entire island.  We don’t get very far into the loop when we see the bridge to Caprera, the next island east.  The bridge is so rustic and implausible that we just have to go over it.  

The entirety of the island of Caprera included in the La Maddalena Archopelago Nation Park, a protected area of singular beauty.  We follow signs towards the castle on the hill and almost there, we see a woman on the side of the dirt road, sitting under an umbrella at a card table, behind a drape that reads “Tourist Information”.  We need that and she suggests a few good hikes.  Parked a few minutes later, Mandy and I stare a sign post deciding on our route when an Italian speaking man taps me on the shoulder.  He points to the words Cala Napoletana and in that most Italian gesture – elbow bent, thumb touching middle and index fingers – emphasizes that selection.  The fact that he was gesturing with both hands, the ancient equivalent to texting in ALL CAPS, we take his recommendation as gospel and off we go.  

The views are great after 5 minutes, and 5 more minutes into the trek, we meet some of the really local residents, the wild goats the island is named after (Capra = Goat in ‘talian).  We take special notice of the rocks themselves, shaped as faces and animals and ghouls, each one with an entire story to tell, some a funny comic book, some an epic graphic novel series.  Even the colors are enthralling. 

Every travel magazine uses the “Most Beautiful Beach” at least once a month.  I am probably guilty of making the same claim in this blog a dozen times over the years.  But as we descend into Cala Napoletana, that is the only thing that comes to our mind… we were wrong every time before this.  Secluded, unspoiled, bright white sand, 5 shades of blue blue water.  This is the one.  We try and try, but the pictures don’t do it justice.  So we stop trying and just sit and enjoy.  With no plan at all, we end up exactly where we are supposed to be. 

Three miles round trip, we’re happily tired and hungry by the time we’re back in the car.  The drive back to the port is easy, but that ship has sailed… we watch as the 2:15 ferry pulls out.  Perfect excuse for lunch in the village, pizza and a bottle of white, perfect recovery food. 

We ferry back, hit our room and take a look at the beautiful people by the pool.  From this vantage point, they are literally beneath us so we lean in and settle on the patio to take some sun.  And more wine.

When we get to dinner is at Restorante Belvedere, we’re not on the list despite having made reservations weeks ago.  No matter, we’re still welcomed warmly and sat without a wait.  It’s a glass sided dining room with views of the water, where the manager brings us their signature drink, a house made negroni aged in oak barrels for 3 months out back.  We order the mixed seafood off the menu, then the manager brings us tonight’s specials menu, a wheeled wooden ice cart of just brimming with fresh whole fish from 2 kilos to 10.  After we order, a nice couple from North Carolina is seated next to us and we kick up a conversation, maybe the only Americans here.  Just a few minutes in, they reiterate the theme we’ve heard so any times this trip… “we meet the nicest people when we travel”.  Just a little marker telling us we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be. 

The appy is as delicious as it is beautiful, six small dishes each a fine culinary creation in and of itself, and we have active discussions to choreograph the last three bites.  By the time our salt crusted fish is delivered, we’re well into our delicious bottle of white wine.  When the server pours grappa over the salt and lights it, the entire dining room stops to watch.  It’s a fine fish, well prepared and well served.  Dinner ends with the manager treating us to some Merto, the local herbaceous berry liquor served in a pitcher just slightly too generous for the two of us.  We take our time, sipping the rest of the evening away.

BATH, CINQUE TERRE AND SARDINIA DAY 11 – ON THE ROAD TO COSTA SMERALDA

 

We’re heading to the north of Sardinia today, specifically to Costa Smeralda.  In true Italian style, the most direct path is not a straight line, but rather a serpentine that has us touching all four edges of this rectangularish isle.  The lower curve of the route has us escaping through the industrial ports of the city on modern highways, traffic falling away as we sweep past into the commercial agricultural regions.  The landscape on the center of the island is beautifully rolling hills broken up by the occasional bity village, different than we have encountered anywhere else on the island. 

We set San Teodoro as a waypoint, a sleepy beach town for the next few weeks until the summer tourist invasion.  Once in the village, we score some much-needed cappuccino then seek stop in the information office just two blocks away.  When asked for the “must-dos” here, the woman behind the desk told us about a few places in town, then surprisingly recommended we head to Capo Coda Cavallo, a village 30 minutes north, for the lookout point and the restaurants.  The fun of being our age is that we know good advice when we hear it.  The view from the lookout is stunning.

Just past the lookout is a swank seaside vacation condo development with the promised selection of eateries, all overlooking the sea from this high vantage.  We breakaway from the view to look at the menus from the various establishments when Tony approaches us, hand outstretched to take our picture, the opening volley to his pitch to get us into his restaurant instead of the others.  His smile is huge, his complements flow like house red, and he speaks as if the whole of existence is centered around his kitchen.  We know the type.  We came to love them in Rome, the hucksters in front of every lunch café, on a mission to seat you before someone else can.  To this day, Mandy thinks if my grandfather never left Benevento, I’d probably be one of these guys.  And Tony is a master of his art.  Tony, making us feel like old friends, seats us at the best table overlooking all of God’s creation and recommends a bottle of local white that’s just slightly more expensive than the rest.  It’s part of the unspoken deal, his recommendations will be perfectly on point, but you’re going to spend up a bit.  The wine is superb, the best we’ve had this trip and, in a setting like this, a bargain a €45.  We hear the specials, and he gushes over the pasta with octopus ragu, which we order along with a whole grilled fish.  A damned fine way to spend an afternoon.

We arrive at our accommodations around 3, the Hotel Cala di Volpe, part of the Marriott Luxury Collection.  The word “luxury” has become so overused in recent times, I didn’t give the moniker a thought until we pulled in and realized how woefully lacking our Citroen C3 was in this valet stand.  In this case, luxury means just that.  It needs no adjectives, no additional hype.  As Mandy checks us in, I wander to the gift shop beside the desk, a Prada boutique stocked with this season’s latest in costal offerings.  Maybe it’s Mandy’s Marriott status (or maybe they treat everyone this way) the desk clerk personally walks us to our room, explaining along the way that this is her second favorite room in the hotel.  When she opens the door, we understand why.  Understated chic, air and light and space, and a balcony that’s every bit as big as the room itself.   Unpacked, we look down at the pool and decide that we’d be happier right here.  Turns out, the loungers on our patio are, without a doubt, the most comfortable that have ever blessed our butts and a few hours disappear in a blink.

Showered and dressed, we walk the hotel a bit before the drive to dinner.  I am stunned by the views from the lobby bar windows.  They look like every tacky mural that has ever been plastered on the wall of a Formica tabled Italian restaurant.  Except they’re real, and they’re spectacular. 

For weeks, I have been looking forward to our dinner tonight at Agriturismo Rena, a true Sardinian farm-to-table.  The 20 minute drive winds us out of the she-she beach town and into the farmlands.  We know we’re in the right place because the name is right there, hand lettered on a rock with an arrow.  We bounce up the ¼ mile long rutted dirt driveway and are greeted by a spotted dog, his tail wagging so hard he’s kicking up dust.  We walk up to the building, which may have been 100 years old or 400 years old, and try to figure out which unmarked door to go into.  We finally knock-and-enter and to our left is the dining room with it’s 10 long tables, occupied by only one other couple with their 2 year old.  No one greets us, but there’s two place settings at a different table, so we sit.  Preset are some cheeses, a squat pitcher of red wine and a few other appetizers.  Five minutes goes by, and still no one has addressed us, so we just start eating.  After another five minutes, a woman, maybe 35 comes to our table and, without a word, puts down more food, a plate of cured meat and some salad dishes.  The food is amazing, but the situation is crazily odd.  We kick up a conversation with the other couple and that normalizes things some.  The woman finally talks to us when she brings the pasta course, also out of this world, and we learn that everything tonight, came from within the fence.  The meat comes from animals raised here (that pig was delicious), the veggies grown here, the cheeses made from the resident cows and sheep and goats.  All-in-all it’s a very authentic experience and makes me remember dinner at my grandmother’s when she was mad at me.  Just because she wasn’t talking, didn’t mean her heart wasn’t in that food.

BATH, CINQUE TERRE AND SARDINIA DAY 10 – SOUTH SARDINIAN BEACHES

 

Today we’re going to explore south and east of the city, our sights set on Villasimius.  As we leave the city, we’re surprised how different the terrain is.  When we went west two days earlier, it was farmland and pastures to the mountains in the background.  Today it’s more Rockies than Great Plains.  About an hour in, we leave the paved surface, the last mile on rutted dirt road.  It’s worth the beating the rental car took (hey, isn’t that the whole point to a rental car?) and the subsequent 10 minute hike to emerge at Punta Molentis Beach, a secluded arc of a beach, the entire thing circled by granite rock face, regularly spilling boulders down to the blue blue sea.  On the far end, there’s a beach shack of a café, with a checkerboard of thatched beach umbrellas between here and there.  It’s mostly empty, just a few stragglers on this cool late morning.  We’re happily surprised the café is open, and the man is willing to stop fishing long enough to make us some cappuccinos.  We take our paper cups and find a nice perch on some rocks to take the place in.  Time and tide have eroded the rocks so that each one has it’s own personality, together making a mosaic of brutal beauty.

The village of Villasimius itself is a Sardinian take on a California beach town.  A long main drag of hip shops and cafes form an inviting place to stroll, which we do.  We lunch at Sardus Focacceria Gourmet a tiny sandwich shop with a few tables inside and few more in.  We split their signature dish, the Sa Mortazza, a sandwich of thin focaccia bread with mortadella, arugula, and entre ball of buratta and pistachio pesto.  It’s ridiculous.

At the end of the main drag is Simius beach which we’re going to check out for a few minutes.  As we walk on, the sun emerges in glorious splendor, just insisting we plunk down on some loungers to soak it in.  Whatever else we had in mind can wait.  Or be blown off.

We’re in the Italian rhythm which means a quick afternoon stop for a drink, cappuccino for me, Campari Soda for Mandy, at the beach side café near the car park.  By this point, we can’t even remember if there was a plan for today.  This is what we were meant to be doing. 

Back in the room, we take turns trying to capture the view from our window.  Mandy got it best.

Dinner at Vivarelli La Trattoria, a butcher shop by day, restaurant by night, immaculate and adorable.  The food, the wine, the atmosphere, the service, the kindness all outstrip their excellent reviews.