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.
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