Leaving Praiano - was it meant to be?

Ancient tower - Praiano

Neither one of us wished to leave Praiano but sadly it was too late to change our plans.  We were resigned to leave as planned, far too early on Sunday morning - by taxi at 6 a.m. to catch a 9:20 flight from Naples.

Getting up at 5 wasn't as bad as I thought and Izzy awakened easily.   It was getting the hotel staff up to help assist with dragging our luggage up the stairs that proved challenging.  In fact, when I told them of our early departure, they seemed quite surprised that anyone would consider leaving so early. They made our early departure seem unheard of and were unsure as to how I would manage.  One suggestion was that they carry my baggage up the steps in the late evening, leaving it near a locked gate (no thanks).  I was baffled as to their response and as I was recounting this tale to some other hotel guests, a kind fellow from Australia offered to wake up and carry our bags for me.  He said he was going kayaking and needed a wake-up call anyway.  Ah the kindness of strangers.  With that settled, Izzy and I went off to our room.  On our way, N., one of the hotel family, stopped me to let me know that HE would be getting up to help with our bags.  I was skeptical but he insisted...so I canceled with the Australian and we went off to bed.

The morning of our departure, Izzy and I put all of our bags outside of our room, walked up to the reception area (locked) and peeked around for someone to help us.  Nobody was there but I figured N. would arrive shortly.  Meanwhile we walked up all of steps in search of the car service - not there either. We walked back down and still nobody had arrived to help.  I sent Izzy up and down a couple of more times in search of the car service  and still nothing.  At that point I began to fear we would miss our plane.  I also began to see the error in taking an early flight from Italy.  I had no signal on my phone so I couldn't contact the car service and there was no sign of N. to help with our luggage.  Little by little, Izzy and I inched our luggage up a few stairs at a time, until we got it to the reception area (not even halfway, mind you).  Our car was scheduled for 6 a.m. and it was 6:15.  All remained quiet as Izzy and I pricked our ears at the sound of each passing car.  Finally we heard a door slam.  We ran up the steps to meet Giovanni, our driver.  He apologized for his tardiness and came down to carry our luggage (phew).  We piled into the car and we were off.

Turns out my worries of lateness were unfounded.  The car service had booked us at 6 but it didn't take us very long to get to the airport, even with a stop along the way for Izzy.  It seems the early wake-up and winding roads = car-sickness for poor Izzy.  Our driver was most sympathetic and helpful with the clean-up, which more than compensated for his tardiness.  Not only that but he is an excellent driver, taking extra care along the narrow coastal roads.

In the end, we arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare and boarded our flight - destination Parigi-  on time.  As we settled into our seats, I finally began to relax and the fact that we were really leaving this magical locale began to sink in.  As the plane took flight I stared out at the shining blue sea and wished we had remained as we were earlier, stuck in Praiano, baggage and all.

Arrivederci Italia.

p.s. When we arrived in Paris, I received a very apologetic email from N., from our hotel in  Praiano who had set his alarm to help us with the baggage but never heard it sound - apologies accepted; we love you anyway!

When Life Gives You Lemons - Loll: Of our days in Praiano, Italy - Lemon Groves and Locanda Costa Diva

Night falls on the lemon grove

We arrived in Praiano a week ago and here we have stayed, nestled amongst lemon groves in our most adorable hotel,  La Locanda Costa Diva.  It is in fact, a restored farmhouse and the rooms seem to be built around the lemon, olive and other fruit trees which grace this cliffside retreat; the entire property boasting spectacular views of the sea and other local scenery.

Praiano is a small, quiet village along the Amalfi Coast - an easy distance (along narrow, harrowing roads) from its more boisterous neighbors, Positano and Amalfi.  At first I wasn’t sure how Izzy and I would fare here, as there is little more to do than go to the beach and figure out our next meal.

For our first 4 days we befriended a traveling mother and her teenaged daughter from Calgary, also at the hotel.  It was nice to exchange tales of our daily adventures with them, breakfast time or dinner each day.  Once they left I wondered if we would find some other travelers to entertain us, as many of the other rooms here are occupied by honeymooner types. In fact one evening, we heard some loudish music emanating from a room below ours and Izzy went to peek out over the balcony only to discover a couple in their private jacuzzi (not as private as they thought!).

We settled into a routine and each day we have come to appreciate our surroundings all the more.  Each morning, we sleep until 8 (or Izzy later if I don’t awaken him accidentally).  We make our way to breakfast at around 9 where a copious spread awaits us in the dining room.  There is plenty to fuel us for the day - yogurt, blood orange juice, croissants, rolls with jam and butter, fresh fruit cocktail, assorted farm fruits - plums, cherries, etc, cereals, cappuccino, tea and specially for me, rice milk.
After gorging on these delights we usually spend some time in dining room while I use the WiFi hotspot - as there is no free internet in the rooms (something that distressed me at first but is probably for the best as I am forced to limit my time at the computer).

After breakfast we usually meander back to our room and either take a bus on an excursion or go to the beach.  Each day there is some small discovery to be made.  Often, Izzy wanders along the paths created in and amongst the lemon groves, and takes great pleasure in snitching lemons (which we use in our endless bottles of fizzy water) and other fruits.

Lizards flit along the paths, surprising us at every turn and the hotel dog, “Billy” is our constant companion whenever we approach the dining room.  I think he must appreciate our truffle scent  (I packed truffle salt in our luggage as gifts and all of our clothing carries the aroma).

"Billy" rolls over for a scratch

The more we learn of this charming locale, the more we have come to love it. We have gotten to know our surroundings and the super-friendly and accomodating staff and we will certainly be sorry to leave here on Sunday.

Travel Indecisions/Decisions: Where do we go from here?

 It has been four years since Izzy and I made our first journey to Europe.  Far too much time has passed since that trip and we have longed to take another one.  This year, in celebration of my one year cancerversary (Yes! June marked one year since I finished cancer treatment) I decided we would go on a long voyage.  Where we would go?  I wasn't exactly sure but I knew we would go to Europe.

At home I planned the first and last weeks of our trip.  We would start out in Germany where we would visit with Aunt B. and Uncle Rabbit in Altotting. This would be relaxing, or so I had hoped. At the end of our trip we would visit with our old Jersey City friends, Helen, I. et al. in London.  We would be gone for five weeks total.

With the first week and the last week of our trip  planned, we left Jersey City.  I spent that first week in a state of agitation as I tried to resolve the question of where we would actually go.  As I had packed far too much luggage, we were somewhat limited to places that would not involve too many train/plane transfers and other maneuvers that would involve carrying the luggage.  I had initially imagined a stay in just one place - renting a house or an apartment and exploring one town for a month. I mulled over places like Provence (been there), Apulia (saw great article in the NY Times about it) and Sicily (intriguing), Ischia (worried about getting around) a farmstay in the Sora (sounds wonderful) and Praiano - a small coastal town between Amalfi and Positano which seemed to have the most appeal.   I tried to book the farmstay as well as a week in Praiano.  At first this appeared to be the perfect plan but I began to worry about the luggage situation and felt that the traveling between place to place would be less relaxing than what I had intended.  In the end I  booked a ticket from Munich to Naples and we took a car service to Praiano where we would stay for 11 days.

Our flight to Naples was uneventful.  We found our luggage and our driver from Italy Limousine,  met us and whisked us off to Praiano.  He was an expert and I never once felt uncomfortable as we wound our way around the narrow main road of the Amalfi Coast.  The scenic drive was merely an introduction to the beauty of this area, where houses are built into the rocks of the cliffs. We arrived at our hotel, La Locanda Costa Diva, at about 8:30 p.m... We set our bags down and looked around.  I was relieved to find that I had selected a most beautiful and peaceful locale.  Perhaps I would finally be able to relax...

We have now be at La Locanda Costa Diva since July 7th.  This small coastal village is a quiet respite from life as we know it... to be continued...

La Festa Italiana Take Two: A Gastronomic Quest

One evening at "La Festa" was not enough. Did I crave a second helping of rice balls? Had I missed out on the sausage and peppers? No. What I had to have was a sampling of Rosalie Nicodino's (sp?) homemade ricotta cheesecake.

Last year we missed out on most of the homemade dessert offerings as they were sold out by the time we looked for them. Then this year, on opening night, the same thing transpired. Perusing the dessert table all I noted were decidedly store-bought goods. But I overheard tell of a special ricotta cheesecake. I had to ask and was told that it had sold out but to try again tomorrow.

Which is why Izzy and I ventured out after the rainstorm. We were practically the only ones to show up at precisely six, only to find that nothing was ready. Big surprise since there had been a substantial downpour. Izzy amused himself by watching the band set-up and we wandered up and down the block, waiting for the deep-fryers to heat up. I didn't want another rice ball but hey, it's only once a year. We only had three this time, since we had already sampled pizza and needed to save room for dessert.

Good thing that all I had in mind was eating since the rain began yet again that evening, with scant signs of letting up. As Izzy and I sat in the dismal church basement, the dessert ladies were squabbling over coffee making, taking their sweet time unwrapping whatever they were selling. I had no choice but to disturb their twittering and ask about the ricotta cheesecake. Apparently it was still in the fridge.

She seemed flattered to hear that I had returned for the cheesecake and slightly bemused that I chose to photograph her. Flattered though she may have been, this woman was NOT parting with any secrets. I asked about the topping and crust and the reply was pound cake. At that point I hadn't even tasted it so it was all speculation. I tried some subtle questioning but to no avail. She plainly stated, "I can't tell you what is in it." Apparently the secret must be closely guarded, for if not, people will make it themselves and not come and buy hers at the festival. Uh..which people would those be, all sitting home conspiring to make their own cheesecakes.Wouldn't be me. I only make mine for special occasions.

We were so full from rice balls and pizza that I had our slices of cheesecake wrapped to go, along with some other options like pizzelle and biscotti which were also homemade. I couldn't wait to sample the goods.

Immediately after dragging ourselves home in the pouring rain, Izzy tucked into his cheesecake slice, which disappeared in minutes. I joined him. Now I am accustomed to heavy New York cheesecake and this was a horse of a different color. It is light, with an eggy, though not unpleasant aftertaste. I like the idea of the pound cake topping but not so sure what I think about the soft crust. One sample is not enough for a final determination. On the biscotti, I shall reserve comment. And the pizzelle, they disappeared without a trace.

But enough about us. You: Go try those Italian pastries before the feast is over. Those ladies and their goods are a dying breed.

Culinary Highlight: Fresh Pecorino Cheese

One thing that I will remember is the lovely fresh, local Pecorino cheese that J. served us during our last lunch in Greve. It had a somewhat firm rind and a lovely, soft interior. We had it with local honey and I would have eaten the entire round if left to my own devices. The light, white wine she served was the perfect match. Izzy and I have never had the cheese honey combination before and I will certainly try to recreate it at home, though I doubt I can find a cheese quite like that one.

A Day In Florence, A Descent Into Lollipop Hell And Other Tales

I decided to take Izzy to Florence one day, which meant a bus ride through winding hills. I decided a lollipop might be in order since I thought they somehow aid in alleviating carsickness. Since that lollipop, the whining hasn't abated. Every time we see a lollipop a request is made. MAKE IT STOP...

But back to Florence...we arrived at lunchtime but although I had lived there for a short spell many moons ago, I hadn't a clue as to where to eat. So we ended up eating some mediocre panini on our way to the Piazza Santa Spirito which was the neighborhood in which I lived back then.

Once in semi-familiar territory, we hung out by the fountain while Izzy whined for gelato. I was and am more than happy to indulge that request so we found some right on the piazza. After that interlude, we made our way over to the Palazzo Pitti (I couldn't deal with the Uffizi..too many crowds etc.).

Izzy was content to search for some "People with wings" and we found some and then left. We wandered the Boboli Gardens and then found our way back to the bus. It was a long day for the boy, especially since we went without our stroller.

Our adventure was neither a food or cultural bonanza so I decided one day there was enough. Izzy seemed to have more fun in Greve, wandering and playing with some new friends who he misses already.

The Butcher, The Baker...

Whenever I arrive in a small European town, I feel it is my duty to sniff out the best bakery or pastry shop. Our first morning in Greve, Alex sent us to the one bakery he knew of, to pick up a morning snack. I wasn't impressed and neither was he but it was the only one he had tried. So the next day, Izzy and I discovered a different bakery on the other end of the piazza. This one had a line, which is often a sure sign that you have found the right place. There we had some schiachiatta (Tuscan foccacia) and some flaky cream-filled horns. We continued to frequent this bakery, each time, discovering a different item. We ate rice and cream-filled pastries, raisin cookies and some breads that were a bit too hard for my tastes.

The highlight of the these bakery visits, occurred the evening when Izzy noticed the baker at work in the shop window, immediately adjacent to the retail shop. He was mesmerized as he watched the enormous mixer and it's giant "arms", knead the dough. The baker was quite friendly and when his young daughter joined him, Izzy became even more enchanted by the entire scene. They offered him some biscotti but he declined since his belly was already full of the other treats we had just eaten. He stood in the doorway of the bakery for more than 1/2 an hour until I had to practically drag him away with promises to return.

The Scent Of A Wild Boar?

Izzy and I spend our days wandering the tiny piazza Matteoti. As we poke about the local food shops, we make all manner of little discoveries. Yesterday we came across what could only be called ‘the wild boar shop’.. At Macelleria Falorno they sell boar meat, pig meat and all manner of porcine delectables. Where does this wild boar come from? How could they possibly hunt enough of it in the nearby hills to produce the huge amounts that seemed available..that is another story to ponder. In any case, the aroma upon entering is overwhelmingly boarish, though not in an unpleasant way if you go in for eating pig in all guises.

Proscuitto legs hang by the dozens, some with hoofs attached and there are bins of salamis in a variety of flavors. Sausages and beef are also available. You will also encounter pre-sliced meats to grab for an on the go picnic.
We brought home a small salami, bread and cheese for a quick supper since Izzy was still drooping from jet lag and it was just the two of us for dinner.

The following evening, we made our rounds of the piazza for the umpteenth time when most of the shops had already closed up. As we passed the Macelleria, Izzy yelled out, "I smell wild boar, Mama!" How odd I thought and then I looked over and watched as he stood by their open door, inhaling the pungent aroma. I don't suppose he will encounter that odor in the near future but I wonder if it has created a scent memory for him.

Izzy Eats Italian: Days In Greve in Chianti

Through a stroke of good fortune and kindness, Izzy, Alex and I are spending a week in a small Tuscan town. We are staying in a wonderfully large, beautiful apartment situated on a piazza. We can peer out of our kitchen window at the splendid countryside, both in the near and far distance.

We arrived on Sunday (June 25th) and today, Wednesday, Izzy continues to suffer from jet lag. The town is small and there are only a few restaurants from which to choose in the nearby vicinity. Our first meal took place at Cafe Nerbone, a few doors down. They boast quite a meaty selection of dishes one of which I couldn't resist sampling, Cow Udder with Salsa Verde. It came thinly sliced on bread with a dollop of the green sauce on top. It looked fairly appetizing and Izzy tried it along with me. When he inquired as to what it was, my first answer was meat. When he probed further the truth emerged. He was eating cow "boobie".

I had never heard of it until now. What was it like you wonder? Well it was soft and tender though I don’t know that I will go out of my way to eat it again. In fact, after having eaten it I began to doubt the sagacity of feeding my child cow offal, here in the land of mad cow disease.