La Dolce Vita - Part I

You know you’ve arrived in Italy when everyone is wearing designer suits....and huge sunglasses, inside the terminal building. We arrived at Naples mid morning after a good flight - smooth and clear most of the way, with spectacular views of the sunrise and the snow-capped Alps - and were waiting for our luggage to fall onto the conveyer belt, when a plane load of Italians emptied into the hall, immediately filling it with their animated conversation, designer gear and requisite shades. Ciao!

Luggage retrieved, we were herded by the efficient holiday reps onto the correct buses (unlike our last package holiday in Egypt where, in keeping with the general chaos of that magnificent country, at least three people ended up on the wrong bus and subsequently in the wrong resort). A couple of hours later, we’d checked into our fabulous hotel just outside the main hub of Sorrento and were admiring the views from our balcony....

View of Sorrento from our balcony

Vesuvius at dusk

By now, our stomachs were growling (that slightly odd in-flight breakfast seemed a long time ago) so we decided to grab a quick lunch at the hotel restaurant before heading out to explore our surroundings. With the first of many pizzas that would be consumed in a high-carb-fuelled week in our tums, we set off on the 15-minute walk down the hill to Sorrento town centre. What goes down must come back up again, as we quickly discovered. The Neapolitan peninsula is a very hilly terrain...there are 155 rocky steps down to the Marina Piccolo...our first “port of call” and the place to which all passengers on cruise liners docking in the bay arrive, and from where we knew we’d have to catch the hydrofoils to the islands of Capri and Ischia, both on our list of “Would Like To Visit”. Another stop by the Sorrento station and we were thus equipped with every boat, bus and train timetable that would enable us to traverse the peninsula over the coming days.

Time for a cappuccino at The Foreigners’ Club, overlooking the bay and then a hour or two of haphazard wandering through the narrow streets and alleyways of old Sorrento town. We’d been warned to watch out for scooters...and for good reason! B almost got taken out by demon drivers on Vespas no less than three times that week and on one momentous occasion, an elderly gent on a bicycle. A huge gelato (ice cream) at one of the many gelaterias (again the first of many consumed that week) gave us the energy to walk back up the hill to the hotel for a nap before dinner.

Sorrento

The next day dawned bright and sunny and we were up early to catch one of the first hydrofoils to the island of Capri (about a 20-minute crossing). A quick trip up the funicular from Capri’s bustling Marina Grande and we were in the heart of Capri town, Piazza Umberto I. From here we meandered through the narrow old streets, up the steep Via Croce and past exclusive villas out to the Arco Naturale, an impressive phenomenon of natural erosion.

Arco Naturale

Quite close to the Arco is “Le Grotelle” restaurant, a superb spot to stop and have a cappuccino and admire the view, before we began the trek up to the ruins of Villa Jovis, which was the largest and most luxurious of Emperor Tiberius’ many villas on Capri. It was here that Tiberius retired in AD 27, reportedly to lead a life of vice and debauchery, and to take revenge on his enemies...many of whom he apparently had thrown off the cliff face. Stunning views from here, all the same....

View of the peninsula from Villa Jovis

Back down along the streets with designer shops to Capri town for a delicious lunch of prosciutto and melon followed by fresh ravioli at “Buca di Bacco da Serafina”, where we were lucky to snag the only table with a window overlooking Marina Grande. Then it was time to take the hair-raising ride on the local bus up to Anacapri....the road makes a rapid ascent, with a sheer (barrier-free) drop on the side, made ever more terrifying by the Italian style of driving...rapid speed ups with sharp and erratic breaking...plus the added bonus that we were standing right in front of the windscreen. We stepped off the bus in Anacapri, pumped full of adrenaline....probably just as well, as the next part of the journey required a touch of gung ho for anyone with vertigo. Taking the chair lift to the highest point on the island, Monte Salaro, was strangely relaxing and the 360-degree views of the bay and particularly of I Faraglioni were spectacular.

I Faraglioni

It was almost evening by now and time to make our way back down to Capri town and down to the Marina for the return hydrofoil to the mainland. On our way, we paused to gawp at a film crew shooting a cafe scene in Piazza Umberto.

Chair lift back to Anacapri

Film crew in Piazza Umberto

Clock tower on Capri

 

We joined the masses of day trippers leaving the island, resolving to return one day and stay awhile to enjoy the beauty of Capri by night.

Airport Rage

Getting to the airport and through to the departure gate is the one part of going on holiday that I dread. There are so many variables that can cause delays....traffic jams/diversions/road works, car problems, infrequent transfers from the long-stay parking lot, long queues at the check-in, even longer queues at security, etc, etc.

Consequently, I tend to allow massive “safety time gaps” whenever I travel and plan for all eventualities...most often resulting in us getting to the terminal and into the departure lounge way, WAY too early. The longest departure lounge wait we ever spent was 6 hours for a London to Cape Town flight back in 2006 ....I figured it would take us 3 hours to drive there (it took just over one), allowed an hour to transfer from the parking lot (45 minutes is recommended, it took less than 10), then about an hour in the check-in queue (South African Airways flights are notorious for long lines) and another to clear security (we were the only ones checking in and subsequently got fast-tracked through security) plus I’d allowed an extra hour or two, “just in case”. As a result of this phobia, I am very familiar with the layouts of all four of London’s airports having spent many an excess hour wandering around in them, desperately trying to kill time...yet happy that the first part of the ordeal of travelling is over (remember though, I fear flying so I know there is still bad stuff to come).

B is extremely tolerant of my “disorder”....he happily leaves for the airport by whatever absurd time I feel is necessary, knowing that I will be like a tightly-coiled spring until I am perusing the perfumes in the Duty Free, boarding pass in hand. But, travelling with friends can be a nightmare...most of them are fairly laid back, and, like most “normal” people, try to minimise time spent at an airport. The worst airport experience for me ever was our flight to Lyon for a week’s skiing with friends over Christmas 2003. J&M are possibly the most relaxed people on this planet (you know, the so-laid-back-they’re-horizontal types). Our flight was at noon.....bearing in mind we lived at that time about an hour’s drive from Gatwick, I had an  8 am start planned (at the very latest, preferably 7.30). I started having palpitations the night before the trip when J casually suggested we get a taxi for “around 10ish then?”.... WHAT???!!!! Assuming a good run (and I never assume that) we would be arriving with less than an hour to spare before the plane was shooting down the runway? Not on your life! B stepped in quickly (I was still pulling my slack jaw off the floor) suggesting we go a “little bit earlier” than that as the airport might be just a tad busy as it’s Christmas Eve. The taxi was thus booked for 9 (still cutting it way too fine for my liking). 8.59 am and I was shepherding everyone out and into the cab before the driver could lift his finger to press the buzzer.

We were at Gatwick within the hour and were doing OK (my heart rate was slowing down to about 120)...then, major panic (for me at least) when J&M had problems checking in (they’d recently got married so J still had her old name on her passport but the booking was held in her married name and she’d misplaced their marriage certificate! Silently cursing all women who insist on taking their husband’s surname (and I can, as I didn’t!), I was desperately trying to remain calm (at least on outward appearance). Eventually, after much deliberation and negotiation, we were through to departures and the *boarding* sign for our flight was flashing on the screens....to me a sure sign that we should make haste to the gate (yes, yes, only to wait a further half an hour for the inconsiderate sods who delay the flight as they’re stocking up on Johnny Walker but better safe than sorry....you never know how long the walk is).

Not so for J&M....”oodles of time still to have a coffee, check out the shops”....my stomach is starting to churn queasily by this stage....but I don’t want to appear uncool, so I bite my tongue. That is, until I hear “Will passengers J, M, N and B kindly make their way to the departure gate, your flight is now closing....” over the tannoy. J&M saw another side to me in that moment....funny, we haven’t travelled together since....

Recently, I’ve discovered a great way of combating some of the “getting to the airport” stress: go the night before.....no, not to sit in the departure lounge for even more ridiculously extended hours....but to spend the night in a hotel as close as possible (preferably within crawling distance, just in case the shuttle service fails). Usually parking is thrown in with the deal and the rates are not much more than booking a long-stay park on its own anyway. For the Italian trip (which included a 6 am outbound flight), we splashed out on the comfy Gatwick Sofitel, which is so very conveniently actually connected to the North terminal. We checked in our hold luggage the night before, had a relaxed dinner and a few hours’ sleep, and then strolled back the next morning to clear security and board the plane. Possibly my best ever airport experience....and a great start to a fantastic holiday.

Post-Holiday Lethargy

I've been suffering from a serious lack of motivation to do anything since getting back from holiday....work seems to drag and I can't be bothered to clean the house, which is quite out of character as I'm usually fairly house-proud (B says compulsive-obsessive).

So, the report back on the Italian trip is on its way...when I can drag my lazy bones back into gear...

Autumnal Colours

Talking Italian

Just a few days till we depart for our Italian holiday....hooray! By some strange yet happy coincidence, this past week I've been working on a clinical report for a client that ran some trials in hospitals in Italy. In a moment of that infinite wisdom that is held in reserve for the most inept (or possibly bowing to budget cuts), the client decided not to get the patient data listings properly translated in their entirety, but to rather bang together a shoddy collection of common Italian medical phrases and words plus their English equivalent, thereby leaving us writers to trawl hundreds (and thousands) of pages of data to match up Italian phrases with the English, as we attempt to describe what actually happened to the patients and whether any of it is of clinical significance (di rilievo clinico).

Consequently, over the past few days, my grasp of the Italian language has come on leaps and bounds ... I'm not entirely sure how useful it will all be in the holiday context., but some of the following phrases would definitely put an authentic Italiano slant on the conversation....

testa e collo - meaning "head and neck"....as in I love the sunshine on my head and neck

fuori dalla norm - "outside the norm", could be teamed with many other phrases...say, di rilievo clinico...perhaps in response to the waiter's polite query if "everything was all right?"....The food was outside the norm, but don't worry, it's probably not clinically significant

diarrea and crampi addomiali - "diarrhoea" and "abdominal cramps"...I take back what I said to the waiter, must have been the prawns

aumento volume naso and aumento volume mani e piedi - corresponds to "increased volume of the nose" and "of the hands and feet"...clearly a literal translation, yet still a slightly alarming situation to be describing, possibly a consequence of too much sun or chianti...I felt my nose/hands/feet had increased in volume [wonder if there's one for stomach?]

senso di gonfiore - refering to "a sense of swelling"....endless possiblities, some probably best kept for the bedroom...

ispessimento generalizzato - or "generalised thickening"...see above

frattura ii dito piede destro - possibly a little too specific, unless I have the misfortune to "fracture the second toe on my right foot"

sindrome depressiva - literally "depressive syndrome"...probably most apt at the holiday's end, when we're about to head home to dark and gloomy days... I feel depressive syndrome coming on


[With apologies to all Italians and anyone fluent in Italian]

Retail Therapy

This past weekend, B and I had a marathon shopping session. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a big fan of shopping...crowds, screeching children and (typically) overheated shops do not bode for an enjoyable experience.But if I hate shopping, B abhores it (as in detests vehemently). Getting him to step foot inside a shop (weekly grocery shopping included) is an effort in itself and I usually do not subject him to the "torture"...or myself to his tortured looks, eye rolling, tutting and general grumpiness. However, there comes a time (every couple of years) when he realises that he is going to have to face his demons...usually around the time his butt starts hanging out of the seat of his worn-out jeans. While he buys everything possible on the internet, clothes shopping by mail order has never been that successful (and I have tried!).

So, we resigned ourselves to a day of hell at the mall (mkone to be precise)...we were up early to (a) get a free parking spot close to the mall entrance and (b) be there as the shops open, before the crowds descend....something both our sets of parents advocated way back in our youth (you know you're turning into your parents when....), and we would scorn them, as at that time (when we were laid back and unphased by crowds...and mainly didn't really have the cash to spend on anything, so going to the shops was pretty much null and void anyway) having a lie-in on a weekend was top priority (to sleep off a hangover and 4 am bedtime ).

Apparently, half of middle England had the same idea as by the time we got there, the free parking was rapidly filling up and the mobbing masses were already migrating up the mile-long walkway that runs from one end of the shops to the other. We were going in with a pre-determined Battle Plan: get in and get out in under 2 hours....with a completely new wardrobe for B, the bulk of the Christmas shopping and a new cocktail dress for the upcoming Christmas parties for me...yeah, right! Six and a half hours later, we dragged our sorry bodies back to the car, arms at least 5 cm longer from carrying the 6 massive bags we'd acquired....but we got almost everything we went there for, including lots of Christmas presies and this dress for me....

It's rare that I find  a dress that actually fits without my unmentionables falling out and that falls flatteringly to hide the tum 'n bum. I found a black, silk floaty cardi to go with it too, so all set for the "party season".

B reckons he's not going shopping again until he's 90 though....we'll see!

Sun, Sand and Soul

It was fantastic week....long walks on the beach, lots of reading (I devoured three Douglas Kennedy novels) and probably far too much eating and drinking of wine. BLISS!

The cottage we rented was tiny but cosy....part of an original stone farmhouse, just 5 minutes' stroll from the sand dunes of Embleton Bay.

Embleton Bay

We settled into a sort of daily routine of....sleep till we wake up naturally (around 9ish), a walk on the beach before breakfast, packing a picnic lunch then heading out for long walks along the coastal path, a lunch stop before the walk home, reading/snoozing until early evening, another stroll on the beach, then back at the cottage for a glass of wine and nibbles followed by a bung-something-in-the-oven type dinner.

We ventured as far as Holy Island one day and had tea and scones at Howick Hall (birthplace of Earl Grey tea) but otherwise stayed within walking distance of the cottage.

Lindisfarne Castle, Holy Island

The weather was far better than we'd hoped for....decent spells of sunshine, a bit windy some days and rain on one, but otherwise very pleasant and good hiking weather. Nothing like lungfuls of fresh sea air to cleanse the system...apart from one memorable hike across farmland that coincided with the manure-spreading activites of the local farmer....he obviously has a bit of grudge against walkers as he's (legally) diverted the public footpath through some neetle-overgrown, trench-filled paths that kept us downwind of the farmyard smells for a good hour.

Beadnell Bay

There's something about being close to the ocean that makes me feel so much more alive...one day, I really hope to live on the coast.

My inner calm feels restored...for the moment....