The Sweet Sour of Sorrento

SORRENTO, ITALY – One continuous, artistic slit with his pocketknife and the old man cut away the entire dimpled rind of an oversized lemon. Then he stepped away from the fruit stand, cradling a naked yellow citrus, blade still bared.

Without breaking stride, with his feet or his knife, he pierced the exposed lemon, popped out a wedge and slid it straight into his mouth. The sun, filtering down past the awnings and laundry lines, illuminated his stoic face. He did not flinch. He did not pucker. He just repeated the step, until he ate the whole lemon. Then the pocketknife was pocketed and the old man continued strolling past tourists and locals alike, with a sunny smile on his face and the leathery, yellow coil of the lemon peel bouncing from his sun-cracked fingers.

Fresh, frozen, liquefied, baked, fermented, candied, etched, painted – there are innumerable iterations of lemons here in Sorrento. But luckily there are plenty of locals, promenading old men included, who have refined their citrus skills to a more memorable point.

Perched upon a high bluff overhanging the Bay of Naples, in close proximity to Pompeii and acting as the gateway of sorts to the rest of the Amalfi Coast, Sorrento’s tourist appeal is heavy. And to satisfy the masses, the lemon-centric theme is abundantly front and center, infused in most everything you eat, see, smell and feel. Lemons are featured menu options, role player ingredients, garnishes, fragrances, decorative patterns, snacks, souvenirs and sightseeing stops. Sorrento’s ‘dolce vita’ is unabashedly tart.

But a more authentic, and easier, way to experience Sorrento’s lemon obsession is to get lost amidst the town’s patchwork of cobbled, uneven, sea-bound roads, some main thoroughfares but others barely wide enough for a scooter (although riders still manage with speedy ease). Wander and you’ll find a more genuine Sorrento: a veritable treasure trove of lemon-soaked hidden gems.

Peering through gates and over stonewalls, I noticed bright yellow citrus trees filling residential gardens and backyards. Tucked away specialty shops featured lemons on their artisan items, like a woodworker who crafted stunning wooden jewelry boxes and photo albums, inlaid with delicate lemon tree landscapes.

Meandering along Via Correale led my family to a veritable Italian Eden, hidden behind massive stone walls, through an old archway adorned by a sign promising refreshment from the brutal summer sun. This was Il Gardini di Cataldo, a family limoncello maker.

There, under the shade of umbrellas and tree limbs, we cooled off with fresh lemon granitas, icy concoctions made from the establishment’s main attraction. Despite no tours going on, we were allowed to pop inside their factory and see the rows of limoncello bottles.

Then we tasted. In a town doused in the liquor, the Cataldo limoncello was puckered perfection. It went down smooth and tangy, with a sweet finish and barely any alcohol aftertaste. Of course, we left with a few bottles of our own.

The fairytale continued when we entered a nearby lemon grove, L’Agruminato. We climbed a stone stairway, entered the elevated public space and were immediately hit with a pungent citrus aroma. Lemon trees, loosely wrangled by rustic wooden fences and trellises, scattered in all directions away from a central path. We were mostly alone during our peaceful stroll among the arbors, until we reached the end of the path where a kiosk waited to offer us free limoncello samples made from the park’s fruit. It was an iconic Italian experience – the sheer beauty of nature and what humans can do with it, finished off with free booze. 

Of course, in Italy, the food is what makes the most vivid memories and in Sorrento, lemons made the most memorable food.

Take the gelato – of which we partook at least twice a day (it was hot). At Raki, a small shop slipped in next to a colorful fruit stand overflowing with massive peaches and lemons, my daughter shoveled a combination of peach and lemon gelato into her tiny mouth. On the other side of town was Davide il Gelato, a larger ice cream shop where the kiwi flavor was interwoven with chunks of actual kiwi fruit and the tiny black kiwi seeds gave the impression of natural chocolate chips. But as is fitting for lemon-centric Sorrento, the most memorable flavor at Davide il Gelato was its succulent limoncello. The perfect balance of tart and sweet, it was a frozen aperitif.

Fine dining restaurants here feature lemons in various ways, from sweet to savory. But as is the case in so much of Italian cooking, freshness and simplicity reigned supreme.

Mt. Vesuvius loomed in the distance as we sat seaside at Ristorante Bagni Delfino. The fishing boats came and went and my family discussed what life must have been like back in the ancient times. Then our meal arrived, perhaps reminiscent of that older, more modest era. I ordered a branzino, simply grilled. The only seasoning was the dousing of fresh lemon juice, applied by the waiter after he sliced and served the fish tableside. As one of the top restaurants in Sorrento, Delfino’s dish was expertly prepared, pairing fresh fish recently plucked from the adjacent sea with fresh lemons recently picked from nearby trees.

Sorrento’s premier dessert, delizia al limone, is a shining pillow of moist, spongy lemon cake covered in a smooth lemon cream dome.

Like its lemons, Sorrento is a vibrant city that needs to be engaged, not just observed.

Early one evening, a party began to emerge down at the Marina Grande. People were gathering around a haphazard line of tents and food stalls selling everything from balloons to roasted nuts. A rainbow of fishing boats had pulled into the harbor and children skittered along the marina. My family had unknowingly stumbled upon the town’s festival of St. Anne.

As we explored, we learned of the night’s highlight – a fireworks display. A sign promised the show would begin at 9:00pm and a passing local promised it was worth staying up for. As such, we determined to stake out a spot to witness what was promised to be an extravaganza. 

We secured a waterfront table outside a small bar and dragged enough chairs around it to hold our entire group. And we waited – because when Italians say promptly at 9:00pm, they actually mean about midnight.

But when the show did begin a few hours delayed, it did so with an eruption. Audibly, the booms rocked the surrounding cliffs sending echoes reverberating down through the cobbled piers and onto the seawater. Visually, the Italian sky was lit up in a color array that would rival even the best gelato display. The fireworks show lasted for hours, seemingly unending, as if they just kept finding a few more shells under the seat cushions.

My young daughter stayed awake for much of it, well past proper parenting hours. But the flocks of Italian children scurrying around the harbor reminded me we were far from America and far from any need for a reasonable bedtime. She ooed at the yellow fireworks the most, the ones that looked like lemon bursts.

While the rockets blasted overhead, my family made a few toasts and sipped glass after glass of local limoncello. I thought about how hidden gems – food, gardens, fireworks, festivals – are sweet.

But not in Sorrento. Finding a hidden gem here will pucker your smile and leave a sour taste in your mouth. And that's a very good thing.

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Sorrento’s sweet life

 

As the rest of Italy hawks ‘la dolce vita,’ Sorrento’s sweet life tends to be a bit tart. That’s because this seaside town embraces all things lemon – from souvenirs to side dishes, the bright yellow citrus fruit is imbued in just about everything here.

But when the sun bears down on the piers and cobbled streets, tourists rush for one Sorrento treat that comes in all kinds of flavors, including lemon: gelato.

The heat is no joke in Sorrento, especially during the summer months. Being a coastal town, the summer is also one of the more enjoyable times to visit this gateway to the Amalfi Coast. There are festivals and fireworks down by the piers and fresh seafood in abundance. The island of Capri is a quick, refreshing boat ride away, offering both the cool, cavernous Blue Grotto experience and a chairlift to the island’s breezy summit.

The town itself sits up on a bluff above the sea, its streets and neighborhoods swinging towards the cliffs like a hammock on a lazy summer afternoon. One road climbs up along the waters edge to a series of cliffhanging hotels, while another winds and declines down to the Marina Grande. A pedestrian walkway hewn into the rock provides access to the public beaches and the larger seaport. Altogether, Sorrento is an ideal summer destination, complete with seafood and citrus, sunbathing and swimming.

And of course, like most every Italian tourist town, a gelateria is never far away in sun-soaked Sorrento. They are on the main street, amidst the surprisingly buzzy nighttime scene, and sprinkled in amongst the back roads and pedestrian areas. And that’s a good thing, because a quick cone is always an option as dessert, as a palate cleanser, in between meals, as a snack…you get the idea.

If you’ve ever had gelato, you know quality is a product of careful craftsmanship. There are gelato makers that reach for the next level of frozen treats and Sorrento is home to some standouts.   

My family stopped – many times – at Raki, a small shop tucked in next to a colorful fruit stand, which was overflowing with massive peaches. On the first visit, we relaxed at the bistro tables out front, my one year old daughter reaching over my shoulder for one of the aforementioned peaches. She got one and sunk her tiny teeth right in, stopping only when my father-in-law emerged from the shop and plopped a cup of peach gelato in front of her.

Raki’s flavors were creative and bold. We tried a ricotta walnut honey, with a luxurious but tamed sweetness, as well as a cinnamon that had a distinct flavor of the natural spice but also mixed in the taste of fiery cinnamon candy. My favorites here were the delicious vanilla fig, which combined a deep natural vanilla flavor with bits of actual figs; and the peach, mainly because it tasted almost exactly like the real fresh fruit sold to us by the adjacent grocer.

Whereas Raki was situated on a more pedestrian side street, Momi Gelateria sat in a parallel spot right on Corso Italia, one of Sorrento’s main drags. Funky and fun, with a welcoming owner, Momi provided creamy, top-tier versions of my favorite gelato flavors: pistachio and nocciola (hazelnut). The combination, enhanced only by the addition of a third scoop of chocolate, is a go-to in Italy. And here at Momi, with its artisanal take on gelato, they do them as well as anyone. Their takes on the flavors burst on the palate, melting into each other in a nutty, creamy, cool concoction.

Back in the jumble of Sorrento’s cobbled roads is Davide il Gelato, a larger ice cream shop with indoor seating and an expansive cooler case saturated with vibrant mounds of colorful creations. The kiwi flavor was interwoven with chunks of actual kiwi fruit and the tiny black kiwi seeds gave the impression of natural chocolate chips.

But as is fitting for lemon-centric Sorrento, the most memorable flavor at Davide il Gelato was its succulent limoncello. The perfect balance of tart and sweet, it was a frozen aperitif, embodying the essence of this seaside haven.

There are many more options for gelato in Sorrento and more likely than not, wherever you choose you’ll get a taste of the sweet life by the sea.  

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Towering over Tuscany

San Gimignano, Tuscany

There was a moment, about three quarters of the way up, as the steps became steeper and the railing a little flimsier, when I considered the ascent a bad idea. My two year old daughter clung to me like unripe grapes to the vine, and in turn I clutched her with one arm so that my other was free to hold the railings.

The steps we had already conquered swirled around the inside wall of a centuries-old stone tower. We had reached a landing, looked down the center abyss to the ground far below, and then up at the remaining climb up an old wooden ladder. It was stifling hot and the air inside the medieval fortification pressed heavy on the body. It didn’t help that I had hoisted an extra 30 pounds up the stairs.

As my daughter and I slowly, carefully slid up the almost vertical ladder – the final lunge up the tower – my hands ached from gripping the worn rungs and her little body. The excitement I had felt with the first step down below was now hard to conjure.

We reached the last ladder rung. Simultaneously my daughter’s little head and my big one poked up through the hatch and into the glaring Italian sunlight. We emerged from the ladder onto the crown of San Gimignano’s tallest tower, the Torre Grossa. I was exhausted, hot and my knees were trembling.

Was the climb worth it? My eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight and as the whole expanse of Tuscany came into focus, hills and vineyard and cypress trees sprawled in every direction, the answer was instantly and profoundly obvious: yes it is.  

Every direction was a postcard panorama. Leaning over one side of the Torre Grossa, I pointed out to my daughter the hills, green and gold in midsummer splendor, rolling and cresting like waves to the horizon. Over on the other side, vineyards pockmarked the slopes, not yet heavy with fruit but close to providing fodder for the region’s local chianti and vernaccia wine. Still in another direction, the rooftops of San Gimignano jutted up and down, every once in a while broken by a medieval tower, like stepping stones leading the way to the walled fortress on the edge of town. My daughter pointed out the piazzas buzzing with activity underneath us.

Since we stood atop the tallest tower in San Gimignano, we had the benefit of looking down on the town’s other towers. Only eleven stone towers still stand out of more than 70 that once dominated the town in its medieval heyday, each a physical manifestation of power, built by the wealthy to show off (and to sometimes drop hot oil on potential intruders).

Every Tuscan hilltown has a unique trait, whether it is a landmark or local cuisine or artisan craft. Because of this, visiting a Tuscan hilltown is an intimate affair, like getting to know a new member of the same family. They are all distinctly Tuscan but also memorable for their own distinct reason. 

The towers are San Gimignano’s calling card, giving visitors a sight unseen anywhere else in the world – Tuscany’s version of a downtown skyline.

Because of this novelty, and the porcupine-like city photos it generates, San Gimignano is frequently a stop on many tour bus routes, making it a crowded place during the high season. But that doesn’t mean it is not worth visiting. Even with crowds, this small Tuscan hilltown has plenty to explore, from its churches, to the great views at the aforementioned fortress, to the small workshop off the main drag that has a full miniature model of the entire town.

As with most every small village or big city in Italy, San Gimignano is most Italian (and therefore most enjoyable), when experienced unscripted. Getting lost among the steep cobbled walkways off the main thoroughfare and sticking around in the evening hours after the tour buses have gone, will allow your eyes to feast on a relaxed San Gimignano. The whole town exhales as the tour buses clatter away.

I was lucky to be staying at a villa within a ten minute drive of San Gimignano, so experiencing it in both ways was easy. The difference was literally night and day.    

We spent several evenings strolling the streets alongside locals and other lucky overnight tourists. Peaceful, small town calm settled over the cafés and piazzas, save for the handful of children running around the central stone well in Piazza de la Cisterna. But who could blame them, with Gelateria Dondoli, one of the world’s premier gelato shops mere steps away. Award-winning in every way, my entire family indulged in Sergio’s frozen master craft on numerous occasions, sampling traditional flavors and the more obscure, like berry rosemary and eggnog vin santo (sweet white wine).

Dinners were unrushed and unforgettable, as most are in Tuscan hamlets. We ate at a restaurant situated in a garden high atop the town, had some quick pizza at a café off Piazza Cisterna, and snagged some wild boar sausage at a small shop.

On our last night, we indulged at La Mangiatoia Ristorante. My fork cut right through a local venison medallion glazed with fig sauce and in-season mushrooms, the savory meat bursting with flavor. Simple pasta dishes, like wild boar ragu and homemade pesto, thoroughly pleased the entire family. In all, the meal was a highlight during a week of culinary excellence in Tuscany. And of course, even with dessert and after-dinner drinks at La Mangiatoia, we had to end the evening at Dondoli.      

To consume the food here takes little effort, even though to consume the views requires a bit of leg work. Nevertheless, San Gimignano fulfills in both regards.

Back on top of Torre Grossa, before we descended, my daughter spotted some bright purple flowers growing out of the tower’s rampart. I picked one and gave it to her. She clutched it tightly, and I clutched her, as we prepared to back down the ladder to the landing and down the staircase. 

“It’s so beautiful,” she said.

I smiled at her, and then we both soaked in one more glance of the striking Tuscan vista before ducking down through the ladder hatch. My response to her was instantly and profoundly obvious: “Yes, it is.”

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It’s worth getting to know ancient Rome

 

Two thousand years ago, Rome reached to the ends of the known world, amalgamating its conquered peoples, cultures and traditions into the greatest empire history has even seen. Even under dictatorial rule, they laid the foundation for modern democracy, art, food and an Academy Award for Russell Crowe. 

And then it all crumbled. Through a combination of disease, religious turmoil, political infighting and constant barrage attacks from those nasty barbarians, the Empire disintegrated. Power in Europe shifted to other shores, leaving Rome abandoned to its own squalor and forgotten for years.

 

Modern day Rome has bounced back, of course, built around the stunning remains of its once great empire. You can’t spend a few days exploring this magnificent city without literally bumping into or stepping over its historical treasures.

 

But to fully experience Rome, you need to look a little closer, listen to your audio guide just a little more attentively. The stories behind the ruins bring them to life and make them so much more than just piles of rocks. If you listen and read in addition to look, some of the fascinating intricacies of this ancient city and its people materialize.

 

One of my favorite sites in Rome is the sprawling Forum. It is a history lesson you don’t want to fall asleep during. Every visitor truly gets a sense of how the Empire revolved around these few acres, and their religion and government flowed from each doorstep. You literally get to walk the streets once walked by the titans of early civilization. Columns, arches, temples and pulpits still stand, beckoning you to touch and feel. Interesting snippets of information hide among every fallen pillar and worn statue.

 

Take, for example, the story of the Vestal Virgins. In ancient Rome, young women called were recruited at an early age to tend an everlasting flame. They were revered by all, lounged in their own luxury box at the Coliseum and given a nice severance package after 30 years of celibacy and service to the Empire. But a vow of celibacy was not the easiest thing to adhere to. The punishment for breaking the vow? The impure Vestal Virgin was led out of town, given some food and lamp oil and buried alive. Permanently.

 

Nearby the Forum, the Coliseum beckons with the promise of action, intrigue and maybe a decapitation or two. Although worn and broken, this iconic arena remains one of the world’s most enigmatic sites.

 

For a traveler, it is an invaluable and efficient stop because it provides a multitude of enticing details about ancient Roman society, from the games and battles that took place to the architecture and technology used to bring it all to life.

 

For example, my Coliseum audio guide revealed some insight into the Roman calendar - not the months and days, but their work week, or lack thereof. Romans had around 170 holidays or festival days throughout the year, leaving plenty of opportunities to attend events at the Coliseum.

 

Then there is the Coliseum itself. Walking from level to level, the grandeur – although dulled and worn by time – is explicitly evident. The structure rises all around you, engulfing you in ancient aura. The decorations and people dance to life in your imagination, and you can almost hear oohs and ahhs raining down from the nosebleeds seats.

 

The Forum and Coliseum are just two of a seemingly endless array of worthwhile sites scattered across Rome. I recommend climbing to the top of Palatine Hill for a splendid view or to the summit of the Victor Emmanuel Monument, where there is a cozy café. From each vantage point, Rome’s once golden majesty shimmers into vision. This city changed the world and then went away, but in the process leaving an indelible mark on history.

 

There are stories and lessons around every corner, on every plaque and in every ear bud attached to an audio tour. Some are well-known and others less so. But woven together they tell an epic tale of rise, rule and ruin. Armed with just a modicum of this eclectic information instantly elevates any Roman vacation.

 

But of course it is impossible to consume the entire civilization in one trip. That is why a stop at the Trevi Fountain is a must. Toss in a coin over your shoulder and legend says you’ll be destined to return to Rome in the future.

 

 

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Daydream about dream destinations

By Michael Hartigan
Article appeared in the Wicked Local papers in May, 2015


There are hotels and then there are hotel destinations. Maybe you stay at one on your honeymoon
or you walk through one on vacation (but you're staying at the economy chain hotel down the
street). Maybe you just stumbled upon it online while booking your next trip but almost choked
on your keyboard when you saw the cost per night. However you know about it, there is a
resort/hotel out there that you'd visit without delay if money were no object.
With summer vacation season upon us, it can’t hurt to daydream about these dream destinations.
Castles, for example, have always been at the top of my list.
I was fortunate enough to get a small taste of medieval living (albeit with every modern luxury
possible) when I spent two nights at the 7,000 acre Banfi vineyard estate in Italy. At its center
soars Castello Poggio alle Mura, or Castello Banfi. The castle’s 8th century charm and whimsy
remain after intelligent renovation transformed it into a 14-room hotel of the most lavish sort.
The Tuscan countryside sprawls in every direction like a massive green patchwork quilt dotted
with ponds and forests.
But the castle itself is the temporary home to so few guests that it is impossible not to feel at least
some of the communal camaraderie that the 8th century inhabitants must have felt – minus the
plague, of course.
On my castle to-do list, however, remains Ashford Castle in Country Mayo, Ireland. It checks all
the boxes: a castle in the majestic Irish countryside, surrounded by historic and archaeological
spots with individually designed guestrooms, dripping with the comforts required for no one less
than royalty. Oh, and they have falconry. Yes, falconry. In the shadows of the ancient castle, you
can learn how to launch a bird of prey from your arm.
If castles aren’t your thing, perhaps Remote Island living is. I’ve had friends rave about over-
water huts in Bora Bora, French Polynesia, at places like the Intercontinental Bora Bora Resort.
Imagine waking up to the soft sound of water lapping against the side of a paddle as your
breakfast is delivered by outrigger canoe. As you sit to eat your breakfast, you look around at the
crystal blue surrounding you on all sides; the sky melting into the azure waters of a quiet lagoon.
The rooms, luxurious and opulent, wade offshore in a horseshoe, proudly beckoning to travelers
seeking the ultimate in relaxation and indulgence.
Not remote enough? Check out Explora, Rapa Nui, Easter Island. Five hours off the coast of
Chile, the luxurious facility is built with rounded architecture, mimicking the curves of the island
and emphasizing the already mystifying aura of Rapa Nui. The famous Easter Island statues may
be the impetus for most travelers’ trek to this secluded Pacific rock, but staying at Explora comes
with your choice of adventure or relaxation.
The top spot on my list of dream hotels gives me chills, literally. But that is a good thing atop the
world at the Ice Hotel in Jukkasjarvi, Sweden. This structure’s eponymous building material
transports its lucky patrons to a world far beyond anything we encounter in our daily hullabaloo.
It is the stuff of fantasy, myth and Nordic legend. The building is completely made of ice,
including your room, the furniture, the art – you name it, it’ll freeze your tongue if you lick it.
There are warm accommodations but what’s the point in that?  If I’m traveling 200 km above the
Arctic Circle, I better sleep on a bed made of ice. And if you time your trip right, the shimmering
green and purple waves of Aurora Borealis (the Northern Lights) haunt the outline of the snow
palace. Ice Hotel is the ultimate in dream hotels because at the end of each season, it’s gone
forever.
These are just a few of my dream destinations and I encourage everyone to pull together their
own list. If nothing else, searching around for the world’s creative, unique lodgings can inspire
creative and unique travel ideas, and give us somewhere to aspire to.

Get lost in a lost city: Pompeii

 

I stood atop the hill at the far end of Via del Vesuvio, overlooking the ruined city of Pompeii, Italy.

Crumbling brick walls sprawled in every direction forming a red-gray rock labyrinth that seemed to run from the foot of the infamous volcano all the way into the sea. Row after row of ancient buildings crisscrossed the landscape, with sunken roads marked by deep cart grooves and lined by an unending array of historic artifacts – some well known, and some unknown.

As I watched the tourists crawl along the timeworn walkways, I began to think about how easy it was to get lost here.

From my vantage point, underneath a large tree with weeping branches nearby the old city walls, my eyes traced the main avenue, trying to use the site as a living map to plan my next route through this massive, ongoing archaeological dig. But my imagination kept getting in the way, as I thought of the city in its prime, buzzing with people from every social stratum going about daily, ancient life unaware of their weighty place in history – not unlike the tourists walking around the grounds at that very moment.

I was getting lost – lost in the mystique of Pompeii, which just so happens to be the best way to experience this ancient city.

A visit to Pompeii can be grueling. At peak season, tourists abound, scampering after their guides like chicks after the mother hen. Uneven stone streets, heat and the sheer size of the site make for a labor-intensive visit. Then add in the historical weight, which hits you the moment you see a body frozen in time, twisted as it gasps a final breath.

Hiring a guide to show you around Pompeii is one way to alleviate at least a portion of the burden. Guides are easily accessible and can provide a deeper knowledge of the individual highlights, such as the mansions, bath houses and statues unearthed and preserved from the 79 AD Vesuvius eruption.

But with a map and guidebook, provided at the ticket office, I explored the city without trouble, finding the big attractions and stumbling upon some spots not highlighted in the visitor’s booklet. Every once in a while I would linger at the back of a large group to grab a little extra (free) information from their guide, but for the majority of my day in Pompeii, I wandered the streets. I got lost and my experience was richer for it.

Without someone narrating, my imagination had to work a little harder and in doing so, I got an appreciation for the seemingly mundane things. Everyday items awed me.

Right along one of the main thoroughfares I came upon a large group examining an open-air plot, clearly marked by the guidebook as a bakery. The House of the Baker contained ovens and mills, easily identifiable among the stones and collapsed walls.

Walking past it, I took a few more rights and lefts and separated myself from the crowd. I came across another open-air building with similar structures inside. There were the familiar vat-like ovens and large stones for milling. This one wasn’t on the map or in the guidebook, but it was clearly another bakery. The larger bakery had prime real estate, probably meaning it drew a large crowd back in its heyday, as well as in modern day. But this smaller bakery, off-the-beaten-path, was just as well preserved and just as impressive. I began to wonder who made the better bread and who the Pompeii locals back in 79 AD preferred.

It was a similar experience when I came across what appeared to be a storefront. There was a stone counter with deep holes bored into it – it was a bar. The guidebook described how shopkeepers would fill the holes with beverages or foodstuffs. Hungry people strolling by would stop in for a snack or a drink, leaning at the counters to chat with their neighbors. I wandered past one of the heavily attended bars and zigzagged my way down side avenues. I began to notice more and more of these bars – the familiar counters easily recognized by their holes.

By getting lost in Pompeii, the city became more than just a tourist attraction with great photo ops; it was more than a few dozen highlights in a guidebook. Pompeii became a real city, full of real people living every type of life.

In one ruined mansion, a shattered mirror was embedded and melted into the rock wall. Climbing through the rooms of another destroyed home, I found a stone staircase leading nowhere, but at the top was a 360-degree view of the city.

Of course the better-known attractions at Pompeii are also well worth your time, and even a full day will not be enough to see everything. The Forum Baths are well preserved and house a variety of interesting sights. The Forum itself, the center of life in ancient Roman cities, extends for hundreds of yards, lined by columns, statues and broken buildings. At one end of the Forum the ever-present volcano Vesuvius heaves in the background – just a little too close for comfort.

The Ampitheatre and Gymnasium located in the corner of the site near the Sarno Gate give insight into the ancient city’s devotion to entertainment, as do the famous brothel houses such as the Lupanar with its erotic frescoes. You’ll know the Casa del Fauna by the easily recognizable statue of a dancing faun and beautiful grounds.

It is all part of a city that, at its heart, embraced balance. Mansions sat next to hovels and temples, government buildings were not too far from the brothels. It lived and died with the workers nearby the vacationers.

I wandered, stumbling upon top spots and hidden gems alike. My route ultimately took me to the top of the hill at the far end of Via del Vesuvio, where I spent a few minutes soaking in the extraordinary view and letting my mind do some wandering.

I say get lost in this lost city. You will be amazed at what you find.

 This article appeared in the October issue of Destinations Travel Magazine

Passing on the travel torch

 It took me seventeen years to set foot in Europe. When I finally got there, the experience changed my life.

It took my daughter, Cordelia, less than one year to visit Europe, but the affect it had on me was quite familiar. This time it was my little girl who changed my life.

My love for travel began in earnest when I was in high school at St. John’s Prep in Danvers. My World History teacher, Brother George Donnelly, had a knack for weaving Europe’s intricate history into a rich tapestry of narratives, set against some of the most beautiful and interesting locations on the planet. When he planned a school trip to Italy, Greece and Turkey, my friends and I could not get permission slips signed fast enough. Brother George colorfully articulated the world’s most historic places, but made sure we all understood there was no replacement for seeing them in person.

I was nervous to go. I had never been that far away from home for that long. But once we arrived, the breathtaking moments began piling up – atop the Acropolis peering out over Athens, scurrying through a Turkish bazaar, and trekking through the ruins of Pompeii.

My nerves were replaced by a bubbling sense of adventure that continued to grow exponentially into adulthood.

As I grew to love travel, I grew to love sharing my experiences with others. I write, I photograph, I tell stories – and somewhere along the line, I hope to spark the same sense of adventure that was instilled in me by the people and places of my youth.

So when my daughter was born on August 1, 2013, I was given the opportunity to do what so many people at home and abroad had done for me: pass along the travel torch.

My wife shared my ambition, after several attempts to reel in my ever-expanding imagination for what was possible with an infant.

Our first trips with baby took us all over America’s East Coast. Cordelia went to Colonial Williamsburg, Fenway Park and Shakespeare in the Park. She visited beaches, big cities, Civil War battlefields, went inside the White House and to the top of several mountains. She fell asleep at more than a few wineries.

Along the way something happened I did not anticipate.

As the baby grew, so too did my anxiety about traveling with her. All the uncertainties and unknowns that new parents face every day clouded the excitement of sharing adventures together.

Suddenly the international experiences I had always envisioned seemed too difficult and worrisome to attain. My confidence waned; I even wrote fewer travel pieces.

I was most apprehensive about an impending family trip to Italy for Cordelia’s first birthday. Normally I would have been reading up on local limoncello makers and hole-in-the-wall gelato shops. Not this time.

The week before the trip the baby got sick. Then numerous world events coalesced to make it feel like danger lurked at every airport. Questions scrolled through my head constantly: Would she be good on the plane? What if we hit turbulence? Would the stroller hold up on cobblestone streets? Would she make a mess at every Italian restaurant?

For more than a decade, my most loyal travel companion was my uninhibited sense of adventure. Now it was gone, replaced by hesitation and shot nerves.

I let myself worry away my sense of adventure. I had forgotten the personal credos forged from years of improvising and exploring. But we went to Italy.

In one week, my one-year-old daughter restored what I had lost.

She was good on the plane, better than we could have ever hoped, even with turbulence. Our hand-me-down stroller took everything Italy threw at it, even the rough Naples Airport baggage crew. And of course the baby made a mess at every restaurant – but every Italian server and proprietor loved her for it.

We were in Pompeii the day of Cordelia’s first birthday. I was carrying her around in a backpack carrier, traversing the ancient streets in the shadow of Mt. Vesuvius. We stopped to hydrate and I leaned against the rough stonewall of a ruined building. I felt the backpack sway and Cordelia’s weight shift out the side. I turned my head just enough to see her lean out of the backpack carrier and touch the building wall, unprompted. Her little head peered out with wide eyes and she was smiling, fully engaged by the simple feel of ancient stone on her fingertips. She may not remember it in the future, but in that moment she was enjoying the experience.

I’ve learned the best travel moments are rarely planned, especially the ones that change you on a deeper level.

In high school I stood in Pompeii awed at the sight of a sprawling city where time stands still. In the same place fifteen years later, I watched my baby pat an historic stonewall and giggle as she rubbed the red dust together in her hands.

Cordelia reinvigorated my sense of adventure by exhibiting a hint of her own.

I am under no illusion that traveling with a child will get any easier. But now, thanks to my daughter, I have no reason not to try.

There’s no place like home away from home

 No e-mail, no showers, no English. Oh my!

My visit to Mondaino, Italy was a whirlwind of family, food and fantastic personalities unlike anything I had ever experienced. Dorothy and Toto’s trip to Oz is tame by comparison.

To reach this tiny village in the hills along Italy’s east coast, I twisted and turned up and down one pale cobblestone road after another. The impossible inclines and precarious cliffside S-turns snaked through the hills in such a layered, convoluted pattern, that the green arrow on the GPS stopped progressing and simply spun in place like a weathervane caught in a wind storm. By the time the rental car finished the climb, my brain spun in place too.

Mondaino sits high atop the Rimini Province, surrounded by a handful of similar hamlets, all comprised of narrow streets, terracotta-topped homes and spectacular panoramic views. Each village revolves around a medieval church, each one more hauntingly beautiful than the next. Spires and bell towers rise above the rooftops and treetops, reaching like arms to God and signaling the separation of one village from another. It is a world to which Americans are wholly unaccustomed and one that harkens back to an older time. It is a fairytale in a foreign land; the kind of place they write storybooks about.

This visit to a non-touristy corner of Italy was anything but random. Mondaino is the hometown of my wife’s grandfather, who came to America almost 80 years ago. Numerous family members remain living there, making our visit a sort of homecoming, albeit to a home we had never known. 

To navigate being immersed into Italian culture, we needed a guide (and a place to stay). We found both in Anna.

A matriarch of sorts, Anna is my wife’s grandfather’s cousin and well known around Mondaino.

She moved slowly down from the front porch when we arrived at her gate, which gave me ample time to notice the Cheshire grin stretched across her wizened face. Anna spoke no English, although she humorously attempted a few words because it incited laughter out of her foreign guests. She knew we could barely understand her, but she spoke nonstop as she ushered us into her home and gave us the grand tour.

Our bags stowed, Anna bade us sit in the room central to every Italian household: the kitchen. She began pulling cheese, meat, cookies, crackers, wine – oh the wine – from every cupboard and shelf.

“Mangia,” she said. We knew that word. You don’t disobey an Italian grandmother when she tells you to eat. As we snacked, Anna stepped to the dining room table to put the finishing touches on her homemade pasta dough. She took a few breaks to come refill our wine glasses with hearty portions of a vintage made right there in town.

At the back of the kitchen a double door opened onto a balcony. From this vantage point, the Italian countryside sprawled out like a patchwork quilt over a lumpy bed. There were fig trees below and in the near distance the center of Mondaino was noticeable because of the church bell tower. 

After too many glasses of wine, Anna decided it was time to venture out. We were led through town, her cane clacking along each cobblestone. We stopped in at a bar, a pizza shop and the post office. There was an old man at a bar who began arguing with Anna, who took offense to his rude behavior in front of her guests. The young men working at the pizza joint knew Anna’s order before she even walked in.

Partway through, my wife realized we were being shown off. Anna was trotting us around to meet her friends and other family members, with that unmistakable look of pride on her face.

The town itself looked like we were walking through the pages of any Italy coffee table book. Anna took us to the church and the plaza at the end of town that acts as a scenic overlook out onto the countryside. We trekked to a neighborhood inside garrisoned walls, having had to drive through an ancient castle gate and stone ramp just to get up to the main square. We even stopped in at the cemetery to pay respect to the family members interred there.  

Our visit culminated with a home cooked meal, as every visit to Italy should. A dozen family members crowded into Anna’s kitchen to meet their American relative and her husband. None of the adults spoke English. My wife and I, though, persevered, pulling from the Rosetta Stone Italian classes we took in the months prior. It truly is wonderful how much people can communicate by interpreting words, facial expressions, hand gestures and context. The entire dinner conversation never lagged. We carried on full conversations about sports, politics, weather, travel, food, wine, more food and more wine.

One theme stuck out, however, both in the dinner conversation and throughout our two nights in Mondaino: family. We met relatives my wife never knew she had.

There were the only English-speaking members – Sara, Elizabeth and Giancarlo, all between 16 and 19 years old – who helped translate for us at some key junctures.  We met Anna’s cousin Pino, a small, jovial old man with a heart as big as his persona. He spoke loudly, hugged genuinely and helped Anna show us off to the rest of the town. We were introduced to Vittorio, an old business partner of my wife’s grandfather. His house sat high on the outskirts but his hospitality was as warm and unquestioning as the rest.

The night before we left, my wife and I sat Anna down and turned our video camera on her. We asked her to leave us a message we could take home to the rest of the family. She spoke for a few minutes and when she started to say goodbye, she cried.

We had never met Anna before this visit. My wife, growing up, had heard her on the telephone with her grandfather and exchanged holiday cards. She received gifts from her when her grandfather returned to America after his own trips back to the homeland.

But we were immediately and infinitely Anna’s family. Our wedding photo was on her mantle among the dozens of other family portraits. We were welcomed into her home without question and treated like royalty.

By the time the whirlwind blew us out of Mondaino, I had a new respect for the definition – and the scope – of family. My wife’s Italian relatives were warm, loyal, passionate and altruistic to the bone. They wore their traditions proudly and made inclusion a priority.

In short, they made us feel at home in a very foreign place. And there really is no place like home away from home.

 This article appeared in the Saugus Advertiser and MetroWest Daily News in January, 2014