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September 8, 2024 In Best Of, Roam By Nancy

Procida

I’ve been on a mission to find the perfect fishing village for years. I have this idea in my head—Local Hero in a warmer climate, for those of you who know and love this movie as much as I do. Actual boats, and fishermen, who fish, small village, no hulking 1960s or 70s ugly beach resorts. Interesting landscapes. Delicious food, bonus for freshly caught. I finally found it, right off the coast of Naples—Procida—where we headed after our trip to Ravello and Materea, at the Hotel Santavenere.

Procida is one of the islands off the coast of Naples, along with its better known sisters, Capri and Ischia. At the ferry dock there were hundreds of people in line for the ferry to Capri and Sorrento, but only about ten of us waiting for Procida. We’d mentioned our next destination that morning to the owner of the hotel we were staying at in Naples, the mid-twenties heir of a wealthy, landed family of hoteliers, dressed in an immaculate suit, who was greeting guests eating breakfast on the roof terrace. When he heard Procida his eyes lit up. “It’s like going way back in time, totally different to today,” he said with his eyes looking to the horizon as he thought of a time period adequately remote to make his point. “It’s like going all the way back to the… 1980s.” Gulp. This appreciation for the island was not limited to him. When we told Italians that we were headed there the usual response was “Brava! Not many people know about it and it’s wonderful.” (Our overnight in Naples, and the hotel, warrant their own story, coming soon.)

We learned about Procida from Sebastian, who had explored it when sailing for a week on a friend’s boat. They moored and had lunch on the island and he was enchanted. He was insistent that we go to experience it. He was imagining us renting a little room on a cliff for a month and doing nothing but staring out the window and writing. After seeing it I can imagine this as well.

We landed at the port after a half-hour ferry ride from Naples. The port has a small harbor, ringed by buildings of pastel colors and restaurants along the quai. We weren’t quite sure enough of the busses yet to know we could get where we needed to go—radically underestimating the island’s simple layout—so we got a taxi. We proceeded along the one main road that follows the length of the spine of the tiny island (it’s less than 1.6 square miles), lined by stone buildings that come right up to the street. These roads are impressively narrow, and I live in an Italian village where I frequently have to pull in my side mirrors to fit between two stone walls. I thought I was unflappable. One of Sebastian’s most distinct memories of the island was seeing how scraped up and dented every car on the island was.

Our taxi sped down the one main road, barely one lane in width, and avoided pedestrians, small delivery trucks laden with goods off the ferry, and many electric bicycles with super fat tires, which seems to be the preferred means of transportation over the hills and rough cobblestone roads. Parts of the island looked familiar—it’s the star of the movie Il Postino and also was one of the locations in The Talented Mr. Ripley.

We arrived at our hotel, La Tonnara, on a spit of land between a little marina, an excellent beach, an a pedestrian causeway to a small nature preserve island. It was simple, but very welcoming. Despite a sign in the room warning us not bring our own hotplates to cook meals, and impression that you might have that I love fancy hotels because of the last entry, I loved it. Sweet staff, fantastic location, and immaculate.

Our first evening we wandered along the long beach past some fantastic rock formations and ended up finding a beach-front restaurant that looked promising, Da Girone (no website, linking to Tripadvisor). We are always a bit suspicious of restaurants with views, especially after seeing the logo from this place, but it was amazing. Family run for decades, everything was fresh and delicious. There were long tables filled with Italian families whose kids ran back and forth between the sea, the sand, and the restaurant while all of us watched the sun set over the water. I’d been told that I had to have a salad made from Procida lemons, which are huge, ugly, and with a very thick pith (the bit between the skin and the juicy part). The salad is made of just the pith, raw and cut into chunks, with a little olive oil, garlic, spicy chili pepper, and mint. The first bite was a bit of an act of will, but it was delicious.

Walking back the short distance to our hotel we spotted a very odd-looking bus. It was tall and unbelievably narrow, clearly purpose built for these streets.

We took it the next day to cross the island. The narrow bus was filled with locals who all knew the driver and one another, and gave us hints on where to go. At one point, on the narrow central road, we met an oncoming bus. They obviously had done this before and met where the stone buildings gave a few extra meters of width, and they successfully passed. That feat was nothing compared to a sharp left turn the driver took at speed in this long bus, between two narrow streets, all tightly bordered by stone buildings. Despite the hundreds of scrapes visible on the corners of the buildings, this bus navigated with ease. I was watching the corner nearest me and I swear that we cleared it by about an inch. This bus ride was as close as I will ever come to experiencing Harry Potter’s Night Bus.

Our destination was a small fishing port accessible only on foot or by boat, La Corricella. We walked to it along the cliffs via an old prison and ancient castle perched on a promontory, then descended down steep stone stairs between tightly-packed, colorful buildings. The small marina with a variety of fishing boats and clear water had several restaurants at water’s edge and we had another delicious meal.

That evening we decided to eat at Da Girone again. One of the owners and her husband served us. After a dessert fresh out of the oven that she had just made, I was paying and bought some homemade liquors. Just then an older man entered who turned out to be her father. He was deaf and she had to shout that they were lucky to have had three dogs in the restaurant that evening (one being our Lola), and he beamed. He said that he made all the liquors and then pointed to the label—their logo of a gruff, sea captain sort, scowling—and held it up next to his face as he mimicked the expression. His daughter looked on, beaming.

As idyllic as all this sounds, we weren’t completely relaxed. The day that we arrived in Naples, for our overnight before Procida, the supervolcano that lies under Naples was acting up. Forget the dangers of Vesuvius, the Bay of Naples is the collapsed crater of this volcano, which is considered the most dangerous supervolcano in the world as millions live in the highest risk area. The land in part of Naples is rising two centimeters a MONTH. The night before we got there was a swarm of over 150 earthquakes in a few hours, including a 4.4 magnitude. Schools were closed, prisons evacuated, and thousands slept in the street. Procida forms a part of the rim of the supervolcano. It takes a lot less to fuel my anxiety. (The Washington Post wrote an interesting article on this a few days ago.)

But the lure of a cottage overlooking the fishing port…

And I do have to confess that I have found dreamy fishing villages in another part of the world, Scotland, which I wrote about here.

August 19, 2024 In Best Of, Roam By Nancy

Saunter like Sophia (Loren, that is)

I find it hard to imagine what the Italian coast must have been like in the 1960s. Before the hordes of tourists, bumper to bumper traffic on the Amalfi Coast, and the insufferable Instagram influencers nearly pushing one another off cliffs to get the right shot. I caught a glimpse of a less-traveled coastline when we went to the South for a week in May to cover the newly reopened Hotel Santavenere. I discovered my inner Sophia Loren. The one I had no idea I had inside.

I love finding places that are unusual and relatively unknown, and this trip delivered. We headed to Salerno on a Frecciarossa, Trenitalia’s high-speed rail service, cruising along at nearly 300 kilometers per hour (185 mph). We left around 8 from Tuscany and arrived, nearly 300 miles away, in Naples’ southern neighbor Salerno by 11:30—not bad for a morning’s work. Salerno is very walkable with a nice seafront. We rented a car, explored the town on foot, had lunch at a local place with an array of fish caught that morning displayed on ice, and drove a few miles up the infamous Amalfi Coast road for a night in Ravello. (Travelers hint: Salerno is a great base for the Amalfi Coast. There are frequent ferries that run to Portofino, Amalfi, and Sorrento that are much easier than waiting in traffic on the narrow, twisting main road in high season. It’s also very well-connected to other destinations in Italy by train.)

The ancient village of Ravello (dates from the 5th-century) is famous for being perched high on a cliff, safe from invaders, 1100 feet over the sea. We chose to stay down the hill at water’s level at the Hotel Marmorata. Luckily, they gave us a room with a window looking directly over the coastline and the pounding waves—one of my favorite sounds—which we could hear all night.

There was even a ladder from the pool area right into the sea, but it was too cool and rainy that night to use it.

En route to my assignment we visited the ancient site Paestum. This was a major ancient Greek city on the coast of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Three major temples are in remarkable shape for having been built from 550 to 450 BC. The site is evocative, with the remains of houses and civic buildings, paved roads, city walls and amphitheater, and it wasn’t at all crowded. Often overshadowed by the Roman ruins at Pompeii, Paestum is well worth a visit.

I am lucky to be able to go on the occasional boondoggle to cover a hotel for a travel publication, and this assignment is my favorite to date. Hotel Santavenere was built in the 1950s by an industrialist from Piedmont, Count Stefano Rivetti di Val Cervo. He bought a huge chunk of the Tyrrhenian Coast below the perched, ancient village of Maratea and built a hotel with a mere 34 rooms. The place was recently taken over by one of Italy’s highest-end hotel groups, Egnazia Ospitalita Italiana, who did a complete remodel. It just entered The Leading Hotels of the World group.

I’m not a big mid-century modern person, but this place is gorgeous. The gardens are sprawling and have been well-tended since the resort’s creation seventy years ago (the hotel will provide picnic lunches for those who’d like to eat under the umbrella pines). There are several paths which wind down the steep hill between where the hotel is sited and the Tyrrhenian Sea to a rock outcropping and a small beach arranged with sun loungers. A ladder provides easy access to the sea, which was blissful to swim in. Private dinners can be arranged seaside.

The topography of this area of Italy is beautiful. It’s where the Apennine Mountains, which extend the length of Italy, meet the sea, so plenty of cliffs, ravines, and apparently, caves.

The hotel has so few rooms that the lobby and restaurant take over one whole floor, wrapped by a terrace with stunning views. One of the details I loved the most are the beautiful pink and green tiles, custom made for the place in the 1950s.

Walking through the lobby, on the way to dinner on the terrace overlooking the sea, I did find my walk changing into a saunter when I could so easily imagine the heyday of Italy’s dolce vita years. Sophia would have been perfectly at home. But probably not in my Birkenstocks…see above.

On a mountain top towering over the hotel is one of the largest Christ the Redeemer statues in the world (the biggest being in Rio) that stands 70 feet tall. The road up to the statue was as noteworthy as the destination.

One of the interesting things about reviewing a hotel is that the hotel provides rooms, food, and extras like massages and local tours—but you have to be very well-behaved and there’s no anonymity. We visited the statue, the church at the summit, and the village of Matarea with two guides provided by the hotel and here is where the story of the Count began to show some cracks, although we could only push so hard. According to the hotel the Count was a beneficent guy who came South to help the local population by building wool factories, textiles being his family business in Piedmont, and happened to buy up a huge chunk of coastline. Apparently, this generosity was also helped by huge postwar grants from the Italian government—and when the subsidies ended the factories closed. He commissioned the Christ the Redeemer statue and wanted it to be the tallest in Italy. Near the statue he also “restored” an ancient church, Basilica di San Biagio (built in 1324 on a site used since 732) by gutting, modernizing, and plastering over all the art. It’s now one of the saddest churches I’ve ever been in.

The village of Maratea, five minutes from the hotel, is small and charming with 44 churches, attesting to how dangerous life was for fishermen.

If the names Paestum, the Tyrrhenian Coast, and Maratea don’t ring loud bells in many of your ears it is a good thing. We were driving along roads just as beautiful, and “thrilling” to navigate as the Amalfi Coast but were nearly the only car on the road. Everywhere we went was largely crowd-free.

Living in Italy and traveling widely, I am torn when asked about the best way to visit. Trends I’m reading about, like Bologna being touted as the new Florence, whether Rome or Venice should be avoided, or as I’ve done above, Paestum vs. Pompeii, or this piece of coastline over Amalfi, are not easy discussions. The OGs of travel are flooded with visitors for excellent reasons—they really do represent an apex—and if there’s only one chance to see Italy, should be on the list. (Hopefully not in July and August, when the heat and crowds are making the experience nearly out of the range of human tolerance, no matter how fabulous the backdrops.) However, beyond the top few must-see places, Italy is so richly blessed with scenery, architecture, culture, and food that there are many less-trafficked treasures to discover, where it may just be you and the ghost of a young Sophia Loren. And the two of us will endeavour to share these gems when we are lucky enough to encounter them.

My complete hotel review here.

la dolce vita

August 10, 2024 In Best Of, Roam By Nancy

Here’s how Paris surprised me during the Olympics

I had no idea what Paris would be like during the Olympics and arrived with a mix of anticipation and dread. After a week of watching Olympic events and strolling the streets of Paris, here’s what’s surprised, dazzled, and inspired me about the city and the Games.

Paris has felt quiet.

Where is everybody? This was definitely not the question I was expecting to ask myself during the Games. A friend flew to Paris for the opening ceremony and the plane was so empty that all the economy passengers had the luxury of stretching out flat across the empty seats. Friends are reporting with glee that the hardest to get restaurant reservations are now easy. I am often the only customer in boutiques and stores. Traffic is restricted on some major thoroughfares, like the Boulevard Saint-Germain, where there’s not a private car or bus in sight, which only adds to experiencing Paris in a very different way. Crossing streets that aren’t traffic restricted is suddenly easy. Many shops and restaurants staffed up, and even stayed open during their normal August closures, to serve the Olympic crowds who haven’t materialized, impacting their businesses. But, as a visitor, it is delightful to visit a peaceful and uncrowded Paris with nearly empty sidewalks and plentiful seats on the metro.

August is the traditional vacation month for Paris, which partially explains empty streets, and many additional locals decided to leave town to avoid the potential hassles. More foreign visitors than expected also chose to stay away, to the extent that Delta Airlines is expecting a $100 million revenue loss due to the Paris Olympics, according to the CEO.

Despite these Games, according to the organizers, selling more tickets than any other Olympics, there are still tickets to be purchased for many events. There were 10 million tickets released for the Games ranging in price from €24 ($26; £20) to many hundreds of euros. And then there are the hospitality packages that add transportation, dining, champagne, and a great vantage point, but at a steep price. Want to see the men’s basketball final, which just might include some American superstars, in style? That will be €6,500 ($7,000; £5,500) per ticket for the hospitality package. Organizers have said that the prices are not more expensive than previous Games, but many people feel priced out and the events I have been to have had some empty seats.

The spectacles are truly spectacular.

Paris is doing one of the things that the French do best—spectacles, and they can be impressive to behold. The French have a long history of understanding the power of spectacle. In the summer of 1676, King Louis XIV ordered that hundreds of wildly expensive and exotic white swans—a completely new bird for France—to be imported and released in the Seine. One of the objectives was that visitors traveling by boat between Paris and the Palace of Versailles would pass by the impressive birds and be amazed by the wonder of the French court. It’s a flair that continues to thrive, and the French spirit of spectacle is everywhere during the Games.

At the conclusion of the opening ceremony, the Olympic Torch ended its long relay journey by lighting a giant caldron suspended by a hot air balloon that rose into the night sky. It floats aloft every evening at dusk until 2am, weather permitting, throughout the Games. The interesting thing is that the ring of “fire” in the cauldron is not actual fire but thousands of LED lights and water mist, which took three years to perfect, and looks exactly like the real thing—the first time the Olympic flame is not actually the flame—in the history of the games. The actual Olympic flame is a footnote enshrined near the balloon, in the Tuileries Gardens, where the first manned hot air balloon launched in 1783. I did find the crowds here—tens of thousands of people line the Seine every night hoping to watch the Olympic cauldron rise into the sky. The French guessed that a spectacle like this would be far more impressive and memorable than seeing the actual Olympic torch. And given the excitement on the streets, it’s clear they were right.

This sensibility carries throughout the Games, from the famous (or infamous) opening ceremony to the event venues which were chosen with care for their magnificent settings—fencing in the soaring glass enclosure of the Grand Palais, skateboarding in the Place de la Concorde, equestrian events (I went to one!) in front of the Palace of Versailles, and beach volleyball under the Eiffel Tower, to name a few.

There’s an army of volunteers, and the Army.

There are 45,000 helpful volunteers all over Paris. Every metro stop has a squad of helpers, and each event has hundreds shepherding attendees to and from the venue. They are also present all over Paris in the streets. The easily identified volunteers, wearing bright purple vests, answer questions (in several different languages), hand out water and fans, and generally cheer people on.

The walk from the busses to the equestrian events at Versailles was about a half mile long and lined by enthusiastic volunteers wishing us a good day, playing music, encouraging dancing, and joking with the crowd. Special play areas for kids have been set up all over the city to let children try their hands at different sports. I watched several rounds of tiny fencers, complete with helmets and protective gear with sensors, being instructed by a fencing volunteer about the basics of the sport. Nearby was a three-foot-high basketball hoop, a ping-pong table, and uneven bars over a sea of mats.

France has had a sad history with terrorism, and safety at the Games is being taken very seriously. The presence of police, security, and army is unmissable at the venues and all through the city. Well-armed patrol units of the army are walking through neighborhood streets, making sure all is safe. Security is tight to enter any of the venues with bag checks and metal detectors. I might have imagined that this would feel oppressive, but, for me, it makes the Games feel more secure.

The details matter.

The level of thought and care that has gone into the logistics of the Games is amazing to see. There are event locations all over the city, and it can feel complicated for newcomers to the transport system to get around. Organizers have taken great care that it is easy to find venues. The standard chart of stops over the door of every metro car has been replaced with new ones that indicate the stops for the venues—all in the recognizable shade of Olympic pink used by these games.

Once you exit the metro car there are signs at every turn indicating the way to the place you need to get. I attended a field hockey match at a stadium slightly outside of town, which was a 15-minute walk from the train station through the streets of a suburb with several turns. This could have been complicated if it weren’t for the volunteers and the convenient pink stripe painted in the middle of the street to indicate the way.

If a bus is needed to ferry people from a station to an event that is slightly further away, it is seamless and organized. Even with an event of tens of thousands of people all leaving at the same time there was only a brief wait for a bus and very clear instructions to the busses and their destinations.

And yes, it is green.

I’ve visited many cities that have hulking buildings outside of the center, often moldering and choked with weeds, which were constructed to host prior Olympic events. Paris has gotten mixed reviews for choosing not to install air conditioning in the Olympic Village and providing cardboard beds with inflatable mattresses for the athletes, but hasn’t built any new structures to house the hundreds of different games. They’ve smartly used existing sports facilities, sometimes dramatically repurposing them, like building a temporary pool over a rugby field in a huge stadium to host swimming events. The beautiful equestrian venue was entirely temporary—the portable bleachers will come down at the end of the Games and the field will once again be grass.

It really is the world’s games.

My biggest takeaway from spending a week in Paris during the Olympics is the breathtaking array of nations, events, and languages around every turn. Walking down the street it’s easy to hear dozens of different languages and see fans carrying such a range of flags that it would challenge a geography student to identify them all.

Certain countries are clearly dominating the non-Olympic sport of what fans wear to events. The Dutch can be seen all over Paris wearing bright orange, a color that has been associated with the country since William of Orange led a revolt against the Spanish in the 16^th century. I went to a women’s field hockey event, which happened to be Belgium against Netherlands, an old rivalry. It was great fun to see tens of thousands of people wearing bright orange. A Dutch man told me that they take sports very seriously and will travel far and wide to support their teams.

I’ve loved how good natured and supportive the fans have been at the events I’ve been to, and the dozens of others attended by friends. At a Germany vs. China match, the mostly European crowd was clearly rooting for Germany, which was dominating. But when China made its first goal, the crowd erupted in cheers. The same was true in jumping. No matter what country was up, the crowd was respectfully silent, with collective gasps when a fence went down and cheers for every horse and rider crossing the finish line. My friends who attended some of the bigger events have said that the roar was deafening as the crowd supported athletes across many countries.

This week has felt like a little break from all the divisions in the world, a peek into a place where we are all just humans together, albeit a world in which some are capable of much greater physical feats than mere mortals.

February 25, 2024 In Best Of, Roam By Nancy

Roman Treasures

Rome is slightly over an hour away from us by fast train, but it always feels like an exotic vacation, even on the briefest trips. In the last month I’ve gone for two overnight stays and found some special treasures—perfect after you’ve experienced the heavy-hitters like the Vatican, Forum, Pantheon, and Colosseum.

The Appian Way

The Via Appia Antica is in the running as the oldest paved road in existence. Begun in 312 BC, it was the first of the Roman superhighways created to move troops and materials—in this case 360 miles from Rome via Naples to Brindisi, an important port town where the Romans bumped up against the Greeks, and an intimidating military presence came in handy.

The most well-preserved section of eleven miles runs through the Appia Antica Archaeological Park, the second largest urban park in Europe. You can get there in fifteen minutes by taxi from central Rome. As I walked along the road paved with large basalt stones, still held in place by an early use of limestone cement, and showing wear tracks from cart wheels, it was impossible not to be swept up in history and natural beauty. This place is simply chock full of interesting things—several catacombs; Roman villas; a tomb of the daughter-in-law of ancient Rome’s richest man, converted in the 1300s to a fortified castle; aqueducts; and flocks of sheep. It was clearly the place to make your mark in Roman times.

We walked for about an hour from the Tomb of Caecilia Metella to the Villa of the Quintilii and were surprised by a flock of sheep running across the road in front of us at top speed. Caecilia’s large, round tomb from 30-10 BC was later incorporated into a walled castle in the early 1300s that is now only a shell. It was fascinating to see what it must have looked like—aided by an excellent VR-tour, complete with helmets—which I had to admit I liked despite my initial skepticism.

Unfortunately, due to a ticketing system hiccup, we didn’t get into the Villa Quintilii, but now have something left to explore. The villa is so large that at first the archeologists believed they were finding a whole town, not a single residence.

The walk itself was stunning. It’s the kind of place where we walked past Seneca’s Tomb and didn’t notice because there were so many things to see—realized it only later when looking at a map. Part of what made this adventure so special was that we were off-season so it wasn’t crowded or hot. The light was stunning with the sun low in the sky. Attempting this in high summer when it’s scalding hot would not be fun.

We had lunch at the Hostaria Antica Roma, a quirky place where the chef has recreated several dishes from the first cookbook in existence, written 2,000 years ago. There are also places to rent bicycles—a great way to explore more of the archeological park—which is enormous.

Domus Romane di Palazzo Valentini

Back in Rome, and next to Trajan’s Column is the Domus Romane di Palazzo Valentini. Discovered in 2005, when work was being done on the 16th-century Palazzo Valentini, workers discovered a well-preserved house, street, and part of another house from 400 AD, buried from 16 to 23 feet under the palace. These were homes of the rich and powerful. The tour wanders through the private bathing complex of the house consisting of plunging pools of various temperatures, a swimming pool, reception rooms, and the family’s private staircase—many walls still decorated with polychrome marble and painted frescoes. A street that used to run outside the house, and some rooms from the house next door are clearly visible. You can also see how the foundations for the Palazzo were put right through the Roman floors below.

An earthquake in AD 538, and subsequent fire, seem to have partially destroyed the house. The scarred beams and earthquake cracks in the elaborate mosaic floors remain to tell the story.

Spaces for the tour are limited, so advanced booking is critical. An audio tour, in a range of languages, and projections on the walls of what the villa might have looked like help to bring this site to life. Morning tours are slightly longer and include an up-close look at Trajan’s Column.

Basilica di San Clemente

The ‘modern”church, from the before 1100, at the top layer of the archeological strata.

Almost in the shadow of the Colosseum is the Basilica of Saint Clement. The Basilica one sees today was built just before the year 1100, which is pretty amazing all by itself, but excavations revealed that the current structure was built on top of two older ones: a 4th-century basilica, and a 1st-century Roman home that housed a Mithraic temple, used for secret, early-Christian worship around 200 AD. I felt the layers of time as we climbed steep staircases down and down to the earliest structures, deep underground.

It’s moving to see these structures, still intact with their early-medieval wall paintings, columns and alters—as well as signs of earlier Republic buildings, like the Roman mint and an apartment block, separated by a street that’s clearly visible. At this period, the population of Rome was around 1,000,000 people so urban density was important. There were many five-story apartment buildings and multi-level houses for nobles.

This visit is less-structured than some of the others, and in some ways more intimate. We did book in advance (always critical), but because it was February, I was by myself on the lowest level—otherworldly and magical.

We had dinner at Hostaria Costanza, set into one tiny part of the massive walls of the Pompeo Theater, built in 61 BC. The setting would have been enough by itself, but the food was lovely, and the staff was smart, funny, and attentive. The kind of crew that noticed with amusement that as soon as we walked through the door Lola, our dog, found the location of the kitchen and was staring in that direction with her considerable focus and powers of persuasion.

And don’t forget to visit another of my favorite archeological treasures in Rome, Ostia Antica.

April 30, 2023 In Best Of, Roam By Nancy

Just go: Brescia

An unexpected visit to Brescia revealed a delightful town often overshadowed by its neighbors—Venice, Verona, Padua, and Milan—but packed with beauty, history, and great food.

We haven’t even hit May and yet friends are reporting epic crowds in all the usual suspects—Venice, Florence, Rome, Cinque Terre, Amalfi Coast… As special as all of these places are, when you can’t even walk down the Spanish Steps in Rome because there are too many people it takes all the pleasure away, at least to me. One of the joys of living in Italy is the seemingly limitless supply of beautiful and fascinating towns to visit that are still uncrowded—and we accidentally found one last weekend.

John and I are still trying to master the Italian medical system and when a friend suggested we check out a modern clinic in Brescia for some routine doctors’ appointments we decided to make a night of it. I knew almost nothing about Brescia except that it was one of the cities on the front line when Covid arrived in Italy in January 2020. Arriving with no expectations we couldn’t believe what we’d happened upon—a beautiful town filled with architectural gems, a history of diverse cultures, and some great food. Best of all, we heard almost no English and saw almost no tourists despite it being a UNESCO World Heritage site.

Brescia sits at the foot of the Alps, whose snow-covered peaks were visible, and close to Lake Garda and Lake Iseo. Although it is a city of 200,000 and surrounded by industry, the old town is compact and beautiful. We wandered around with no agenda and happened across one beautiful little piazza after another ringed by restaurants and bars serving aperitivi at outdoor tables.

What makes Brescia so fascinating is its layers of history. There are remnants of Bronze Age settlements, later the first part of the city was founded in 1200 BC by either the Etruscans or the Ligures people, then it was inhabited by the Celts, followed by the Romans, then the Visigoths and Attila the Hun, then the Lombards, on to Charlemagne and French rule, then the Venetians…and this only gets us caught up to 1512. These layers play together in intriguing ways.

On old Roman ruin incorporated into an apartment building

The ancient old town is surrounded by palazzos built in the Renaissance. For dinner we decided to go to Veleno, located in one of these palazzos built in the early 1700s. The food was a bit uneven, but the decor was stunning. There is even a Michelin-starred option in town.

Our morning stroll took us up to the castle and its extensive gardens, built on top of the Bronze Age settlement. As one of the largest castles in Italy it dominates the hill that overlooks the town. Then we wandered into a stunning piazza where two cathedrals were jammed next to each other next to a palazzo with a huge bell tower where the city’s offices are housed. The Duomo Vecchio (Old Cathedral) sits snug up against the Duomo Nuovo (New Cathedral), started in 1604. The Duomo Vecchio is a stunning example of a round Romanesque church dating from 1100, but my favorite part was going into the crypt and finding a complete tiny church from 762 with a forest of columns supporting the low ceiling.

At that point we were satiated but decided to push on and go to the Santa Giulia Museum, housed in a monastic complex of Longobard origin. In its 150,000 square feet the museum houses archeological finds from the Bronze Age on. But it’s not just about things in cases—there are two excavated Roman houses, the Longobard basilica of San Salvatore (8th century CE), the Choir of the Nuns (early 16th century) and the Romanesque Oratory of Santa Maria in Solario (12th century), where the nuns kept the monastery treasure, all skillfully incorporated into the museum.

Despite being spacey and hungry we had a reservation at the archeological park which is part of the huge museum complex and we were told by several people that we cannot be late. We go back outside and walked past a large Roman theater to meet our guide in front of the towering Roman Capitolium (73 CE).

Our guide assembled our group of twenty and took us down a staircase into a small room to watch a film for 5 minutes. This isn’t just about information—we were in an airlock where our germs and the humidity and temperature are being controlled before we can go into the next room which is a Roman sanctuary dating back to the early decades of the first century BCE with vibrantly-painted frescoes—some of the best preserved other than at Pompeii.

After we all have our fill we go back up and into the Capitolium where we again entered an airlock before we could see the Winged Victory, a bronze statue from the early years of the first century BCE, high on a pedestal in all her 6 foot 6 glory.

Lunch, a quick wander through a pristine Renaissance piazza, the Piazza della Loggia, the oddly beautiful Piazza della Vittoria, an Italian art-deco piazza created in the late 1920s, then home, exhausted but barely having scratched the surface of things to do.

Brescia is also home to the famous Mille Miglia vintage car race where some of the most rare antique cars in the world leave museums and are driven for 1,000 miles in Italy every year. Brescia and Bergamo are sharing Italy’s “capitals of culture” designation for 2023.

July 31, 2022 In Best Of, Roam By Nancy

Road trip in Europe

One graduating kid, one car, one dog, four countries, four languages, three seemingly endless tunnels, eleven different places to stay, three positive Covid tests, one quarantine—all in twenty-four days. What it is like to do a road trip in Europe. We were, as the Italians would say, in giro.

Or, the things my dog makes me do. We’ve done road trips in Europe before, instead of taking other modes of transportation, largely so that we could take Lola with us on vacation. Destinations have included Switzerland, Croatia, Corsica, Germany, and France, but this was our most ambitious road trip yet. Sebastian’s high school graduation outside of London in West Sussex, and a twice postponed Loire-valley chateau and canal boat rental in Burgundy with family from California, bookended the trip with plenty of time to explore in between.

The freedom to easily access different worlds is one of the things I like best about living in Italy. In California we’d go for long road trips but still end up, it felt like, not that far from where we started. To start adventuring as soon as possible I try to get further than northern Italy on the first leg, although it is a good five to six hour slog. On our first night out we pushed across the Swiss border to an area near Lake Maggiore called Ticino.

I’ve explored a lot of Switzerland but never this region. It has been strategically important for millenium as it’s the entry to the Gotthard pass, one of the routes over the Alps and into the main Swiss plain. The pass is grueling so Ticino is distinct from the rest of Switzerland. The language and food are Italian and it feels almost tropical, lush, and verdant. But the prices are unmistakably Swiss. Swiss prices have the same effect on the respiratory system as a plunge into the Baltic in winter. I reflexively check the exchange rate—surely 50 CHF for a pasta with tomato sauce and a 12 CHF bottle of water is more reasonable when converted to euros or dollars—nope. Nearly one to one for my currencies. Sometimes a 50 CHF plate of noodles with tomatoes is a $50 plate of noodles with tomatoes.

We stayed in a tiny town called Tegna which next to the Ponte Brolla gorge on the Maggia river, one of the rivers where water rushes down from the Alps to feed the Po River. From an elevated bridge the gorge looks like it has a pretty normal stream at the bottom until I realized that it was all supersized. When we walked down near the river what looked like small river rocks turned out to be immense boulders. It looked like giants had been playing games with rocks and had gotten called home for lunch mid rock skipping.

We left the relaxed, Italian-speaking region behind and headed through one of miracles of modern road building, the Gotthard tunnel. The first tunnel under the Gotthard was for trains and opened in 1882. Cars had to wait their turn until 1980 when the 11-mile long tunnel opened, the longest tunnel in the world at that time (it’s now the fifth longest). It turns out that eleven miles in a tunnel is a long time, not as bad as twenty-two minutes of a hypothetical Thanksgiving dinner between when an uncle declares his support for Qanon and when you can escape after dessert, but definitely longer than twenty-two minutes of most anything else. The first time that we drove through I didn’t know anything about the tunnel and remarked to the family after about five minutes in the dark that this was a really long tunnel. We were at about mile three at that point. It’s one lane in each direction and there can be quite a wait to get in, but we were lucky this time. I’ve done it now five times and each time I’ve been impressed by how respectful drivers are of this stretch of road. The speed limit is 30 miles per hour and drivers mostly obey, as well as leaving an abundant distance between cars.

And then you see light, and you are out, and in a different world. Soaring peaks with snow, and German road signs and food. We stopped for lunch with a friend who lives overlooking Lake Zurich and then decided to drive five hours into France to position ourselves well to make our all-important ticketed time on the Eurotunnel train with the car.

Google routed us along some stretches of the autoroute, but largely along country roads that followed through small towns and countryside, and around countless roundabouts. John recently read David Gilmour’s The Pursuit of Italy where Gilmour posits that the differences in Italy and France’s culture, history, and wealth may be partially due to geography. Italy has a mountain chain that runs its length north to south cutting off one part from another and has almost no navigable rivers. France, on the other hand, has mountains on its borders with most of the country being a fertile plain, and has many wide, deep, navigable rivers. This was dramatically apparent as we drove from Zurich into the Champagne region passing lush, fertile fields of crops and flowing water, so different from our Italian landscape.

We arrived for the night in a tiny village called L’Épine, the hotel chosen mainly as it was touted as very dog-friendly. When I mean a tiny village I know of what I speak. It makes our village look like a metropolis. But it does have the huge hulking Flamboyant-Gothic Basilica di Notre-Dame (yes, Flamboyant Gothic is a thing) in the middle of its three streets, one shop, and one restaurant. We walked around it after dinner when it was dark and misty and the three people who might have been out on the street during the day had left and it was like aliens had planted this thing in here. How could this place have ever created this?

The next day ended in Calais. Calais is the closest French town to England—the channel is a mere 21-miles wide here, so it has been a strategically-important port town pretty much forever. This geographic fate has hit it hard, most recently in WWII, where much of the town was bombed flat. We stayed in a sweet family-run Victorian B&B about a mile from the sea, and as we walked towards the shore the buildings abruptly changed to post-war architecture in every direction. The town was in the throes of Tour de France anticipation, with banners and signs everywhere, as the Tour was due to end Stage 4 in about a week.

The next morning was something I’d fretted about since we started planning the trip—Calais to Folkestone on the Eurotunnel. We arrived 90 minutes early for our ticketed time and pulled right up to the drive-through area of the Pet Welcome Center. A woman walked up and said “Nancy Raff? Is this Lola?” I was amazed—turns out our license plate was scanned on the approach and the records pulled up in advance. She checked Lola’s EU pet passport and I got to scan my dog, a first for me and Lola. All was cleared and we went to the automatic check in. I put in the reservation number and the screen said we were early for our train and would we like to change to the one 30 minutes earlier? Why, yes! We drove on to a parking lot with multiple lanes, like the staging area for a ferry. After about five minutes they started loading us. We drove down to the train and on to one of two levels. We got the top. You drive forward the length of the train until it is filled. Attendants urge you forward and make sure to leave enough room to close doors sealing off one train car from another. Five minutes later we were off. You can get out of your car but as there’s nowhere to go everybody just stays seated.

I am only a tiny bit claustrophobic, but these tunnels did cause me a few moments of careful thought. I am not sure which I found more intimidating, to be deep under a mountain in the Alps or under all the water of the English Channel. Thirty minutes in the dark to ponder various ways of dying, then we arrive in Folkestone and drive off the train. Easy. And yet a whole other world in a matter of minutes.

Next week, Part 2. The son graduates and the Plague hits.

Resources:

Ticino area, Switzerland: our inn, Boato Bistrot & Bed, was clean and simple but I wouldn’t really recommend it. One of those places where the photos on the site were so much better that you wonder if you’ve arrived at the right place. We passed a restaurant on our walk, Da Enzo, that looked very much worth a visit—and it is right on the edge of the gorge. I’m actively looking for recommendations for this area from readers who use this route often.

L’Épine, France: Aux Armes de Champagne, comfortable stop right next to the basilica, although modern in its restoration. Good restaurant too with an impressive chariot of cheeses. Very dog friendly and seems to be a popular stop with the British vacation diaspora. Convenient for exploring the Champagne region.

Calais, France: We looked hard to find something with some charm in very post-war Calais and found it at the quirky and simple Les Secrets des Loges, a bed and breakfast in old Victorian house overlooking the theater. The best part was the lovely family who ran it along with their four cats. One downside was very thin walls.

December 29, 2021 In Best Of, Roam By Nancy

Little treasures of 2021

Here are some of my favorite adventures and discoveries of the year. If you’ve stuck with me this long you know that as much as I love an over-the-top Relais & Chateaux-type joint I find even more delight in small places that may be a little rough around the edges, but are one of a kind. A couple from this year have stuck in my mind with such fondness that I figured you have to know about them.

Greater Bologna

The photo above is from Ca’ Lo Spicchio, a house from the 1500s in the mountains about 45 minutes away from both Bologna and Modena that offers one room for rent. It’s almost impossible to find, but worth the drive down one-lane unpaved mountain roads, except when Google Maps is insistent that you turn up a goat path. Run by a retired advertising executive and his fashion-industry partner every detail is thought through and done with an attentive eye, from the building restoration to the guest room touches. Their home also includes two dogs, seven cats, two horses, chickens who are the focus of attention from the fox they befriend, and one of the best situated pools I’ve seen. The guest suite has a bed and lounge up more of a ladder than staircase located above the living room with a big fireplace and wood-burning stove. Definitionally cozy.

The Truffle Hunters

One of my favorite films of the year, The Truffle Hunters is a documentary with intelligence, heart, a poetic eye, and humor, beloved at Sundance and Cannes. It’s a breath of fresh air —not one cliched drone shot—with every frame filled with creativity. I laughed out loud several times the first time I saw it as each new scene was a surprising delight, and I could feel the fun the filmmakers had creating it. The film follows a men hunting white truffles in Piedmont, Italy—a notoriously closed and suspicious group who somehow opened up to these two American filmmakers, Michael Dweck and Gregory Kershaw—who shot the documentary over three years. Dweck and Kershaw were able to capture the men’s trials and joy, as well as the cutthroat, competitive world of selling and marketing this high-priced delicacy when supplies are dwindling due to climate change and competition. It embodies so much of what I love about Italy, and the Italians, and I hope you get as much joy and inspiration from it as I did.

Tivoli

On a trip to pick up Sebastian at the Rome airport we spent a night in the small town of Tivoli, which is more car-friendly than driving into the center of Rome. What started out as a night of convenience turned into love. Tivoli is the nearest town to two of greater Rome’s heavy-hitting sites—Hadrian’s Villa and Villa d’Este—but it turned out to be charming in its own right. The modern outskirts that you spiral around to reach the historical center on a plateau are not promising, but once you get to the old town it has that mix that I love—real, working, a little dingy, and bursting with life.

At night we walked Lola down a dark, narrow medieval street when from behind a shuttered second floor window we heard “Alexa, spegni la luce” (“Alexa, turn off the light”). Perfect moment.

We stayed at the Residenze Gregoriane, which is part of a palace from the 1500s. It has only three rooms, decorated in an older Italian aesthetic, and serves breakfast in a perfect courtyard adorned by frescoes and mosaics created by some of the same artisans who worked on the Villa d’Este. The family who runs it is one of warmest and most welcoming we’ve run across, which is saying a lot in Italy.

We visited Hadrian’s Villa on a very hot day and we lost our breath in more than one way. Another visit is in the cards during the cooler months. Built between 118 and 138 AD the ruins of this single palace are extensive and gorgeous. It has been revered since Renaissance times and I had one of those moments, which I occasionally get in a Roman ruin, where I am overcome with the sophistication, beauty, and grace of the lives of the elite Romans. This architecture had a goal of impressing visitors, no doubt, but it transcends its “look how rich and powerful I am” mission into something profoundly pleasing. Which many of other such palaces don’t. Looking at you, Forbidden City.

Also near, and somewhere I am excited to visit, is the Villa d’Este, started in 1560. A masterpiece of Italian garden design, it’s known for its fountains, including one that is an organ fueled by water.

Tivoli is a great base for those seeking a deeper experience of Rome beyond the main sites in the center. Close by is also the Temple of the Vestal Virgins, among the other UNESCO sites.

Maremma

This part of Tuscany, bordering the Tyrrhenian Sea, is not very well-known. On the mainland there are many Etruscan sites and gorgeous beaches. Just off the coast are the islands of the Tuscan archipelago. We went for an a couple of nights to the Hotel Torre Mozza, with seven rooms. Our room was in the 16th-century watchtower that juts into the Mediterranean and had a door cut through the thick defensive walls opening over the waves.

The island of Elba is a short ferry ride away from Piombino. I had spent several days on the island a couple years ago, but this trip we just went over to the island for memorable lunch on a small square at the Trattoria Moderna di Matteo in the tiny town of Capoliveri.

“Ancora Tu” by Lucio Battisti

Sebastian introduced me to this Italian mega-hit from 1976, “Ancora Tu” (“You Again”), from one of Italy’s biggest musical stars of the 1960s and 70s, Lucio Battisti. I just love the poignant way it captures the magic of a familiar love.

You again, it doesn’t surprise me, you know. / Ancora tu, non mi sorprende lo sai.

You again, but, weren’t we supposed to not see each other any more? / Ancora tu, ma non dovevamo vederci più?

And, how are you? Useless question. / E come stai. Domanda inutile.

You’re like me, and we can’t help but laugh. / Stai come me, e ci scappa da ridere.

My love, have you eaten or not? / Amore mio, hai già mangiato o no?

I, too, am hungry and not only of you. / Ho fame anch’io e non soltanto di te.

How beautiful you are, you seem younger / Che bella sei, sembri più giovane

or perhaps you’re just nicer. / o forse sei solo più simpatica.

Oh, I know what you want to know. / Oh io lo so cosa tu vuoi sapere.

No one, no, I just restarted to smoke. / Nessuna no, ho solo ripreso a fumare.

It is still you, unfortunately the only one. / Sei ancora tu, purtroppo l’unica.

Still you, the incorrigible one. / Ancora tu, l’incorregibile.

But to leave you is not possible. / Ma lasciarti non è possibile.

No, to leave you is not possible. / No, lasciarti non è possibile.

To leave you is not possible. / Lasciarti non è possibile.

No, to leave you is not possible. / No, lasciarti non è possibile.

It is still you, unfortunately the only one. / Sei ancora tu, purtroppo l’unica.

It is still you, the incorrigible one. / Ancora tu, l’incorregibile.

But to leave you is not possible. / Ma lasciarti non è possibile.

No, to leave you is not possible. / No, lasciarti non è possibile.

To leave you is not possible. / Lasciarti non è possibile.

No, to leave you is not possible./ No, lasciarti non è possibile.

Desperation, joy of mine, / Disperazione, gioia mia.

I’ll be still yours, hoping it’s not madness. / Sarò ancora tuo, sperando che non sia follia.

But, let it be what will be. / Ma sia quel che sia.

Hold me, my love, / Abbracciami amore mio,

hold me, my love, / abbracciami amor mio,

‘cause now I want it too. / Ché adesso lo voglio anch’io.

You again, it doesn’t surprise me, you know. / Ancora tu, non mi sorprende lo sai.

You again, but, weren’t we supposed to not see each other any more? / Ancora tu, ma non dovevamo vederci più?

And, how are you? Useless question. / E come stai? Domanda inutile.

You’re like me, and we can’t help but laugh. / Stai come me, e ci scappa da ridere.

My love, have you eaten or not? / Amore mio, hai già mangiato o no?

I, too, am hungry and not only of you. / Ho fame anch’io e non soltanto di te.

How beautiful you are, you seem younger / Che bella sei, sembri più giovane

or perhaps you’re just nicer. / o forse sei solo più simpatica.

Il cantautore italiano Lucio Battisti 1969

October 3, 2021 In Best Of, Roam By Nancy

On the road again

The Second Annual French Road Trip—also known as The Paris Haircut Trip—concluded recently. This time John was with me and I wanted to share with him the sites of the discoveries and adventures I had last year, including the Mt. Blanc helicopter rescue, the mountain top with grazing cows and the hut that makes and sells fontina cheese, and one of my favorite hotels in the world—as quirky and a bit odd-smelling as it happens to be. If you’d asked me last year if Covid was going to be equally on my mind in twelve months time I would have seriously doubted it. Sad to still be going around in masks and in fear, but I thought you might be interested to know what it’s like to travel in France and Italy at the moment.

American readers might have missed that both countries have instituted a Green Pass system, a QR code-based golden ticket that documents your vaccine status, Covid antibodies, and test results. In both countries you need to show you are vaccinated, have antibodies, or a negative test within the last 48 hours to eat at any restaurant, go in a museum, theater, gym, indoor pool, attend a conference or event, take a high speed train, and more. The pass makes travel within the EU much easier too. In Italy, Prime Minister Draghi has gone all-in and required that all public and private employees have the vaccine to stay employed. And in France, your Green Pass is checked even sitting outdoors at cafes and restaurants. There have been a few sputtering protests in both countries but the measures have been very popular. And looking at the data it is easy to see why.

Recent Covid case trends: France on the left and Italy on the right

The peaks and falls in the fourth wave coincide with the widespread use of the Green Pass, and the resulting surge in vaccination rates. And it’s not just about new cases, yesterday it was announced that the proportion of Italy’s intensive care places occupied by Covid sufferers was down to 5.1%.

On our travels through northern Italy, the Alps, Burgundy, and Paris people were being remarkably careful. In addition to the Green Pass being checked without exception people were all masked indoors, and pretty universally with N95 masks now, not the flimsy little surgical ones or cloth. On the Paris metro we didn’t see one person unmasked. Testing is easy; Paris has tents on the sidewalk every few blocks where you can drop in and get a free test with results in a couple of hours (nonresidents pay $35), Italy has Covid tests widely available at pharmacies for about $25. The big question to me is about indoor dining at restaurants, which were packed everywhere we went (at this point we are only eating outdoors). I was surprised to see how popular sitting indoors was, given how often Covid is spread in such settings—certainly cut down by the Green Pass requirements, but still a lottery with the Delta variant.

We decided to go to London on the Eurostar for less than 24-hours to see Donella’s new flat and meet her puppy, Nora. Although the paperwork and requirements to get into England were epic, once we got off the train we were in a different world. No checking of Covid status at restaurants, lots of unmasked people everywhere, even on the Tube, and packed restaurants.

We spent a couple of days in Beaune, France this trip, in the heart of Burgundy. It was a town we’d been to years ago, and it was fun getting to know it a bit better. Driving in we passed a store that looked intriguing so we doubled back to go in and found a gem. With two small windows facing the street, a narrow room lined with wine, and things like sets of antique meat cleavers and copper pots artfully displayed on a center table it was a little hard to determine what it actually was selling. Turns out, quite a mix. It’s called The Cook’s Atelier and is a family-run cooking school, shop, and wine store. Started by a woman from Phoenix, Marjorie Taylor, and her daughter, Kendall Smith Franchini, whose French husband gave us some excellent advice about wines, the place intrigued me. Everything was carefully curated and had a story, and the shop and cooking school is in a 17th-century building with a lovely carved staircase. They ship internationally and have a beautiful cookbook of favorites from the cooking school that I bought and am enjoying.

Gorgeous photo from The Cook’s Atelier website.

One night I poured through the cookbook to find any special things that I needed to be on the lookout for the next day at the Saturday farmers market. This is a truly lovely French farmers market with lots of very small stands selling just a few exquisite things. One stand was full of different squashes and I remembered a recipe for a squash soup from the cookbook so lugged two large Potimarron squashes around in my market bag along with 8 jars of unlabeled but glorious looking raspberry and strawberry jam, a bunch of cheese, some figs and plums, and mushrooms. These all got carefully packed into the car for the return trip. After we got back to Italy I was shopping at our unexciting local grocery store and I spotted the Same Damn Squash, but now called a Zucca Hokkaido.

I made the soup, with the French squash thank you very much, and I’m quite sure it spoke with a more delicate and nuanced Gallic accent. Anyway it was delicious.

We visited the Hospices de Beaune, a hospital for the poor founded in 1443 by Nicolas Rolin and his wife Guigone de Salins, who in additional to funding the hospital bequeathed some prime vineyards in Burgundy to the hospital. They have an auction every fall where they sell the young wine in bulk. It is the most important wine auction in Burgundy and an indicator of how that year’s wine will be valued. In the 1970s the hospital relocated to a modern structure at the outskirts of town.

Hospices de Beaune

We happened to be staying with friends in Paris who live very near the L’Arc de Triomphe so we got to watch the Christo and Jeanne-Claude project wrapping the monument being installed and finished. It was fascinating to see it come together during dog walks and watch the workers rappelling off the top of the monument.

L'Arc de Triomphe Chriso wrapped

The other highlight was a chance decision to duck back into the Romanesque (and oldest in Paris) church at St. Germain-des-Pres which has been glowing from its recent cleaning and restoration. I want every single pattern and every single color in my life every single day.

church St. Germain-des-Pres

One thing I love about doing this trip is the excuse to stop in Italian cities we wouldn’t normally visit. We stayed in Parma on the outbound and Turin on the way back, both beautiful, walkable, and with a surprising thing to see in Italian cities—a wide age demographic.

Turin after a storm

Treasures we discovered, or rediscovered along the way…carefully edited. This is only the good stuff in case any of it ever comes in handy.

—Lovely wine bar, Croce di Malta Caffe and Cucina Vini in Parma on a cute courtyard. We had a really good starter on fresh focaccia, ricotta, and Parma ham. Ah yes, the ham. A 30-month Prosciutto Crudo di Parma Sant’Ilario.

— In the Val d’Aosta, the valley in Italy that butts up against Mt. Blanc, we returned to stay at the Maison de Saxe in Courmayeur and this time snagged the room with the balcony nestled among the massive roof tiles in the 17th-century hamlet and a view of Mt. Blanc.

Maison de la Saxe room balcony with Mt. Blanc view

— On the way up to Courmayeur we stopped in Aosta and had a lovely lunch in a courtyard at a little restaurant called Stefenelli Desk. Interesting, refined, and delicious menu.

— Over to the French side we stayed at two places in Burgundy, Chateau du Saulon, and of course John had to stay at the Chateau d’Island with me, which is the subject of a past Itch.

— In Beaune, on our return, we stayed in a lovely hotel inside the town walls for two nights, Les Remparts.

And, oh yes, the hair. Thanks to the ever-masterful David Mallett who makes it worth the trip.

Now my glam trip is over and I am back to mowing.

One more gratuitous shot from Chamonix of Mt. Blanc cause it’s so Wes Anderson.

Chamonix

September 5, 2021 In Best Of, Roam By Nancy

Are some places cursed?

We had to ask ourselves this question about a bucolic, beautiful, tiny island in the Stockholm archipelago, Rödlöga, four hours by ferry from the capital. The reason we’d even asked ourselves this question is because a friend, the inimitable Meg Ray, baker extraordinaire, author, and founder of Miette bakeries in the San Francisco area, loves this island and she’s run a small cafe on it for a few weeks every summer for five years. In a cafe with no running water, indoor plumbing, or electricity she is able to work magic with a generator to power a clunky oven and convert Baltic sea water for kitchen use. She loves this place so much that last summer during the uncertainty of Covid travel restrictions she rode her electric bike from Paris, where she lives half the year, to Stockholm as to not miss a summer at the cafe.

So we had to find out more and planned a trip with a couple of friends to visit and film in June. Even in the planning stages odd things began to happen. One of the crew that our director friend had booked stopped returning phone calls and never surfaced again—a first for all of us with years of production experience. Another crew member pulled out at the last minute; a friend who was going to come found out her Italian visa had expired, and if that wasn’t enough, fell off a rock wall onto a rock staircase and had to go to the hospital for stitches on her face. A friend’s child had a school crisis that almost derailed the June trip, and ultimately we had a health emergency that precluded any travel for John and me.

Despite all of this a brave skeleton crew persevered with the June trip, including Donella, and they had a complete immersion into the Swedish island summer lifestyle. Donella ended up loving it so much that she stayed for the rest of the summer to bake in the cafe with Meg, so in late August we were quite confident that the curse had lifted and it was safe to proceed with a trip. We ignored that one of the chefs had just been thrown off the island, almost literally, for outhouse misuse—”You and your stuff will be on the 4:30 ferry or all with be thrown into the sea.” And that Balthazar, the commercial oven, broke down and needed a hard-to-get part, leaving the crew to bake in the few private ovens around the island. And that a staff member had a mental health crisis and needed to leave the island.

But still believing in rationality over curses John and I landed in Stockholm, a city of water, bridges, islands, inlets, ferries, and boats. We checked into the lovely Hotel Lyd ma r, directly across the street from the ferry to Rödlöga. The next morning we boarded the Sjogull, or Seagull, which was the cutest ferry I’ve ever been on, complete with potted plants on the tables. Islands unfolded as far as the eye can see, reflected in the calm Baltic, with larger and more formal Swedish summer homes giving way to smaller cabins the further we got from Stockholm. Two colors dominated, the now-protected shade of Swedish red, which originally was a stain created from the remnants of iron mining, and a golden shade of yellow, which was a color used by the wealthier families who had gold mines and could use the runoff as a paint stain. Common to all were the small, individually-built sauna buildings located to make the jump into the cold Baltic a short step away from the sauna—tiny, doll-house like echoes of the larger houses they were paired with. Here the Baltic is so far inland and distant from the ocean that it’s half salt and half fresh water and there are no tides, so buildings are only a foot or so above water level, making for an intimate relationship between the buildings and the sea.

The archipelago numbers somewhere around 25,000 islands. I asked a few Swedes what counted as an island—when we were on the ferry we saw rocks barely breaking the surface with only room for a couple of seagulls to large inhabitable islands—but no one I asked was certain of the definition. Although undefinable in number the islands are undeniable in beauty. The rock formations are smooth and undulous. The glaciers shaped this landscape, which is still rebounding from the weight of the ice; the elevation raises by three millimeters every year. Something about the newness of the landscape, which only emerged in today’s recognizable form during the time of the Vikings, feels otherworldly and distinct to this part of the world, like the glaciers have only recently retreated.

The ferry pulled into Rödlöga and our suitcases were loaded in a wheelbarrow, the only way to move things around the island. Rödlöga is inhabited for six to eight weeks during the summer months by Swedish families, many of whom have been coming here to family houses for generations. There are about a hundred houses scattered across the island, some located on nearby small islands accessible only by private boat. The tiny harbor with its circle of red wooden houses and buildings and large boulders was gorgeous.

Rodloga Sweden

It had been misting and we were instructed about how to walk across the glistening, perfectly smooth large granite formations which were as slippery as ice. Our red wooden guest house was the size of a shed, with twin beds head-to-head. Water for washing and drinking was pumped from a green hand pump in the yard. The lengthy instructions for the outhouse were intimidating. Let’s just say that liquids and solids go in different places and must never meet. Not taking this seriously is what had caused the chef to be cast off the island. Any bathing during our visit would need to happen in the Baltic. Poisonous snakes and ticks were rumored to outnumber the people and were taken seriously as Lyme disease was prevalent.

Meg was drawn to the island because she relishes a challenge. She wanted to take this rough gem and with the help of the locals—including a long history of the island teens working at the cafe—marry traditional Swedish cuisine and baking with her experience and creativity. When on the island Meg lives in a tiny cabin about a ten-minute walk from the café and when she walks to work at 4 a.m., in broad daylight, through the trees and along the water she tries to get a sense for the weather to determine if the ferry will be crowded and how many people will be arriving on sailboats for lunch to plan for how much bread and food they need to make.

Donella’s cabin next to the sea

Watching Meg and Donella at work was like seeing a dance unfold. The two of them working almost wordlessly with Edith Piaf’s “Je Ne Regrette Rien” blasting on the speakers, simultaneously making multiple delicious things based on their drawers full of sourdough starters: Doughrien Greg, the rye starter; Tillsbury Doughgirl, or Tilly, for walnut and raisin bread; Hank The Farmer, used for a simple milk bread; and Love for the cardamom buns. The baking was fueled by strong coffee, seemingly the national drink of Sweden. On Meg’s first year on the island the coffee machine broke and she had to figure out how to rig up a new one using gravity and water heated by the sun.

Some of Meg and Donella’s creations

Meg has fallen in love with fermentation and Sweden is a good place to explore it. She’s been experimenting in new types of sourdough as well as pickled vegetables, kombucha coffee, and fermented ginger beer. With such a short growing season the Swedes had to master food storage to survive the long winters, going back to ancient times. Remains of fermented fish stored in an early Mesolithic settlement in eastern Sweden that date from 9200 years ago were recently found, according to the Journal of Archaeological Science—the oldest fermented food yet discovered. Today, Sweden offers sourdough hotels for bread-baking travelers to drop off their sourdough starters to be fed while they are out of town. One is conveniently located in Stockholm’s Arlanda airport.

We got invited to go out on a 1930s wooden boat with the photographer shooting Meg’s cookbook, Tomas Södergren, which revealed the island to be even more beautiful by water.

Settled into our red cabin and watching our daughter work while we idled we assumed all was good, but before we were able to eat our first cinnamon bun the curse continued. Meg revealed that she’d been having nerve pain in both arms and that her fingers were getting numb. The nurse on the island insisted that the medical helicopter come and take her to the hospital to be checked out, and as she’d recently had a tick bite and had had Covid in the winter, there were a lot of possibilities for what could be causing her symptoms. She arrived at a small local hospital by helicopter in the evening and at 2 a.m., after they determined she wasn’t dying immediately, the doctor told her she had to leave despite the fact there were no hotels open and she knew no one. She successfully pleaded for a morning release, we went to work finding her somewhere to stay on the mainland as she was in excruciating pain, and we set to work trying to pack things up on the island as it was clear she wasn’t going to be able to come back to finish up the remaining week that the cafe was scheduled to be open.

This is where I wish I could say the island banded together to help and support Meg but sometimes things in tiny towns get complicated. Usually when someone wants to improve somethings there’s a group that prefers the old ways, and they came out in force, voicing in equal parts that store-bought bread had always been just fine and frustration that Meg wouldn’t be there for the final week or so of the season to continue to bake fresh bread and pastries. It got uncomfortable enough that we were all delighted to board the ferry back to Stockholm, complete with all Meg’s bags.

Meg is now back in the California working on finishing her cookbook about her experiences in Sweden and trying to solve her medical mystery.

A few finds from Stockholm that were a highlight of our trip—two nursery and garden centers with lovely restaurants featuring produce grown on site, Rosendals Trädgård and Ulriksdal Trädgårdscafé. We stayed at the Hotel Nofo which was lovely.

And we now believe in curses.

July 11, 2021 In Best Of, Roam By Nancy

Venice discoveries

I love Venice but I’ve always hated the area around the Rialto Bridge. It’s too crowded, usually hot, and lined with the kind of restaurants where they try to lure you in as you walk by waving menus in English coated with plastic. My preferred neighborhood, Dorsoduro, feels more local and I’ve shared my favorite haunts here. But when we decided to go to Venice recently for John’s birthday to take advantage of the lack of crowds, we booked a hotel a friend had recommended that was smack dab in the middle of the Rialto Bridge area and we discovered a couple of gems.

The Hotel al Ponte Antico is a restored palazzo right on the Grand Canal next to Rialto Bridge. We went a little nuts for John’s birthday and booked their Junior Suite with Patio with glass doors that opened onto a private quai on the Grand Canal. No railings, no separation, just the traffic and trade of the canal passing by at eye level. The main photo above is the table outside our room. They also have a memorable porch for breakfast and aperitivi. No long lens in this shot—Rialto really is that close. The hotel has less than 10 rooms so it is lovely and intimate. We were lucky enough to have had the whole place to ourselves.

al Ponte Antico venice

The restoration from a nearly empty shell took years and unleashed all the monkeys in the zoo at the Venetian Planning Department. The two brothers who own the hotel were completely hands-on during the restoration and were joined daily by at least one Venetian official who watched over everything. One day they were painting the exterior wood trim of a multi-paned glass door overlooking the Grand Canal a certain city-approved shade of brown with a hint of red. On the inside the owner asked the painter to mix in a touch more of the red which they applied as a test to a small section of the door. The planning official then stopped work because the color had too much red. They offered to paint it over immediately with the approved color they were applying outside but the damage had already been done. All work on site was halted for two weeks and they had to pay a penalty. He recently received a certified letter saying that he must report to jail for the offense. This he shrugged off saying that the jail sentence would be reversed with yet another fee.

Good food in Venice is hard to find as so many restaurants are geared to tourists. We found Ai Mercanti in a tiny, nearly impossible to find square that offers innovative, local, and delicious food. And we discovered that even a stone’s throw away from the main tourist thoroughfares this area of Venice has its share of locals, quiet streets, and hauntingly beautiful canals.

The islands are always fun to explore and easy to access via the Vaporetto line 1. We headed out to Burano, nestled next to Torcello. Burano is a fishing village famous for its brightly painted houses and lace. The houses were even more vibrant in color than what I was expecting and a visual delight.

But what really made the trip special was a destination lunch at Venissa, which is on a tiny adjoining island accessible by footbridge. Venissa has a Michelin star and a large garden where they grow their own grapes for an acclaimed white wine. We ate next door to the one-star at their more casual Osteria Contemporanea.

Venissa Burano Venice

The tasting menu was diverse and delicious but most interesting were the paired wines—all whites— which were unusual and lovely. We’ve ended up tracking several down to have at home. Two of the four were from a small winery near Padova, Maeli, who takes advantage of their highly volcanic soil to produce some interesting sparkling wines featuring yellow Muscat grapes. We had their Dila Sparkling Wine and their Diloro Fior D’Arancio dessert wine—both fabulous—and I saw that they are available at a couple of US retailers. Maeli is headed by a woman winemaker, Elisa Dilavanzo, as is one of the other whites we loved, Arianna Occhipinti’s SP68 Bianco, from Sicily. Venissa has a small hotel and offers cooking and wine courses.

Venissa Burano Venice