Positano = Paradise

In case you thought that I may have died and gone to heaven, I sort of did, just not in that order.

Waking up in Positano some days, is like looking out to paradise.  

Just to let you know, I’m still here. Always in awe. xxx

Fire in Positano

I wake to an unearthly yellow light and the throb of a chopper overhead. Sunlight is lost to a haze in the air, and an acrid smell of smoke clings to the washing hung out overnight. Ashes scatter as I throw open the terrace doors and a Canadair plane swoops low over our house to the water where it scoops from the sea with it’s gigantic belly. A second one thunders past at an angle, fast on the tail of the first one. It is so close that I can see the pilot. The sound similar to air raids in a war-torn country is deafening and continues all day, unremittingly  until dusk.

Today is the third day of a devastating mountain fire over the mountains of Positano. A fire which has destroyed the best part of the mountain’s pine forest and a loved walk of the Positanesi.

The fire started two nights ago in the hills above Chiesa Nuova, just before dusk, as always. The first flames were visible from our home.

Helicopters were on the scene straight away dipping at Fornillo but had to stop in the dark.

Volunteers worked all night against the fire which fanned in the timber dry area until it had spread in an ever widening circle to include Montepertuso and the Monte Faito mountain in the Gulf of Sorrento.

When we set out in the morning in our boat the mountains looked like this, with pockets of fire scattered wide.

On our return in the afternoon, I was there in time to witness the helicopter’s release of a  bucket of water over the forest beneath the mountain hole at Montepertuso. The scene was nightmarish. Blackened mountain as far as I could see.

If only tears could drench the flames.

Sunday In Positano

 

It is early morning. The rustle of sheets gently nudges me out of my dream. But it is only the swell of sea breathing softly against the shoreline.

As always I wake from one dream to another.

I look towards Fornillo Beach and have to make the decision of whether to go for an early swim in the transparent waters and brave the climb of steep stairs returning at 11.00 or climb the mountain in the other direction to buy food and stop at the Bar Internazionale for a coffee and chat.

 

 

Rather than sit on the beach all day in the hot sun, I prefer to stay at home and watch the others swim from the shade of my terrace.

But today it is Sunday.

I have ironing to do in preparation for a week’s holiday in Ischia to celebrate our Silver Wedding Anniversary.

But with this view from my window and Ingrid Michaelson singing in the background, that’s not such a bad thing…

For a post on What I Love about Living in Italy, visit An Italophile.

Buona domenica to you all!

The Dark Side of Positano

Getting down the stairs at night was an enterprise.
Blinking lights like an airport runway, turned on and off repeatedly only to reappear millimetres from where we were about to place our foot next. Each of our steps was a hovering indecision, a crucial life or death situation for the magical creatures lining the path.
Slowly we made our way back to our home, fireflies dancing at our feet.
Hundreds of them, as brash as could be, lit our stairs leading to the gardens of Fornillo below our home. They clung to the stucco walls, flittered towards the street light and rested, dozens on each  step, a moment or two before changing position.
Leaning over the balustrade on the terrace, we watched enchanted as the fairies of the insect world waltzed in the lemon groves at our feet, the tall grass fleetingly masking the light and making it reappear at a distance. They rose and dipped in the terraced gardens, pockets forming in the corners only to dissipate just as quickly.
Are you there my love?
The romance of the situation was not lost on me.
The Amalfi Coast known best for the sweeping views and its natural coastline, transforms into a beguiling woman at night.
Its mysterious shadows envelope a constellation of tiny lights along the coastline. Its curves reflect the lights of the small towns.  Its sea is always in sweet song and dotted with fisherman’s boats on the horizon.  When in full moon, this lady of the night makes a dramatic entrance, red and impossibly grand over the edge of the mountain.  Its mesmerizing moonlight grazes the surface of the sea with an elegant liquid silver.
If I were a firefly, it would be here that I would dance.


Late April, the days warmed by the sunshine and the nights cooled by its shadow, are the best time to see the dance of the fireflies in Positano. The abandoned gardens in Fornillo are a haven for the ecosystem of the Coast and these insects are replaced in summer by the tiny bats, owls and less appreciable blood sucking creatures called mosquitoes.

The Gift. Italian generosity and the Positano hearts.

I was in the kitchen and I discerned the thud of a soft tread of footsteps running down the stairs past my window. Not having heard the wrought iron gate clank on opening, I was sure it would be someone familiar with the house. As I pulled the ancient front door open, a bundle of leaves appeared round the corner of the stone wall and our gardener followed them to the landing. He was holding a big bunch of orange blossom. “I’ve just been pruning the neighbours trees” he said, “and I thought ‘La Signora’(me) might like them.”

This was not the first time we’d been offered an unexpected gift from him. Often I’d get phone calls saying to send my son up to the Grotta di Fornillo to pick up something he’d freshly picked from his garden in Montepertuso. He’d arrive at the Grotta on his Vespa, with a big box or large bag of tomatoes, strings of onions, peppers, white eggplants and entire plants of basil all tucked between his legs.

For in Positano and probably in Italy in general, one of the most appreciated and loving gifts involves home grown, home bottled or (in Positano’s case) freshly fished food.

Our favourite car service, long since become friends of the family, drops off pastiera, homemade struffoli and whoppers of tomatoes from their garden when passing through town.

Over the years, fresh local fish like tontani or palamito (great with pasta); local artisanal panettone and home-baked cakes; crisp string beans; colourful fresh borlotti beans; sweet peppers; homemade limoncello and other liquors; the most tender home bottled tuna and mixed giardiniera; jams; fresh eggs and delicious dried figs stuffed with chocolate and walnuts then soaked in sherry have also featured frequently in offerings from other locals.

I’ve even received handmade Positano soaps from Saponissmo made from local ingredients. And I’m sure I’ve left things out.

There is a whole nurturing relationship between Italians and their food. It has to be locally produced and the simplest to present at the table. Zero miles to get from the garden to the plate. Prepared lovingly, each meal is savoured, discussed and complimented, with suggestions for later preparations and improvements. It’s no wonder that this exchange of homemade or home grown gifts is so appreciated in Italy and that Italian hospitality almost always involves a meal, or coffee with a food offering.

My Italian grandmother used to say ‘mangia, mangia!’to me every night at the dinner table, and when an Italian to tells you to eat, they mean it as a gift of love. 

So I thank you Positano, for your generous gifts of welcome to this beautiful town. And prego, have some oranges!

 

This post is part of the Italy Blogging Roundtable’s invitation to post on this topic.

The roundtable blogs include: ArtTrav, At Home in Tuscany, Italylogue, Italofile and Brigolante.

Thank you for inviting me.

What to expect when you are expecting …to get your licence on the Amalfi Coast.

 

I put down my book. I’d barely read a page. It was high summer and the cool winds were blowing hard. Distracted by the view, I got up and watched bathers hold on to dear life as the orange umbrellas fought to free themselves and wheel across the beach. My son approached and I asked how him the studying was going.

The two full days he’d spent reading a small book and doing online quizzes was not related to school or their degrees but was simply only for the written part of a driving licence test.

Sitting for your licence in Italy has nothing to do with the laws of driving in the rest of Europe.The written test, now a multiple choice on the computer, is darn difficult with very technical questions many of which you will never have any use for (unless you are going to build a road or drive a truck) alternated with bizarre ones which only the very dumbest wouldn’t know.

Based on my two kid’s real experiences, I have prepared a how to guide to getting a licence in Sorrento.

 

What to expect when you are expecting to learn to drive in Sorrento:

1. Leave Positano one and a half hours earlier than the lesson, being sure to walk all the way to the first Sponda bus stop rather than Chiesa Nuova (which is twenty minutes closer) to increase your chances of actually getting on the Sita bus. Pay no attention to the crowd of harassed-looking tourists there before you. You have a purpose to the ride.
2. After sitting in two hours of lessons, watch the bus for Positano leaving around the corner just as you get to the stop. Wait 40minutes for the next one getting home at 10pm. Repeat twice weekly for two and a half weeks then give up.
3. Book the theory test so you can get your ‘Foglio Rosa’ and actually get behind the wheel. Three days before the test, open the book and start cramming like mad (university style), exclaiming loudly on the ridiculous things that they expect you to know before you get a licence. Start panicking when you don’t pass the online tests. Alternate reading the book right to the very end and sitting tests online until you start to pass (after approximately 50 trials).
4. Pay for a driver to take you both to the driving school at Sorrento very early next morning. Promise faithfully to SMS home with the results. Listen to private driver wonder how lesser intelligent people can ever pass this test. Board mini bus with the rest of the driving test students and head for Naples.
5. An hour later, arrive at the Naples Motorization Board and watch bewildered as the bus is parked directly beneath a no-parking sign. Protest with the driving instructor that you know what the sign means and that is that you can’t leave a vehicle there. Have your first real lesson in Italian driving when he shrugs and says ‘yeah but it doesn’t matter.’
6. Enter the test room. Watch the supervisor walk amongst the contestants. Watch him talk to the girls, giving them the right answer. Watch him correcting the wrong answers for girls. Pass the test without help.
7. Console others on the bus who have failed for the third time. Watch the driving instructor’s amazement at others who did pass due to pure luck.
8. Book driving lessons. Arrive full of enthusiasm for first test. After an hour of road madness, return home full of fear, swearing that you will never get in the car again.

 

Coerced by parents into continuing lessons you go back twice a week to Sorrento:

• You drive with scooters coming towards you in one way streets. You become very well versed with avoiding a collision with said errant scooters
• You inch your way in traffic overtaking trucks double and triple parked in narrow alleyways. You learn to back up into tight corners so that they can get past.
• You learn that stop signs are for stopping because your instructor yells at you not because others use them.
• You learn to use your own reasoning when negotiating traffic where rules are ignored.
• You learn the code for cheating in parking on the day of the test (The instructor looks back as you are reversing. When he turns his head to look forward, you turn the steering wheel in the other direction)
• You hear all about his hernia operation.
• You swelter in the sun waiting to catch the bus back home at midday. Once again you ignore the queue.

The practical test:

The driving test day arrives. You hear the instructor ask the examiner if he minds that he helps an older Signora with the pedals as she hasn’t gotten the hang of it quite yet. The examiner says ‘it’s fine’.

You get in the car. You rev the engine. The instructor murmurs ‘La prima’. You take off down a busy straight road totally ignored by the examiner who chats to the instructor. Two minutes later you are asked to do a U turn and go back to the school. 5 minutes have gone past. You have passed. The  short practical test was just a mere formality. Your licence is waiting for you already laminated at the desk.

My children got their licence in Sorrento without:

• Ever having gone above thirty kilometers per hour.
• Ever having had to stop or go through a traffic light
• Ever having driven in a two lane carriage way. They had no idea how to overtake, change lanes, keep in the correct lane when turning or use their mirrors to check before overtaking.
• Ever having gone in a round about.
• Ever having driven in the rain
• But they know how to place traffic cones correctly along the road and the regulations regarding lorries.

I don’t know whether I’ll lend them my car in Luxembourg, but when we go to Sorrento, they are going to be the only ones behind the wheel.

This post is not intentioned to be offensive nor seen as negative. Just a comic view of how things really happened in Italy.

Positano – Playground of the rich

A plethora of yachts dots the harbour these days. The uncertain weather, the threat of rain and  consequential cold water hinders no one intent on enjoying a privileged holiday on luxury boats which look like they came straight out of the harbour of Monte Carlo.

Locals proudly bandy names of visiting famous people around taking personal pride in the beauty of the coastline as if it were they who directed God`s hand in its creation. I just wish it had remained the town that it was in the sixties and sit smugly in the quieter part of the village avoiding the crowds in the central beach part as far as possible.

But on Wednesday, while I was smugly ‘just sitting’, I witnessed the mounting of a fun slide to beat all water slides.

And it came of the side of a large yacht.

 

Immediately all the canoes for hire on Fornillo beach were paddled in its direction for a closer peek and the yacht was surrounded by red and yellow plastic kayaks with hopeful (maybe they`ll invite us too) locals.

The guests on the yacht intent on enjoying themselves to a maximum didn`t stop at the splash into the silky blue waters but also had a large ‘biscuit’ float with which they were pulled by a speed boat.

It`s times like these, I thought, that I´d happily exchange the sitting smugly for a  good zoom lens on my camera and even better, wealthy friends in the right places.

Slow Food on The Amalfi Coast - Minori

 

There are no tentacles in my bikini bottom!

You got to hand it to the BBC. They sure know how to make an excellent series.

When Italian Reflections alerted me about the upcoming series Two Greedy Italians - Poor Man’s Food in the Amalfi coast on BBC television, I was terribly disappointed to be in the wrong area to watch. But then my enterprising daughter found it on You Tube and I have reproduced the clips here (For entertainment purposes only. All rights go to the BBC). Unfortunately the links are not always available.

A cocky North-South duo, Antonio Carluccio and Gennaro Contaldo,visit the small town of Minori, Gennaro’s birth place, just past Amalfi and talk food ‘con gusto’ in a thick Italian accent . The sound tracks of Fellini,‘Il Postino’ and ‘La Vita e` Bella’ lend a romantic touch to the dramatic back drop of coastal villas and shimmering seas, while they wax lyrical about the dolce vita in the poor past. Their friendly tongue in cheek banter accompanies what can only be seen as authentic Italian cooking seeped so deeply in tradition that you could mop your bread in it. Makes you want to jump on a plane and head straight for the Coast.

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xEX1_7THgfg&list=PLAUDZlFZH83vQ_rBvO7ODNIe5vQviadWI&ab_channel=FlamingHedgehog

Il Simpatico Gennaro, a name so common in Campania that it must be the equivalent of ‘Tom’ in English, prepares a rich Ragu`alla Napoletana, finds room in his Speedos for a squid or two, prepares an impromptu meal of Linguine with prawns and mussels on the boat just off the cliffs of Amalfi (my favourite) and threatens to cook a lizard for Antonio.

The majestic Antonio Carluccio, a guest on the Coast although he was born in Vietri, samples the fresh homemade pecorino and cacciotella cheeses at a shepherd's mountain dwelling and prepares a ricotta tart with candied cedro lemon. A instant food fight ensues on the streets of Naples as they try to outdo each other and make the best fried pizza.

As I watched the charming series chuckling to myself over the comments in Neapolitan dialect as well as the theatrical English, I wondered what did they have, that I didn’t:

• A traditional Italian family background where recipes are passed on in the family through the ages? Check!
• A wooden board and plastic bowl exactly like the one used to make the twirly pasta and orecchietti? Check!
• A jaunty little sports car to hug the corners of the Coast? Well no, but I love my red Fiat 500! And they didn’t show the traffic they would have encountered!
• A lemon tree pergola to choose a lemon from? Take your pick!
  

 

• An alfresco dining  room with a view? Check!

• Fresh fruit just picked from the tree? Check!

 

 

‘Arrangiarsi’ to eat? Si`! Caught a lizard? Yes. They often slip prisoner into our bathtub. It’s either pick them up or flush them down. But eaten it? Never!

• Tasted a sea urchin straight from the sea? Done (with a dash of said lemon from tree).
• Held an octopus in my bikini?  No, what’s the word I’m looking for – too prudish or squeamish? But it doesn’t mean they didn’t want to be there.

• Had uva fragolina (strawberry flavoured grapes)? Yes, but from our garden. Sneaky illicit tasting in someone else’s orchard would sweeten the moment.

• But what I don’t have, or particularly want, is the great wobbly bellies that they are so proud to show.

       They are not great cooks and even better eaters for nothing!

 

Their Two Greedy Italians cook book is available on Amazon. I would love it I’m sure!

 

Expat Women Confessions

 

Living in Positano is not about lounging around on a sunny beach all day and having beautiful views to console you when things get rocky at home or at work. A holiday here does not easily translate into everyday life especially if you are an ex-pat from a faraway continent.

Living in Italy in a small summer tourist orientated town with barely any winter entertainment because your friends move out at the first hint of cold is not everyone’s cup of tea. It can be a lonely experience.

Small cultural problems surface which can test your sanity like battling with bureaucracy at the town hall, dealing with medical care in a language you are unfamiliar with or the lack of suitable local schools. Plane tickets to return home become a big part of the budget.  But above all it is the frustration with the laid back local’s attitude to problems and ‘this is the way things are here’ acceptance which makes lobbying for services and changes to the system almost unheard of.

I didn’t imagine that life would be easy when I moved overseas as an expat. I really missed family get-togethers and holiday traditions, and lost the support system of life-long friends. I was grateful for being able to understand the dialect in Positano as well as speaking Italian as it made my integration easier in a town that was already used to accommodating foreigners. It was difficult adapting to the confined spaces in Europe after a lifetime in Australia and comforts of home I took for granted were quickly forgotten as I pulled on extra sweaters in winter rather than stand on ducted heating for warmth. Now of course, the internet (when it works) has made the world a lot smaller and communication over long distances an everyday affair and helps keep one’s sanity.

A new book has been launched this month together with a competition on Expatwomen.com. It is full of tips that I wish I had read when I moved overseas 20 odd years ago:

Expat Women: Confessions - 50 Answers to Your Real-Life Questions about Living Abroad

This comprehensive guide book written by Andrea Martins and Victoria Hepworth for expatriates or want-to-be expatriates discusses chapter by chapter a real life situation which can arise living abroad. It offers sensible advice for any practical or psychological problem, reassurance and weighs up the positive and negative aspects of the decision-making. I was surprised at how much I have in common with these women!

Among the many examples of the situations the book deals positively with are those covering guilt over aging parents, loneliness, visa, alcoholism, trailing spouses, holidays, families,repatriation and reverse culture shock. It also talks about coping with the feeling of having no real home base especially for those families who work intensively in many countries. It has comprehensive tips and encouragement. Living as an expatriate can be bewildering culturally but is also an enriching experience opening a sea of opportunies.

As @downatheel mentioned on Twitter:

 ‘Usually I live the adrift feeling of living abroad. Today an anchor would be nice’.                       This book would be good anchor to hang on to.

I’m back!

Dear Readers,

I’m back in control of my blog!

Blogger finally answered my request and ousted the hacker who had hijacked my account. I will do my best not to let him back in, the scoundrel, although I really don’t know what the benefit would have been too him in the long run.

He has deleted pages including your bloglinks. If you have linked back to me please leave me a note in the comments so that I can exchange the favour.

I have included the two posts below that I wrote on my temporary blog  will I was waiting for some reaction from blogger so you have something to whet your appetite for holidays in Positano.

I am so happy :)

Thanks for bearing with me!

Zoom in on Positano

 

‘A picturesque cascade of pastel coloured houses tumbling seemly haphazardly down the mountain wall.’

How many euphemisms can one find on the internet for my pretty town…

Positano is justifiably one of the most photographed towns on the Amalfi Coast. The juxtaposition of the mountains, arched windows, bougainvillea and incredibly blue skies enchant the visitors all year round who click with glee for their photo memories.

But what do I see when I look at their photos?

I , like other locals, zoom straight into our home.

Visible only from the sea, from other villas in the neighborhood or from certain angles on the beach, our home is positioned such that I am certain that when I take photos of ferries headed for Capri or Sorrento, they are full of tourists clicking their shutter right back at me.

 

Sometimes I find recent photos on the internet or Facebook with detail of the neighborhood area so that I can tell whether the gardener’s covered the citrus trees, the wisteria’s finished flowering or, as in a few weeks ago, someone had been in our home.

I peered closely at the photo. I distinctly remembered closing the shutters on the seaside as the sun fades furnishings quickly here. But this time there was a shutter window on one side that was open.

I mentioned it to Hubby who told me the carpenter had probably been in to take measurements for mosquitoes nets on the house, but soon we had a phone call from the caretaker to tell us a window on the French door had been broken.

Apparently the warped old French door had not been  closed properly by the carpenter’s apprentice (it has to have a particular knee-jerk -hand held high -while pushing  and turning the handle to lock into place) and had been thrown open in a windy storm.

So, thank you for admiring the scenery, and keep those cameras clicking if you happen to sail past! 

Dolce Far Niente in Positano (reproduced from Bellavventura in Positano)

Even boats seem to get into the spirit of things here.

Rocking gently, floating on air, the crystal clear water can give the illusion of levitation when the sea’s transparence couples with the light at certain angles.

The video is a bit wobbly. I hope it doesn’t make you seasick.

 

 

I’ve decided to strike back at the hacker who stole my Bell’Avventura blog . It’s not just the blog but you, the faithful readers, the community who have given me confidence tuning in regularly, leaving lovely comments and linking back to my posts.

It’s inspiration too: I  can look at the mundane in Positano and wonder who wouldn’t want to be in my position and experience the simple things like first rays of the morning sun as they scrape the peak of the mountain flooding the gardens with light. The ups and downs are part of  everyday life but never so worthwhile as in the Amalfi Coast.

You may have wondered why I took so long to post. I’m out of touch with setting up a blog from scratch. What the heck, I can’t even get the header to look right! In any case, I have reported the incident to Blogger and I hope to get Bell’Avventura back one day but will set up home here for now.

Welcome.

Steps of Positano.

I just had to share this: Italy Vacation are having a contest where the winner has to guess the number of steps in Positano!

 

Has anyone ever counted all of them? It’s like asking how many stars are there in the sky!

I know the number of steps going from the Grotta to the Fornillo Beach (too many especially uphill at midday); from Via Trara Genoino  (La Scalinatella) to the main beach; from Nocelle in the mountain to Positano and we are well over three thousand but I've never bothered to count all the steps in town.

There must be thousands and thousands.

The winner of the contest will receive a gift of USD $500 to be applied toward your next Homebase Abroad trip to the Coast.

So start estimating the climb over town and submit your answers.

Say I sent you. It won’t help you win, but I can count steps in case of a dispute. May take me a few years though.

For my part I’m going to start contacting all the people named Pasquale and Assunta that I know in town to weasel the answer from them. I will expect them soon at my place, counting stairs right to the very bottom…

 

To Positano. My Valentine.

Thank you

for a lifetime of seduction, of  shy morning’s soft light, waves whispering between pebbles rolling gently on the shore.

Thank you

for the ancient houses unheated, their walls seeped in history, wood fire’s smoke and crackle on cool nights.

Thank you

for the Rose’s bloom throughout winter, the bougainvillea dashing colour along the walls, the first blossoms of Spring intrepidly opening well before it’s season.

Thank you

for the mountain peak’s meandering paths dotted with crocus and sweet blue rosemary,

Thank you

for the possibility of walking the streets, the beaches, the paths crowd-less in the season tourists avoid.

Thank you

for the quirkiness behind every corner, the shabby places hidden from the foreigners but which I recognize as the real you.

Winter in Positano, will you be my Valentine?

(All photos were taken on the 6th of February 2011)

Following the Linguine Trail…

 
The cat scooted out over the restaurant’s window trellis, skirting the purple bougainvillea that gripped the iron work. Totally deaf, it wasn’t an alley cat for nothing and could tell when it wasn’t wanted.  Daniele the waiter, having dealt with the cat before, let out a few mild expletives under his breathe in Italian. Slinking amongst the tables, the white gatto  been attracting admiring ‘ohhs’ and ‘ahhs’ from the American tourists but alas, no food tidbits.  Then as Daniele proceeded to lead our party of six to a table chatting amicably, my husband pointed out a waiter, J., that I hadn’t met yet, knowing that he was from Australia like myself.
J. turned out to be waiting at our table. Decked out maitre d’ style with a formally placed napkin over his left arm, J. had been coming to Positano for a few years and lived the enviable life of six months here, six months in Australia. Having a British passport, he had no trouble with work permits and aside from other duties in town, he helped out at the restaurant in summer a couple of days per week.
My husband asked him if he spoke Italian assuming that with the position he was in, he must.
‘Solo un poco’ (just a little) was his answer. So I spoke to him in English and we chose our meal. The orders were put in quickly as most of my family chose pizza, but I soon put a ball in the works by ordering ‘Frittura di Paranza’.
J. looked at me blankly and asked me to repeat it. I did and then gave him the English translation for it – ‘Fried local fish’.
‘Is it on the menu?’ he queried.
‘Yes’, I said.
‘Can you point to it with your finger please? I don’t know how to write it.’    It’s just that people usually order pasta or pizza here…so I’ve never come across it before.’
He then accompanied a loud party of Italian tourists to their table alongside ours and distributed menus.
My husband, all ears when it comes to nosing out an authentic local meal, overheard the chef Vincenzo talking about a dish he was preparing from freshly arrived local squid. ‘Vincenzo,’ he called out, ‘can you make it for me too?’ 
‘Senz’altro’ replied Vincenzo.
So I called J. over and told him that we needed to change the order. One pizza less, and ‘totani and tubetti’ in it’s place.
‘Is it on the menu?’
‘No, but the chef can prepare it’.
‘Ok, then. What is it again?
‘Totani e tubetti’
‘Could you spell that please?’
‘T-O-T-A-N-I  &  T-U-B-E-T-T-I’
Later, while eating our meal, I saw J. at the Italian’s table trying to take orders and looking decidedly red- faced and flustered. He suddenly turned away from them and found Daniele to serve in his place.
I remarked on it when he returned to our table to have the dessert orders put through and the simpatico J. admitted that in August they had a lot of Italians come in for meals who never stuck to the menu but wanted variations of the food.
‘Then they all talk at once in Italian and I can’t follow the orders!’
Aspiring waiters be warned.

Il Saraceno d’Oro: a family run restaurant in Fornillo.
No ‘sea view’ but plenty of friendly atmosphere and great food. Speaking English can be a bonus…