Stretching Our Legs

This afternoon we took a walk down to the sea.  We had been told that it was 600 steps down.  They lied.

But let me tell you about it.  We went down to the end of the road, and couldn't quite tell where we were supposed to go.  So we asked a passing motorcyclist, and he pointed out the way, warning us that it was a hard walk.

Winding down by houses, we found ourselves on what looked like a woodland path.  A slippery woodland path:  it was mossy concrete.  It was a lovely little walk, though -- very peaceful and pleasant.  Then we came out of the wooded area and emerged into a field with a path through it.  A rocky field.  Slipping and sliding down, we came out at a road.  With a glazed tile marker.  Huh.

It was rather a crossroads,  but we decided on the most likely direction.  It turned into a nice, level, gravel path.  It was absolutely lovely.  Looking to our left, there was a gorge that ended in a creek.  And then?  We found the STEPS!

The steps were actually mortared in most places!  And they were marked every 50 starting at 600 (70 steps below where the steps actually start -- I kid you not).  Most of the way down, we saw a chapel; on a nearby promontory was a crucifix.

The ocean was a tropical blue.  And when we got to the bottom we saw caves and cute little houses mounted into the rock.

After our trek back, we were unanimous:  we wanted WATER!

Love,

Alexandra

Dogs in Pompeii

Pompeii is an old city that was destroyed by a volcano.  Before the eruption it was busy and full of people and dogs.  People don't live in Pompeii any more but dogs do.

The first dog I met was sleeping and was big and brown and had a collar. If I owned him I would call him John and he had pointy ears.

The second dog was smaller and brown and white.  It was doing a dog cartwheel, which means to roll.  I would call him Fred.

The third dog was smaller than the others.  He was in the fields of beans.  He was barking at me.

The dogs in Pompeii were adorable.

Love,

James

The Restaurant in Santa Agata

Last night we had arrived in Santa Agata, the little town outside of Sorrento.  We went to dinner at a local restaurant (oh -- I mean the local restaurant), and it was so different from Umbria and yet still so distinctively Italian!

We walked into the bar area where they were smoking and watching soccer.  My mom asked if they were a restaurant, and if they were open.  Yes, on both counts!  The waiter (with a curly mop of hair and luxuriant dark eyebrows) showed us to a table and gave us menus.

Have I told you yet that we were the only ones there?  And that he turned the lights on in the kitchen as we were sitting down?

The menu was very different from our typical Umbrian or Tuscan menu -- mostly fish and seafood, and very little meat.  Makes sense!  This is a coastal area.

As we were deciding, the waiter came up and said he'd bring us some antipasti -- "Great!" we said, having no clue what we would get.  Well, he brought out the tastiest things EVER.  Some marinated anchovies (I have to confess that I was a wimp so I can't give a first-hand account on those, but they got rave reviews from my parents), some battered (in a really yummy muffin-textured batter, but with lots of parsley) shrimp, some fried dough balls that had ricotta in them, and -- the most amazing thing ever -- what he called "calamarini".  They were the tiniest little squid -- about an inch in length -- that had the slightest suggestion of batter with a little salt and pepper, and had then been deep-fried.  They arrived in little cones made out of thin wood and came with tiny plastic forks.  Another bit of yumminess -- bruschetta with tomatoes on top.  Mmmm.

My parents asked whether the fish was fresh.  To prove it, he brought out a platter of dead seafood for them to inspect.  It arrived back on the table shortly thereafter, having been applied to a grill. 

While we were eating, he started inspecting his hair in the mirror located in the restaurant (about 20 feet from the table), pulling down sideburns, fluffing the top of the head, etc.  Quite hilarious.

When we had finished our meal, he turned the light back off in the kitchen, and brought out a leftover piece of cake (about 1/4 of the cake) wrapped in a brown paper bag.  He said it was a speciality of the area for Easter.  We thanked him, and off we went back to the house.

Love,

Alexandra

p.s.  The cake turned out to be like colomba, but it had a boiled egg in it -- still in its shell!