Bringing Down the White Picket Fence
A Couple's Quest to Live Globally
He's back!
Our latest travels have convinced me that biscuits and gravy are probably the best breakfast creation ever to land on my plate. Until now, I thought I could only enjoy breakfast when it was jam packed in a tortilla and spiced to the point that I could no longer recognize it as breakfast. This opinion of “my most important meal of the day” completely changed when, on our latest adventure, I smothered warm biscuits in an overly fattening and creamy sausage filled gravy. Glorious I tell you…glorious. Until I returned home and bragged about my new edible love to my mother-in-law and she said it was no good for my hips. I never said it was healthy Rene…I just said it was good.
President’s Day weekend 2011 was spent in the warm, sunny, and welcoming state of South Carolina, the home to incredible breakfast combinations and my husband’s beloved alma mater, the University of South Carolina. As a Christmas gift, I planned this journey down south to give my amazing and loving husband the opportunity to reminisce his college days and show his new girl around. So, after 25 years, Paul finally returned to his “home away from home” and I became an official honorary Gamecock (although Sammy Seagull from Salisbury might not be happy to hear that)
Our travel itinerary consisted of a flight into Charlotte, NC in which we would pick up another not so sporty yet reliable Ford Focus (this time in a much more conservative maroon color). From there we would drive to the nearest Bojangles for the famous “dirty rice” that Paul swore got him through college, and then on to Columbia, South Carolina to check in at the Inn at USC, a hotel situated right on campus. Yes, we were going to do this trip right.
We arrived in Newark fairly early for our 6:25pm flight to Charlotte. Unfortunately, as our luck would have it, our flight was delayed two hours. In addition to the delay, our airline was experiencing an identity crisis. I booked a Continental Airlines flight, only to find out it was a Continental Express flight, which later resulted in a United Express plane. Continental and United merged and no, they’re still not sure who they really are yet.
After waiting for two hours in the worst Newark terminal ever (obviously us “express” people don’t deserve the good stuff), we boarded our plane and sat at the gate for another half hour while we waited for the mechanic to come and figure out just why the back door wouldn’t close. Now, if you follow our blog or know anything about me, I absolutely hate to fly. It scares me to the point that the anxiety literally exhausts me and, as I’ve mentioned before, makes one or sometimes both of my legs shake uncontrollably. So, you can imagine what the words “the door won’t close” and “we need a mechanic” did for my nerves. It didn’t help the situation. In fact, it made it much worse. To the point that the flight attendant had to console me during the landing and reassure me that yes, despite all that bumping around, we were indeed going to make it. It is important to note that I do have an incredibly tolerant husband. If I were him, I’d pretend not to know me while in flight. In fact, I wouldn’t even want to sit next to me. But, he completely owns up to being mine, and well, that’s just love right there.
We arrived in Charlotte at quarter to 11, much later than our planned 8:30 arrival time. After picking up the rental and gearing up the GPS, we headed towards Columbia, keeping our eye out for our first sign of a Bojangles. We found one right away. Determined to indulge in a late night grease fest, I pulled that Ford Focus right up the drive through only to be let down with the “we don’t serve anything but coleslaw after 11pm” line. Who wants coleslaw at midnight? I wanted fried chicken, biscuits, and dirty rice. Wouldn’t you?
Back on the road again, I realized just how lonely it is on a South Carolina highway at midnight. Without any Bojangles to console us, it was going to be a long and not so scenic drive to USC. I was driving and tired after the physical and mental exhaustion of flying, so I felt it was the appropriate time to find myself a good country station to blare and sing a long to. Once again, Paul found it necessary to disagree, but he kept his comments to a minimum.
We arrived at the Inn at USC around 1:15 am. What a beautiful place with such southern charm! The lobby offered several enormous glass jugs of iced tea readily available at all hours of the day. I immediately filled a cup with lots of ice and tea and had my first taste of South Carolina sweet tea. Then I filled another cup with just as much ice and unsweetened tea and chose that instead. Sweet tea is, well, sweet. Too sweet for my liking. While I was doing all of this iced tea research, Paul was checking in, only to find out that we were upgraded to one of the three suites in the hotel. They must have thought we weren’t coming and filled all of their rooms to capacity and put us in the suite, never thinking this couple would roll up in their Ford Focus after the midnight hour. Well…we did and the suite was ours! I took my two cups of tea right up to the most amazing hotel room I’ve ever stayed in. This room exceeded the Borgata suite upgrade that I gushed about a few years ago. It was like staying in a million dollar mansion’s master bedroom. It even had a fireplace! Sweet tea and a sweet suite. Alright!
The next morning we set out to explore campus and spend a few hundred dollars at the bookstore. You can’t be an honorary Gamecock without the right gear. Paul showed me every nook and cranny of his college stomping grounds, from his old dorm to the Domino’s pizza location that’s still standing and delivering after all of these years. It warmed my heart to watch him rediscover it all.
His dorm!
Before lunch we drove out to the enormous football stadium so I could see just how big football stadiums are at Division I schools. Let’s just say, the football stadium at my school closely resembled Manasquan High School’s football field. My jaw literally dropped when I saw the USC stadium. Seriously? I can only imagine the intensity and pure fun of being a student there and going to a game. It almost made me a little envious that I didn’t go to a school of that size, but our choices and our paths in life, I believe, are ours for a reason. Salisbury was my school, and though its miniature compared to my husbands, it was my story.
For lunch we dined at Yesterdays, a place Paul remembered for its outstanding nachos. You really can’t miss Yesterdays, just look for the big cowboy in the bathtub. Yes, you read that right. The nachos were not as great as Paul remembered, but when you are in college, you think anything outside the dining hall is 5 star dining. In addition to the nachos, Paul had a burger and I had a meatloaf sandwich with a side of collard greens. By the way, I LOVE collard greens, but I knew that before this trip. After stuffing ourselves beyond capacity, we headed to the USC baseball game at their new stadium.
Once again, I was given the chance to see a Division I stadium. The Gamecocks were the 2010 College World Series Champions so not only do they have a really luxurious place to play, but a serious trophy to welcome you with.
After the game, we headed back to the Inn at USC with only one goal in mind. To sit on the front porch and spend the early evening hours enjoying the warm weather side by side in rocking chairs. It was so quiet and peaceful. We talked and talked about Paul and his college years while sipping iced tea. It made me think about life and fate and just how amazing it all can be. Who would have ever thought that the two of us would be here, together, after all of these years? And probably, just at that moment, my camera that was sitting on my lap started to slip off and in my attempt to catch it, my iced tea went flying up and splashed all over my face and hair. It was one of those moments where you laugh so hard it hurts your face. And there we were, two adorably happy people, one doused in iced tea, laughing and rocking in our chairs. It was perfect. It is perfect, I should say.
We ended the evening with dinner at Hunter Gatherer, a restaurant that closely resembled a barn. Paul had a shrimp po’boy and I had a lamb gyro. The food was good and the atmosphere was different, just how we like it. We ate and headed back to the hotel. We both needed some serious sleep after all of that walking. Plus, we had Charleston, S.C. ahead of us.
The next morning we set out for our next destination, a three-hour ride to Charleston. The only disappointment I had with Charleston was that we could only stay one day. What a beautiful place! I’d love to explore it more and try out the bounty of restaurants.
We stayed at The Charleston Place, a fabulous hotel in the center of town that afforded us the ability to walk to wherever we needed. We took the opportunity to meet up with Paul’s hometown friend Bob, who lives just outside of Charleston. Bob and Paul not only grew up in NJ together, but also went to college together. We had a lovely seafood dinner right on the water while Paul and Bob reminisced their college days.
Like it always does when you are having fun, vacation came to an end quickly and we were back in the Focus heading back to the airport. It was quite a drive from Charleston to Charlotte, but since I still hadn’t had my Bojangles, I had my destination in mind. Prior to getting in the car, I made good use of my new Ipad and googled a map of the inside of the Charleston airport. I knew we would be arriving at the airport circa lunchtime and I would need to know the most direct route to the nearest Bojangles. The map told me to head right to Terminal B and that is exactly what we did. Paul was right, the dirty rice is really tasty and the chicken and biscuits weren’t too bad either.
Although we were offered an earlier flight back to Newark, we declined and chose to wait. The flight home was much better, despite the cold weather we returned to.
College is an interesting thing when you turn and look back at it. You spend four years of your life immersed in a place that’s never really yours. You do everything you can to enjoy it, live it, survive it even, but you don’t really cherish it until it’s over. Until its someone else’s. And that someone else knows nothing about you, the memories you made or the struggles you faced.
So, if you are still in college, enjoy it. Wear your school colors, take lots of pictures, be good to your friends, and study hard….because you never know when you might be back, walking hand in hand with your wife, just reminiscing…
I haven’t blogged in awhile. We went to Denver in early November and needless to say, this blog post is a bit overdue. Unfortunately, upon return from our trip, life, as my family knew it, changed. Unexpectedly, of course, like life has a way of doing. As a result, there has been little time for writing, and a lot of time for reflecting, just not on paper, or electronically, for that matter.
We left for Denver on November 4th, my Aunt’s 65th birthday. If I had known it would be her last birthday, I wouldn’t have boarded a plane and jetted off on a vacation that, at the time, I thought my husband and I deserved. I would have stayed home and made tacos for dinner. In her last days here with us, that’s simply all that she wanted. We put the taco dinner on hold, first due to work, then due to a doctor’s appointment, and finally, due to our much needed vacation. There would be plenty of time for tacos, we thought. But that’s just the thing about life, it doesn’t consider your plans and there was no time for tacos.
And so, here I am, with a probated will, a house to sell, and something called inheritance tax, yet all I can think about is how much I miss my aunt and how I should have made the tacos. Just why I had to learn this lesson the hard way, I’ll never know. But what I do know is that Aunt Bardie would have wanted me to keep writing and traveling and living. So, I dedicate this post to her and I promise to never put anything on hold again, no matter what.
So here goes…Denver, Colorado…
If you know my wedding photographer story, then you know one of the reasons why Denver was on our must see list. If you don’t know that story, ask Paul, he loves telling it. I considered including the story in this blog, but I get a certain kick out of hearing Paul tell it, and I didn’t know if it would produce the same sort of reaction once put into writing.
Another reason for taking a trip to Denver was simply for my husband to see the mountains. While he’s got a tremendous amount of international travel under his belt, he’d never been to western America. I thought that this was just plain ridiculous and made it a point to get him and his camera to the Rocky Mountains as soon as I possibly could.
And yet one more reason to go to Denver…Southwest Airlines, my absolute favorite airline. Southwest has really good deals to Denver with non-stop flights out of Philly. I’ve loved Southwest for a long time, even before they went all “bags fly free” on us and came up with those super cute commercials.
And so with the assistance of the amazing wedding photographer, Julie Harris, we found ourselves a beautiful, yet affordable hotel and, before we knew it, there we were, having dinner in the shadow of the snow capped Rocky Mountains. To think, only hours before I was sitting in the Philadelphia airport, eating a sloppy cheesesteak, while Paul sat shaking his head at me disapprovingly. (He doesn’t understand how I can eat before I fly. I don’t understand how you can’t eat before you fly.) If you are in Philly, you might as well eat a cheesesteak. When in Rome, you know?
We stayed at the Denver Marriot Convention Center. Since the famous Maine experience, I’ve become a little more critical of hotels, and I was a little worried about this place due to the attached words ‘convention center’. However, the hotel was beautiful and clean and the service was excellent. They even had an Enterprise Rent a Car in the hotel, which I must say did a fantastic job of delivering us a bright blue Ford Focus for our Rocky Mountain adventure. Keep reading for that story…
Our first day in Denver we took a long walk to check out the city. The weather was unusually warm for November and perfect for strolling around.
Due to the time difference, we were wide awake way before most of the natives so we started out early and did some exploring. And what did we find? Monas! This is where I developed a bit of an affection for Denver.
We just stumbled upon Mona’s while trying to find Julie Harris’ studio. Little did we know, Mona’s was only a few blocks away from our intended destination. Paul thought it looked like a place we would like and, without even taking a look at the menu, I agreed. I mean, look at the place will ya?
At Mona’s I had the BEST breakfast burrito I’ve ever had in my life. I’m not exaggerating either. Not only was it heaping with goodness on the inside, it was smothered in warm green chile sauce on the outside! If this was Denver, then I liked it!
Unfortunately, Julie wasn’t in town while we were, but we did get a chance to peek in the windows of her fabulous studio. We also ate dinner at the farm to table restaurant Duo, just next door.
Even though the Mets weren’t in town, we decided to tour the home of the Colorado Rockies. Have you ever been in a completely empty baseball stadium? It’s pretty fascinating!
We really enjoyed seeing all the ins and outs of the place, standing in the dugouts, and learning about the actual “mile high” seats.
They also took us in the visiting team’s locker room and just the simple fact that this is where the Mets get ready, put Paul right over the edge. It was like his baseball meter was on overload and he could hardly contain himself. It’s unfortunate that the 2011 Mets will play the Rockies in Colorado during the week when we’ll still be in school. We were totally planning on taking another trip to Denver for a Mets weekend. Maybe 2012?
We devoted our last full day in Colorado to checking out Rocky Mountain National Park and Boulder. Enterprise Rent a Car had our hot bright blue Focus ready early in the morning for our excursion through nature.
The drive was intriguing and the mountains got closer and closer with every mile until we were just tiny people with enormous mountains towering in front of us.
At this point, I was starting to think my husband would take off with his camera and I’d never see him again. But then I remembered, my husband is allergic to nature. Not literally, I mean he doesn’t get a rash or anything, like I would in most situations. No, it’s not like that at all. Too much time in nature and you will see Paul desperately looking for signs of civilization. It’s similar to when I take him to Howell Township, NJ. Too much country and he’s gotta get to the big city, like Tinton Falls, or Belmar. So, after the long drive from Denver and a few photo opportunities later, Paul was back in the Focus and ready to head to Boulder. Yea, the mountains were cool, but he’d had enough nature for the day. Gotta love him!
We got to Boulder just in time for lunch and walked down the streets of shops and restaurants.
Boulder
Yes, Paul was back in civilization, and in no time was eating some nachos and watching football at one of the local hangouts. With the University of Colorado situated right in the middle of these streets, Boulder seemed like the ultimate college town. I bet its a fun place to be a college student.
We were back to Denver by dinner time. We got all dressed up to check out Larimer Square and find a good place for dinner.
And what did we find? Osteria Marco, a crowded Italian restaurant situated in what seemed like a wine cellar. I loved it! Paul and I have found that although we are very critical when it comes to good Italian food, we also can’t stay away from it for more than a few days at a time. We were skeptical that there would be good Italian food in Denver, but we thought we’d give it a try anyway. I mean, Paul had been without pizza for an entire weekend! You can only imagine what I was dealing with at this point. As soon as Paul saw margherita pizza on the menu, I knew this would be the place to eat for the evening. It was delicious. We even met a girl there whose parents own a summer home in Belmar, NJ! No matter how far you go, you can’t get out of Belmar!
So overall, what did we think of Denver? We thought it was pretty cool! We loved all of the old brick buildings, the fun restaurants, and the home of the Colorado Rockies! We hope to visit again someday when the Mets are in town.
Until then…keep doing what it is you love, but remember to always take time for the tacos…
Growing up, I could never envision the Asbury Park my parents told tales of. Small little remnants of their stories still remained in Asbury when I was a kid. I remember the carousel, the Palace Amusements, the Five and Dime store. I also remember how distraught these places looked and often tried to imagine this resort type place my parents spoke of. When I looked around, I saw the furthest thing from a vacation destination. I saw graffiti, weeds, and crime, and a smiling face on the side of an abandoned building. Tilly’s face was like a small glitter of hope amidst a town of destruction. And then, one day, Tilly was gone too.
If you had told the “young, adolescent me” that in the future, the “adult me” would adore Asbury Park, I would have bet money on it that you were wrong. Dead wrong. But here I am today, totally, head over heels in love…with a town. Not only do I love this place for what it is now, but I love it for its story, its history, and the people who “Bought In” and brought it back.
I came to love Asbury through pure immersion. Paul’s affection for this town, you could say, rubbed off on me. If it weren’t for Paul taking me to Asbury on the weekends, I would not have discovered just how special it really is. He’s captured Asbury through the lens of his camera on both its bad days and its good, seeing its beauty when, at times, it wasn’t apparent to the naked eye.
My first trip to Asbury with Paul was for breakfast on the boardwalk. We ate outside at a little cafe that is now the site of Stella Marina. It wasn’t a fancy place, but it was a great meal and the service was excellent. I remember the owner coming out to talk to us. He said he probably wouldn’t be in business much longer because Asbury Park had bigger plans and his building would be sold. It was a sad story and I remember feeling bad for the man. Here was someone who, through small steps, was bringing Asbury back. I often think about him and wonder where he is or what he is doing now. I’d even like to thank him. While I think Stella Marina is lovely, what it was before was something special. A small businessman trying to bring “the glory days” back to a little seashore town.
So what do we love about it now? Well…here goes. First of all, we are season beach badge holders. Our summer days usually begin in the early morning on the beach and end at Pop’s Garage on the boardwalk. We love this little establishment, owned by its successful and tasty neighbor, Langosta Lounge. We love to go to Pop’s for tacos (Paul loves the chorizo and I love the cuban pork). We also love the locally bottled Piri Piri sauce and can’t have a taco at Pop’s without it.
Our absolute favorite place of all is on Bond Street. 
You can find this place by just looking for the sign with the eye. If you love small places with cheap, fabulous food, then this is your spot. We LOVE this place! Maybe it has a great deal to do with the chef. The chef here is the former cook of another love of ours, Market in the Middle. Sadly, Market in the Middle now sits empty. Unfortunately, one winter day, while going to indulge in our favorite Market tuna wrap, we discovered they’d closed their doors. It was unexpected and depressing. Luckily, however, we found the chef on Bond Street and now, we are happy again. Where else can you go and get the most delicious and juicy burger you’ve ever had in your life for just $5? You can also get pork roll fries with barbecue cheese sauce. It may sound gross and unhealthy, but they are amazingly tasty and every once in a while you should entitle yourself to a grease fest.
Walk to the corner of Bond Street and you will find two other delectable establishments: Trinity and the Pope and Taka.
You can find Trinity by its enormous hanging garlic bulb that shines purple at night. Trinity has rich and delicious New Orleans style food. The building is beautiful, architecturally unique, and an excellent location for a restaurant. We used to go here when it was formerly known as Mattison Park. Mattison Park had the best Margherita pizza in all of the land (ok, maybe not all the land, but it was good) and then one day, as our luck would have it, they closed too. We hope this won’t be a trend.
Across the street is Taka, a sushi restaurant with a great atmosphere and succulent sushi rolls. They serve other Japanese cuisine that always looks really good when delivered to other tables, but we are sushi lovers and can’t bear to go without sushi if it’s readily available. We tend to gorge ourselves on raw fish until we can’t gorge no more.
Another excellent place is Belmontes on Cookman Ave. One night while Paul was attending one of his “super” meetings, my mother-in-law and I treated ourselves to a dinner at Belmontes. When it’s just the two of us, we usually hit up Luigi’s or Tally Ho, but this night we decided to get a little crazy and go somewhere else. First of all, this place is a small and adorable Italian restaurant with a great menu. Actually, the menu was so great that we had a hard time deciding on what to eat. The waiter was extremely helpful and courteous and assisted us in making superb choices for our meal. We had eggplant rolletini as an appetizer and two pasta entrees that were fantastic! When all was said and done, we told our waiter just how much we loved the meal, and at that moment he thanked us and told us he was one of the owners. What a great guy! He even walked us out the back door and outside to make sure we got to our car safely. If that’s not good service, I don’t know what is!
So if you haven’t noticed, the world is now officially obsessed with sliders. Everywhere you go, you can get them: cheeseburger sliders, chicken salad sliders, pulled pork sliders, pork roll sliders, tuna sliders. You name it and you can find a slider for it. Maybe this is our way of allowing ourselves to eat several sandwiches in one sitting without feeling guilty, or maybe we just like how cute they are. Whatever the reason, I’ve got quite an affection for them myself. I’ve also found a great place to get them: The Brickwall on Cookman Ave. First of all, they use slider size potato rolls, and what goes inside is completely up to you. I personally love the spicy sloppy Joe sliders with a side of tater tots. Any place that serves tater tots is serious about customer satisfaction and I just can’t resist them.
Wherever you go to cure your hunger pangs, make sure to walk it off on the Asbury boardwalk and stroll through Convention Hall and the old casino. Then, make your way to the Berkeley Carteret hotel and check out the great renovations inside. There you can find another person who is bringing wonderful things to Asbury Park, Peter James. Peter was the person responsible for making our special day beautiful and for fulfilling our desire for an “April in Paris” wedding. I can’t thank him enough for making the flower and centerpiece decision-making process easier than I’d ever dreamed, and for bringing the Eiffel Tower from Paris to Farmingdale, just for me.
Perhaps, one day, we will live in Asbury Park. I’ll wake up in the morning and race my bike around the “circuit”, have coffee and bagels on the beach, watch the sun rise over the carousel house each morning, and watch it set while eating at Moonstruck. We’ll send you a post card…”Greetings from Asbury Park”. Of course, I’ll have to fit this all in between our apartment in Paris and our villa in Tuscany, but it can be done. A girl can dream right?
A small little Michelle and Paul factoid-Did you know that our first choice for a wedding venue was the Carousel House in Asbury? Unfortunately the “no running water”, “no bathrooms”, and “you have to supply your own generators” aspect made this bride-to-be a little uneasy. I was a little more than worried that the day of my dreams would become a disaster. On the other hand, I predict that some day, the carousel house will be the venue of choice for many young couples. You just wait and see…
It was late August. Summer was quickly coming to an end, Paul’s decision to go back to teaching was final, and we wanted one last getaway before heading back to work. Originally, we looked into heading to New Orleans. While hotel prices were low, airline prices were high. Aside from the steep price to fly, we weren’t sure we wanted to explore a new city in extreme southern summer temperatures. We wanted to relax before heading back to begin our busy life again and while New Orleans sounded fun, it didn’t sound relaxing.
So, instead of going south, we changed our plans and went north, to Portland, Maine. Why Maine? Well, aside from wanting to see the rugged and rocky coastlines and learn about a new city, I wanted a lobster roll. I will not lie, I went for the lobster, the clams, the oysters, and the chowder. I felt it was my duty to see if the lobster roll was really deserving of all the hype it receives, while also taste testing a few other famous New England items. While my husband was envisioning the photo opportunities that only a New England adventure could provide, I was envisioning the seafood. Maine would make us both happy-photos+ food = happy husband, happy wife.
The doomed trip to Maine began like this: We planned to leave early on a Saturday and return late the following Tuesday, the day before school started for teachers. On that Friday, I received a phone call for a job interview that would take place on the following Monday. Paul had booked our hotel on Priceline and had used the “name your own price” feature which meant that if we canceled the trip, we wouldn’t get our money back. After a lengthy discussion over whether the seven hour drive was worth the short amount of time we would be staying, we finally made the decision just to go and make the most of it. We looked back at this decision with some frustration on the ride home that Monday, but who knew it would all turn out the way it did.
We decided to take my well traveled and most reliable two door Honda Civic, instead of his much roomier and newer Honda Accord. He leases, and according to him, I drive his car around too much and accumulate too many miles, and if I don’t watch it we will be over our monthly allowance. Quite an accusation when I barely get to drive the car but to the grocery store. On the other hand, I own my red 2004 civic, all 115,000 miles of it. It knows the Jersey to Baltimore route by heart and has been cross country twice. I would say my car is quite the little vehicle and despite my unrealistic dreams of trading it in for a Lexus, I plan to keep her for as long as she runs, or until we hit the lottery, whichever comes first.
Early Saturday morning, we packed up the civ, stopped for some much needed coffee, and began making our way north. We made it as far as New York when traffic stopped us from moving any further. When I say stopped, I mean stopped. Literally. In fact, due to an accident ahead of us, we, along with hundreds of other people, got out of our cars and stretched our legs on the highway…for about an hour and a half. If we were feeling more social that morning, we probably could have made some new friends.
Once we were back in the car, we drove for a few more hours and made our way into New Hampshire. Did you know there is a famous air show in Portsmouth, New Hampshire every August? Did you know it was the same weekend we were going to Maine? No? You didn’t know that?? No, we didn’t either. If we had, we could have avoided sitting in several more hours of halted traffic. Not knowing an air show was the cause for the traffic jam made for some interesting sites out the window. Holy moly!! What was that?!?!
I’ve never seen so much traffic in my life. By this point, we had been in the car for a total of seven hours and still, we weren’t in Maine. I was getting hungry and tired of shifting (the civic’s a stick shift) and Paul was getting grumpy. It was a “grump fest” all around.
We finally reached Maine a full three hours later. Instead of heading straight to Portland, we took a little side trip to Kennebunkport. What a sweet little place! If we had more time, we would have stopped and walked around. But time was limited so I pulled over and asked the nearest local where I could find the best lobster roll. She directed us to this little gas station-like place that, according to her, had the best lobster rolls around. Considering the place looked and smelled like a gas station, yet it wasn’t, I questioned if this was a place you could even buy food, let alone lobster. But hey, a local said this was the best so, I took her word for it. I ordered up two lobster rolls and, $28 later, headed to the nearest picnic table to indulge. While I will say, the lobster pieces were fresh and enormous, the lobster roll was tasteless. Paul agreed. So this is what I drove ten hours for? What a disappointment!
Now we were back in the car, food in our bellies, heading for Portland. About a half hour later, we pulled into the parking lot of the lovely Holiday Inn Portland West. Oh and lovely it was. Have you ever noticed that just outside almost every city in America is the same scene? A highway, an exit, a hotel, a McDonalds, a Burger King, a gas station. Keep driving. A highway, an exit, a hotel, a McDonalds, a Burger King, a gas station. Keep driving. Get my drift? Well the Holiday Inn Portland West was one of those hotels. When we booked it, we thought it was in the western part of the city of Portland. We didn’t realize it was, west of Portland entirely. We would have to drive everywhere. What’s the fun of that? Isn’t the best part of being in a city the fact that you can do the old fashioned thing and actually walk to places?
We are not hotel snobs by any means. We’ve stayed in some pretty nice luxury hotels, but only when we’ve gotten a good deal on a price. We think of hotels as just a place to rest our heads and would rather spend our money eating and exploring than on a hefty hotel rate. However, we do have some expectations when we spend any kind of money to stay somewhere. They are probably very similar to your expectations, like say, that your room is made up daily, or that the pool isn’t a murky green color? Or perhaps that the carpet isn’t coming up in the corners to reveal dust and grime that makes you want to always keep your shoes on. Just minor details that the Holiday Inn Portland West had some trouble with. Live, learn, and don’t ever “name your own price” on Priceline again. Lesson learned.
We were only in Maine for a few hours when we were starting to come to the conclusion that we may have been better off losing out on the money for the hotel and staying home. After all, when we asked the guy at the hotel how the parking was downtown, he said it was, “Not a problem at all.” He neglected to inform us that we’d be driving around for several hours in search of a spot and that most of the parking garages would be full. Yes, this trip was doomed. We were certain of it. But then…things started to turn around for the better. All thanks to a little place called “J’s Oyster House”. Oh yes, this is what I came to Maine for.
We were advised to go to J’s Oyster House by a trustworthy source-Anthony Bourdain. Paul and I are huge fans of this man. We are frequent viewers of “No Reservations” and our dvr looks more like a Bourdain marathon than anything else. We love his edge, his humor, his love of eating and traveling, and how he’s made a profession out of exploring the world. We are a little bit envious, to tell you the truth. OK, we are extremely envious. How do we get that job?
J’s Oyster House is situated right on the water. The building looks like its been there for hundreds of years, beaten and worn overtime by crisp New England air. It’s small and dark inside, but packed with people, all competing for a place to sit and chow. When we finally got a chance to sit down, we started with fresh, raw oysters and a cup of New England clam chowder. The oysters were succulent and the chowder was chunky and delicious.
Next, we ordered a bucket of steamers. The man sitting next to us recommended we do so. A local and loyal J’s customer for some fifty years, he said the steamers were the best. So we felt we just had to have them too. I’ve never been so content. They were incredible! Not only was the seafood the very best I’ve ever had, so was the service. In fact, when Paul and I mentioned to the bartender that we’d never been to Portland before, she drew us a map and told us the best places to go. Next, the oyster man (the one whose only job was to shuck the oysters, it seemed) came over and drew us another map, this time directing us to the secret location that the locals go to get away from the tourists. It was perfect and just what we needed. By the time we left, we felt like we were locals too.
After J’s, we took a short walk down the busy street adjacent to the water. The city itself seemed quaint and the buildings resembled old factories turned into modern living and shopping spaces. The seafood restaurants were endless and on our walk, we felt the need to visit just one more. This one, Anthony Bourdain did not recommend, but there was just something about it that made us walk in. Maybe it was the crowd of people outside or the snack stand like feel to picking up your food when your number was called. Whatever it was, the Portland Lobster Company would be the place I would have my second lobster roll. This one was much tastier, but it still wasn’t all I had dreamed it to be in my mind.
The next day we visited two of the places on the hand drawn maps provided by our friends at J’s. The first place was the home to a lighthouse and was everything I had always pictured Maine to be. Rocky coast, crashing waves, beautiful view. We also visited a small local beach named after a lifeguard who protected its waters for many years. There you could bring your children, your dog, your cooler, just about everything you are not allowed to bring on a NJ beach.
Both days, Saturday and Sunday, we returned to an unmade hotel room. We weren’t even given fresh towels. We also experienced first hand the murky green pool. While we thought it would be nice to lounge by the pool for a few hours, we weren’t aware that the pool would turn greener and greener the longer we stared at it. I must say though, I was amused by the mother who asked the pool man if it was “safe to swim in the pool” only after her children had been swimming in it for most of the day.
5am Monday morning we were on the road, heading back to New Jersey for the big interview. Luckily, we hit very little traffic that day and I made it to the interview on time.
In the end, I didn’t get the job. However, I do believe that everything happens for a reason and maybe, just maybe, that interview was exactly what we needed. A good excuse to leave the Holiday Inn Portland West a day early. Who knows? You win some, you lose some, but in the end, you’ve lived.
We went to Sorrento on our honeymoon…not Positano, Amalfi, or Capri. Let me repeat, we went to Sorrento.
I often get asked the question, “Where did you go on your honeymoon?” and when I say, “Sorrento”, I often get, “Where’s that?” or “Did you go to Positano while you were there?” While I hear Positano is quite spectacular, I plan to go there another time, a time when I want to sight-see and run around like a crazy tourist. However, on this particular trip, this “honey” time, as I like to refer to it, sight-seeing and running around was the least of my intentions. Relaxing was my only intention…after all I just came to the finish line of a lifetime of planning for a wedding that came and went as quickly as you can say the words “I do”.
We stayed in Sorrento for an entire week. By the time we left, you could have convinced me that I was a local, if only I spoke better Italian. I absolutely love staying in one place for days at a time. It gives you the chance to really acquaint yourself with your surroundings and get to know the local flavor. When it comes time to leave, you almost feel like you are leaving your home away from home. I felt this way in Paris, Madrid, and now Sorrento.
We spent many delightful hours by the pool on our honeymoon, in between eating of course. We both took this as an opportunity to catch up on our reading. For once, we were given the chance to dive into some literature beyond the elementary textbook. It was glorious. While I was glued to “Eat, Pray, Love”, Paul caught up on two of the latest Anthony Bourdain titles. It was heavenly. I also found time for napping. All of the wedding day stress was now history.
Despite this, Capri, Positano, and Amalfi were all short and scenic trips from our hotel. Should we venture outside of Sorrento or not? That was the question. I mean, while you are in Italy, shouldn’t you see Italy? So we debated, pondered, and then decided, we would at least check out Capri, even though Paul had already been there once before.
Capri is an island, known for the famous Blue Grotto. Blue Grotto=tourist trap. It may be beautiful, but its going to cost you to see it and they are hoping and relying on you to come to Capri and overpay for this experience.
We knew this, so we decided we would go to Capri only to bask in the beauty of the island. A 20 minute ferry ride from Sorrento, you can reach the isle of Capri via ferry service. Just picture a jumbo Sea Streak in Italy!
Paul and I boarded the boat, took the twenty-minute ride, exited, walked around for five minutes, and returned to the boat. Yes, you read that correctly. We spent five minutes on Capri. That’s all we needed. In those five minutes, we were pestered by several restaurant waiters, all pushing their pictures of pasta. “Come in,” they said in their best English. In addition to the nonstop pestering, the heat was unbearable and the crowds were enormous. With this, Paul and I both took one glance at each other and said, “Back to the pool”. Who needs the almighty tourist trap when you can lounge by a pool in Sorrento? Not a tough decision.
After a full day of pool time, we returned to the room to get ready for the evening ahead. Before making our trek into town, we’d often return to the pool area before dinner, just to sit and enjoy the evening air. On one particular evening, a short storm passed through and left the most breathtaking rainbows in the sky. These were the most vivid and distinct rainbows I’d ever set eyes on.
Each night we’d stroll down the main street of Sorrento and take in the people, the street performers (there was a girl playing music via water goblets every single night!), and the shops. Each night, this street was closed off so that only pedestrians, not vehicles, could cruise the street. This is where I purchased my Sorrento and Co. watch, a hat that Paul insisted I needed to have, and a stylish Italian wristlet and purse for our mothers.
And now I conclude our honeymoon adventure. Below you can view some additional photos from our trip. Enjoy…and remember to put Sorrento on your to-do list, bucket list, or any other list you may have. Ciao!
Be sure to check out Paul’s new photography blog! Now we will have two blogs running-this one which will be devoted to our tasty travels around the world and his newest blog devoted to his other love-photography. Let us know what you think! You can subscribe to both! http://paulshappirio.wordpress.com/
Paul and I had the funniest experience one day while waiting for our hotel shuttle bus. I noticed a man waiting near us that was wearing a (gasp!) Phillies hat. Considering that Paul and I are both devoted Mets fans, it shouldn’t surprise you that I decided to make a comment. I said, “What’s a Phillies fan doing here in Sorrento?” My comment we could say “broke the ice” and we spent the next ten minutes conversing with this man and his wife. As the Phillies hat suggested, they were natives of Philadelphia who were spending part of their summer venturing around Italy. This stop in Sorrento was one of many stops along the way and they would be making their way to Rome a few days later. You are probably wondering where the funny part comes in so I’ll get right to the point. When this couple asked me how I liked Sorrento, I nearly did a song and dance when I explained how much I loved the food and how it wasn’t like anything I’d ever tasted in my entire life. It sounded something like this…”I mean the tomatoes and the mozzarella and the pizza and the prosciutto and the pasta…I mean, the food here is to die for!” I expected these new Philly friends of mine to completely agree with my opinion on the food when the wife replied, “Oh, this is nothing. We eat like this at home. We have cheese shops.” What? Excuse me?? Come again? Did you say, “We have cheese steak shops?” Because I’m pretty sure you DON’T eat like this in Philadelphia. Then she said, “I cook this way.” REALLY? Yeah, ok, I bet you make your own prosciutto too.
Now I love to cook Italian food and I think I do a pretty good job of it, thanks to a little help from Giada. However, I would never claim to cook like an Italian who grew up in Italy. I also live in NJ and I believe that NY and NJ serve up some of the best Italian-American cuisine in all of America. But I would never say that its better than the food in Italy. Italian-American food is like its own genre or category and its good, real good, in my opinion. But Italian food in Italy…well, something just tells me that I can’t get the same stuff in Philadelphia…I don’t care how good of a cook she thinks she is.
It’s not that I don’t believe this lady is a good cook, it’s just that, we can’t get the quality of ingredients in America that they can in Italy. You can go to every cheese shop that Philadelphia has to offer, but it still won’t get you a tomato straight from an Italian vine. And your Philadelphia cheese is pasteurized, unlike in Italy where it’s not. I’m just sayin’.
Ok, enough venting, I’m starting to sound like Anthony Bourdain (whom I adore by the way). All this talking to “Philadelphia” as we later referred to them, got us inspired to go to cooking school. Yes, we went to a day of cooking school on our honeymoon. Sorrento Cooking School to be exact, and boy oh boy, Paul just LOVED it. Did you hear the sarcasm there? I hope so.
My sweet and loving husband of mine will do anything to put a smile on my face and this was just one of those, “I just want to make my blushing bride happy” kind of things. So we got up early and headed out to meet our Italian chauffeur to take us on our way to cooking school. At this time you should know that at some point in my life I plan to make a life altering career change. This will happen one of two ways, either when the Food Network calls or the Travel Channel. You see, I have this crazy idea that one day I will be discovered by one of these giant enterprises who will then pay me to eat, cook, and travel. So I figure, I better start going to cooking school.
Upon arrival we were given two stylish aprons and were ushered into a kitchen with about eight other aspiring cooks. The teacher, an Italian chef, spoke in only Italian and was accompanied by an interpreter who would fill us in on everything he said. Our first mission: homemade pasta.
You should know that I do all of the cooking in our house. I make breakfast, I pack lunches (with notes), and I make elaborate dinners almost on a nightly basis. Paul’s job is to eat the food, do the dishes, and take out the garbage. Paul also does the grilling and makes the coffee. This is just how our love works and we like it that way. So you can imagine just how excited Paul was to dive into the flour and roll his own pasta dough. He could hardly contain himself.
While my dough rolled just perfectly, Paul’s dough took on an altogether different form. I told him he had too much flour. The lady next to me told him he didn’t have enough flour. But the deciding factor was when the Italian chef came over, picked up his dough, gave it a funny look, and threw it directly in the garbage. I’m pretty sure this is when I grabbed my husband to keep him from running right out the door.
Later, due to the success Paul had with the pasta dough, the Italian chef chose him to plate and sauce the pizza. He kindly handed him ten plates, a bowl of sauce, and basil and told him to have at it so the rest of us could eat. I couldn’t help but laugh when he looked over at me and said, “Why me?” followed by, “Honey, you are going to have to help me out with this.” Needless to say, this amused everyone else and by the end of the class everyone knew us as those “newlyweds” from Jersey.
After cooking school we returned to the pool for our daily lounge. Unfortunately, like always, I got a rash from the sun. I have now gotten a rash on every sunny vacation we’ve been on. This is why my Mom packed me a “honeymoon survival kit” jam-packed with sunscreen, Benadryl, and aloe. In Paris, I got a rash so bad that Paul had to learn the word rash in French before venturing out to the pharmacia. The “honeymoon survival kit” was to prevent him from having to know the word rash in Italian too. I used to get really upset about this reappearing heat rash, but now I’ve learned to tolerate and accept that my skin just doesn’t mix with the Caribbean sun, the Mediterranean sun, or any sun that’s not Jersey sun. I could sit in the Jersey Shore sun for hours and never get a rash, but one day of vacation somewhere else and I’m a blotchy mess.
After the pool, we’d return to the room and get ready for dinner. This is when I’d have my nightly go round with my European hair dryer. Let me specify the word my. Yes, I have my own European hair dryer that I travel to Europe with. Paul and I invested in one when we were in Paris so that he didn’t have to hear me complain about the vacuum like dryer in the bathroom at the hotel. My hair dryer is called the “Baby Bliss” and while it works better than the hotel room one attached to the wall, it still doesn’t agree with my temperamental locks. So each night while getting ready for dinner, it would take me about 45 minutes or so for the Baby Bliss to sort of dry my hair. My hair “sort of dry” results in me looking somewhat like Animal from the Muppet Babies-frizzy and all over the place. I’ve got this annoying wave in my hair that Mom says I got from Grandpa. Thanks a million Gramps.
Dinner on this particular evening was at La Lanterna, the place with the best insalate caprese in all of the land of Sorrento. For our entrees, Paul had veal saltimbocca and I had fresh pasta with eggplant, basil, mozzarella, and tomato sauce.
After dinner we would go for our nightly visit to see Enzo, an Italian waiter at a small restaurant in the center of town. Enzo loved us and looked forward to our visits each night just as much as we looked forward to hearing him rant about his job: “Merry Christmas, I hate my job, I’d rather be fishing.” When we made our final visit to see Enzo on our last night in Sorrento, he asked us to take a picture with him and send it to him when we returned home.
I will end this post with my favorite line by an Italian waiter at our hotel. When we returned from dinner we ran into him out by the pool. I asked him what his favorite restaurant was in Sorrento and he replied, “My house. I live with my Mom.”
The decision to spend our honeymoon in Sorrento, Italy was largely influenced by Paul. Although it was my first trip to Italy, Paul had already explored this region with his mother and sister on a family vacation several years ago. During his prior stay, he stayed in Sorrento for two nights at Il Faro, a cutesy little Italian hotel just on the edge of the Mediterranean. Just outside this hotel sits Vela Bianca-a rather small and cozy restaurant with authentic Italian cuisine. Each night you can find the owner sitting outside the door greeting customers and flagging down the complimentary van that shuttles satisfied patrons back to the center of town. This comes in handy when you’ve over eaten and you can’t possibly fathom walking up all of those stairs.
Inside, the manager of the restaurant, Michele, tends to your every need. Not only does he provide you with a warm welcome, but he also rolls the fresh catch of the day right to your table. You can feast your eyes on all of the fish caught that day, in its entirety, eyes and all, and take your pick of exactly which one you want cooked for your plate. For our first dinner, we started with an appetizer of fresh prosciutto and mozzarella, followed by spaghetti with clams for me and spaghetti with olives and capers for Paul. Paul made sure to sample my entrée and I made sure to sample his. It’s hard to put into words just how tasty this food was. You’ll just have to take our word for it. It was FABULOUS!
While slurping my spaghetti and clams, I noticed a table of Italian men spooning an olive oil-like mixture onto their pizzas. My curiosity got the best of me and I kindly asked Michele just what they were topping their pizza with. In no time, Michele brought a bowl of this foreign concoction to our table with a basket of bread. It was their homemade olive oil topping made with fresh chiles. Paul and I LOVE spicy food so, despite our growing bellies, we dove right in. My eyes watered and my mouth burned, but it was one of the best things I’ve ever tasted. I made such a fuss about it that Michele invited me back to the restaurant so that he could make me my very own special pasta dish with sauce made from the olive oil and chiles. I promised him I would return the very next day. As we got ready to leave, Michele informed us that we had just missed the shuttle back up to town. Although I was sure I would never make it up those stairs after stuffing myself beyond capacity, I thought maybe the walk would help me burn the dangerous amount of calories I’d racked up. So, just as we were about to set off on our journey, the owner of the restaurant got up from his chair and said, “No, no! I will get you a ride!”. At that moment he let out the loudest whistle I’d ever heard and flagged down the city bus that was ready to wind up the steep cliff. He waved us onto the bus and said, “My friend will take you to the top-a!” We were shocked and amazed and rode our private city bus all the way to the center of town. The bus driver even refused our tip! We put an end to our evening by returning to our hotel, putting our feet up on the balcony, and watching the fireworks over the water. Perfect!
The very next day we returned to Vela Bianca for lunch and Michele kept to his promise to make me my special pasta dish. This is when Vela Bianca became my all time favorite restaurant. You see, Michele didn’t ask the chef to make my special pasta dish with the special sauce. Instead, he wheeled out a cart, brought out all of the ingredients, and made my meal right in front of me, sauce and all. Yes, Michele cooked my meal as I sat and watched in awe. My special sauce consisted of prosciutto di parma, fresh tomato, chili spice, and vodka. Hungry yet? Paul loved my spaghetti and clams from the night before so he made sure to order the clams for lunch.
Michele and I matched!
We also indulged in mussels in marinara sauce. When my Uncle was alive, we found joy in eating mussels, especially slurping the succulent juices out of the shells. It was one of our favorite things to do together and, just before he died, while lying in a hospital bed, he told me about his craving to have just one more dish of mussels. Unfortunately, he never got the chance. When I saw them on the menu at Vela Bianca, I decided I had to have them and once I tasted them and realized just how much better they taste in Italy, I wish my Uncle had gotten the chance to eat them here too. I know he’d be proud that I got to.
We returned to Vela Bianca three more times during our vacation and each time found a new dish to fall in love with. It got to the point that Michele would bring an entrée out for another table, I’d ask what it was, and he’d bring me a plate of it to try. In fact, after a while, Paul told me to stop asking because we were both growing too full to handle anymore food. Some of my favorite other dishes were the linguine with langostine and the seafood risotto. Michele told me they have the best seafood risotto and after cleaning my plate, I’d have to agree.
Vela Bianca and staff were truly some of the most generous people I’ve ever met while traveling. I felt I received the ultimate Italian experience by dining at this fine establishment. Their food was fresh and of the best quality for a very low price. We hope to visit Vela Bianca again someday and want to thank Michele and all of the wonderful people we met who work at Vela Bianca. Grazi, from the bottom of our hearts.
Flip flops and stilettos-flip flops for during the day, stilettos for my more fancy attire at night. I did not bring tennis shoes, hiking boots, or even outdoorsy sandals. So when we asked the lady at the front desk how to get to the walking path down to town, she took one look at my shoes and said in her best English, “While I love your shoes, you need to be very careful. Not good for cobblestone path”. Who knew my black platform flip flops with the sequence straps wouldn’t be appropriate for a leisurely walk down European terrain?! If she was worried about these shoes, what would she think come dinner time when I was rocking my black patten pleather stilettos?
The path down to the town of Sorrento was #1-downhill and #2-amazing! While I was trying carefully not to tumble down to town (I have a history of falling down) and not get hit by a scooter careening down without the hum of an engine (they don’t turn them on to go downhill!), I noticed some majorly cool sites along the way. Like for instance, lizards and lemon trees! While the lizards slipped between cracks in the rocks at the sound of my flippety flop, the mega-sized lemons dangled from branches and left the sweetest scent in the air. So this is what they call a honeymoon? I’ll take it!
After stopping every few feet to snap a photo of the stunning coast, we safely arrived at our destination-the town of Sorrento. Ladies-you can shop til you drop in Sorrento, or until your Euros run out. The town is overflowing with retail. I only enjoy shopping when I absolutely need something, like a new pair of shoes or a little black dress. When I’m on vacation, all I really need is good, local food and a beverage (plus I got the new shoes and the dress before I left the US)
Immediately, I started scoping out a good place to mangia. When Paul and I first traveled to Europe together, he taught me a very important thing about finding good, local food. Steer clear of the pictures. If a place has a picture of its food, its most likely a tourist trap. If you have to know a little of the local language to figure out the menu, the place is exactly where you want to be. Good lesson, but sometimes hard to follow when most places in the world now cater to the all mighty tourist.
After strolling down one street after another and growing more hungry by the minute, we finally decided to eat at Pizzeria Aurroro located right in the town square of Sorrento. No pictures and waiters who spoke Italian-perfetto! We found a cozy table for two outside and ordered two Neopolitan pizzas and one insalate caprese. Insalate caprese in Italy is like slices of heaven topped with olive oil, basil, and oregano. The tender, sweet, succulent tomato slices put the Jersey tomato out of business. And the mozzarella? The tastiest salty companion to tomatoes that I’d ever tasted in my life! After I ate every morsel of goodness on my plate, my personal Neopolitan pizza arrived. Neopolitan pizza does not have cheese on it, but who needs cheese when you just had a whole plate of it as your salad? They don’t believe in slicing their pizza in Italy-you must cut it yourself and sometimes with a very dull butter knife. I like it. I think it helps you relax, slow down, and basque in every juicy mouthful.
My husband is secretly European, though we’re not quite sure which part of Europe he’s from. France or Italy, its always a toss up. He loves the European lifestyle and, now that he’s introduced me to it, I love it too. He does so well speaking the language of wherever we are (except for Spain, I did most of the speaking there!). I was so proud of him at Pizzeria Aurroro when he asked the waiter in his most confident Italian, “Dov’è la toilette?” and was so crushed when the waiter replied, “Just inside to your left” in his most confident English. It sounded like good Italian to me honey.
After lunch we decided to take the hotel’s advice and take the shuttle bus back up to the hotel. “Its a lovely walk down, but not so lovely on the way up”. We’ll take your word for it. The bus ride up to the hotel was breathtaking and once there, we made our way to the pool for a little digestive relaxation before dinner.
Dinner. My first dinner in Sorrento was at Vela Bianca…now my absolute favorite restaurant of all time. As a result we ate there 5 times on our 7 day adventure! It was quite a feat to get down to, about a thousand steps down to be exact, but worth every single one.
I loved this place so much that I am devoting an entire post to it and sending it to our friend Miguella back in Sorrento! Stay tuned!
On the way to the airport I was convinced that my sparkly “Just Married” tank top combined with my overly giddy “Oh my God, we just got married!” attitude would get us moved up to first class on the airplane. 
Just to be on the safe side, I attached some homemade “Just Married” computer labels to all of our luggage, and when they just wouldn’t stick, Paul secured them on with massive amounts of scotch tape. Brilliant! Yes, we were absolutely sure this would get someone’s attention and we would be flying to Italy in comfort and style courtesy of Iberian airlines. Wrong. I’m pretty sure the guy at check-in glanced at me for about a half a second before politely granting us the exit row. Was it the tank top or the Scotch tape fiasco on our bags that got us that extra leg room? We’ll never know.
I don’t fly well. In fact, my nephew Logan says it best-“I cry like a big baby”. Only a three-year old can put fear in that kind of perspective. Not only do I cry like a big baby, but I have this annoying shaking leg episode that goes into full effect upon taking off and landing. I don’t know what it is that cripples me when I fly. I’m not sure if its the actual sensation of flying that makes me uneasy or the fact that the Wright brothers didn’t really start experimenting with this whole flying machine thing until the year 1899. That really wasn’t that long ago you know.
While my up-in-the-air anxiety seems to get worse with each flight, my desire to travel continues to grow at a wildly rapid rate. Therefore, I will never let fear get in the way of me holding a panda in China, sipping wine on a vineyard in Napa, and eating my way through Italy (just some of the plans I have made for myself). As for Paul, he doesn’t seem to mind my sweaty palms and constant questioning of “Baby, what was that noise?!” He’s also become pretty well-trained in holding down my crazy leg when it gets itself a shaking. All admirable qualities of a good husband, I must say.
Our flight plan to Sorrento consisted of two fun-filled rides: one from JFK to Madrid and another from Madrid to Naples. While most would consider a layover at an airport an inconvenience, we saw it as an opportunity to dine on a tasty jamon sandwich and reminisce about our first trip to Spain. So at 7am, after being corralled through the Madrid airport maze and being spit out on the other side of security, we rushed to the first jamon sandwich joint we could find and picked up two sandwiches for breakfast. We wolfed them down and rushed to our gate only to find that the flight from Madrid to Napoli was delayed-two hours. Italy seemed so close, yet still so far away.
I find this would be an appropriate time to talk about my husband and his inability to sit still in an airport. Airports set off a switch in Paul that puts him in exploration mode. So while I always find a place to park it and read a book or a magazine, he takes off to roam. I’m not sure where he goes or what he does, but its his belief that he shouldn’t sit down before he’s going to have to sit down (on an airplane). This has never been a problem until now.
Let’s back up a bit to JFK airport, just before boarding. We’re excited, its our honeymoon, we want to get to Italy ASAP. We’ve got about an eight-hour flight ahead of us and that’s a whole lot of sitting for my Pauly boy. He mathematically analyzes the situation and decides that we will not board the plane until we absolutely have to. After all, there are hundreds of people waiting to board so we’ll let them go first. No need to sit on the plane longer than we have to. Boarding begins and Paul takes off on another exploration. This time to the bathroom. I sit by the gate and wait. And wait. Five minutes go by, then ten, and the crowd around me starts to get smaller and smaller. Fifteen minutes now and the crowd has disappeared. They’ve all boarded the airplane. I start to get nervous and I walk quickly to the bathroom area with awful visions of what possibly could have happened to my new husband. Just before I’m about to run into the men’s bathroom , I hear my name, then “please report to your gate immediately” across the airport intercom system. Now I’m running back from where I came only to find Paul waiting impatiently at the gate and questioning my whereabouts. “Where were you?” he asks as if he’s been waiting at the gate the whole time. “Where was I? Where were you?”. Turns out, Paul thought it would be a convenient time, after visiting the bathroom and before boarding the plane, to purchase some more Euros. He just didn’t think the transaction would take as long as it did. Luckily, despite the airline’s staffers looks of disapproval, we were able to board the plane just before they closed the aircraft door. Now, I’m certain that we’d be great candidates for the show “The Amazing Race”.
Now, back to Madrid. With a two-hour delay, Paul had a lot of time to go on an airport adventure and off he went while I tried to figure out the most comfortable way to sleep in a most uncomfortable airport chair. When it was finally time to board our plane, we had the pleasure of walking out onto the heated runway to a small jet that we were then slowly and methodically shoehorned into. This time, my sparkly shirt got us seats right behind first class. I wasn’t too disappointed this time. After all there were only two first class seats on this miniature airplane with a dish towel- like curtain to separate “us” from “them”.
After two hours aboard the Iberian mini-me, I could finally see Mt. Vesuvius out my window!
I couldn’t believe we had finally arrived in Italy! We wedged ourselves out of the plane, packed ourselves like sardines onto a bus, and rode to the terminal to pick up our bags. Once we obtained our luggage, still donned with our now very dirty “Just Married” stickers (but still sticking!), we walked straight to our Italian chauffeur from BenVenito Limousine.
We did not explore Napoli (Naples), although someday we’d like to. On our way to Sorrento, while careening down the highway at full speed, our driver pointed out Mt. Vesuvius and told us about the history of Pompei. While I tried to listen intently to his history lesson, I could not peel my eyes away from the highway. The driving in Italy is somewhat similar to Nascar, only European style with lots of scooters.
After about forty minutes we finally reached Sorrento and I could not believe the beauty before me! The mountains rising in the distance, the jagged cliffs, the winding roads, the aqua colored water, the brightly colored flowers-it was amazing. When I exclaimed how beautiful it was, our driver replied, “Its nice, but not as pretty as the Amalfi Coast where I live”. Since he didn’t invite us to have dinner at his house or to pick lemons off of his lemon trees, we decided to keep our reservations in Sorrento as we planned and catch the Amalfi Coast another time. Sorrento was gorgeous enough for me.
Our hotel-the Grand Hotel Aminta-was ideally located high above the town of Sorrento giving us exceptional views from our sea view balcony. When we arrived, we were beyond exhausted and hungry and found it difficult to hear anything the hotel staff had to say in their welcoming messages. We immediately found our third floor room, went straight to the balcony to gawk at our view, and then found our way to dinner.
Dinner. Be advised that this post will be very different from the posts that follow. We only ate dinner at our hotel this first evening because, after what felt like almost two days of traveling, we were too tired to venture into town. While I’d like to say my first meal in Italy was the best I ever had, it wasn’t. In the posts that follow, you will hear about every meal and every restaurant that succeeded this one, but I can’t say I loved my dinner at the hotel. Maybe I was too tired, too jet lagged, or maybe I set my expectations a little too high because, after all, I was in Italy. However, Paul was disappointed too and we began to realize that our hotel, although modern and beautiful, was more American and less Italian than we had hoped for. In the end, we would love to stay at this hotel again. Their service and their accommodations were outstanding and we’d recommend it as a great place to stay when visiting Sorrento. It’s just important to remember one little thing. Italy is right outside your door. So don’t get yourself all wrapped up in the hotel. Go out and taste what you can’t taste at home.
After dinner, we retired to our room and, with the intentions of just lying down for a minute or two, we fell asleep for the night. Buonanotte, Italia! See you in the morning!
I fell in love on my honeymoon. With that new husband of mine, trust me, I fall in love everyday, but this time I fell in love with a town, a region, a whole country. Sorrento, Campania, Italy. On my first day there, powering through my post wedding exhaustion and jet lag, I was already planning my trip back. It was that good.
We’ve got a lot to report and photographs galore. This will not be a single post and I promise, when we are done, you’ll be craving some Sorrento too. So stay tuned. Honeymoon in Sorrento, Day 1, coming soon!
Bringing Down the White Picket Fence 
