Postcard from Sorrento - food

I think I’ve finally cracked why we think that continentals eat more than us and, in a tremendous bout of unfairness that is possibly lined to the EU, are not as chubby as Brits.

It’s because their food is so good. The food I had in Sorrento was fantastic. Fresh, vibrant – even the pasta was tremendous and, you know…it’s pasta! The worst thing is that it’s something we do to ourselves – we eat substandard food – lots of it. It’s bland and its processed and there are two reasons why we eat so damned much of it – it’s because the salt and the sugar and the fat and the ground up elves or whatever they put in it is mildly addictive but mostly, mostly it’s because we eat it and we’re not satisfied. So we decide to have ANOTHER family pack of cheesy Doritos and then, maybe we’ll feel sated. No, all we have is an orange ring round our mouths, a pound of corn chips inadequately digesting in our stretched stomachs and a justified fear of the next visit to the loo.

The other theory is that continentals dare not let themselves get too fat or they would not be able to drive their scooter at such speeds.

Postcard from Sorrento - Weddings

Nobody does bureaucracy quite like the Italians. These are the people that invented the Catholic church – so industrialised the business of religion. Possibly that’s why the wedding I had gone to Sorrento to attend was so fabulous. Even though it was a civil ceremony, the civil ceremony aspect of it was ‘high-church’.

The registrar wore her sash of office – a well preserved fifty year old woman with just the right touch of glam, it looked for all the world as if the happy couple were being married by Miss Italy 1970. The interpreter ensured that the happy couple knew what they were signing up to – many official pronouncements of how you should behave towards one another and at the end of it a marriage certificate in a bloody huge leather wallet – it looked like the a la carte menu at Claridges.

The ceremony was at the Cloister of San Francisco in Sorrento and, as an advert for getting married abroad, could not be bettered. Guitar and lute players strummed, the public kept a respectful distance and the weather was kind. Even the volcano didn’t grumble. Somewhat better than a registry office in Guildford. Medieval Italian architecture has something of an edge over 1960s civic modernism or, as I like to call it, evil in concrete form.

Postcard from Sorrento - Coffee

The coffee of Naples is famous. Probably, it’s been developed to a fine art because anything you can inhale the fragrance of that is not Naples after a six month refuse collectors strike is a good thing. I had ‘un café’ waiting for my hydrofoil. What you get is a cup of water to cleanse the pallet, then a cup of coffee which is basically half a measure of espresso. You drink this and then listen to the blood hammering in your ears as your heart rate climbs to the anaerobic level.

In Sorrento there are many little bars where you go in, order your café, toss your Euro down, doss the coffee back and then bounce off. I found a wee bar and ordered my café. The barista threw the tiny cup down on the counter. Just as I thought ‘rude git’ and grasped the handle, I remembered from the guide-book that the cups are kept in trays of boiling water. They think that scalding coffee tastes better from red-hot ceramic – this, I think, must be a by-product of living near a Volcano.

It did taste spectacular though. Apparently, I was unable to talk coherently for about half an hour afterwards.

Postcard from Sorrento - slim fit

Sorrento is beautiful. It’s also on the cruise circuit. This means that every day, even off season when I was there, there’s an elegant cruise ship anchored in the Bay. It also means that the population of Sorrento, by size, is as follow: American, German, English and Italian. By volume, its American, German, car horn, scooter, Italian, English.

God alone knows what the place is like in high season, but the little medieval alleyways were already crowded with tourists. This does not stop mad-arse Italians on scooters zooming down them at speed. Obviously, they are practicing manoeuvres for bag-snatching before the start of the tourist season.

The Italians here are all turned out really well. I felt like a right scruff in jacket and jeans. Luckily, I was able to improve my appearance no end with the purchase of a proper Italian shirt. I had cleverly left my shirt I had intended to wear to the wedding at home. Along with my camera. Oops.

So needing a replacement shirt I wandered into one of the many clothes shops and selected a fine white one, 16½ collar. Great. The lady at the till looks at the shirt and looks at me.

‘Sleem fit?’
‘Er, no…I suppose not’.
‘Ahhhh, Eenglish fit’. Smirk.

Indeed.

Postcard from Bay of Naples

Naples is a shit hole. How do I know – mainly the smell but also because you can catch a hydrofoil out of it – that’s right, even the boats leave Naples quickly.

Naples is connected to Pompeii, Sorrento and Capri, as well as the Amalfi Coast, by a network of ferries. Best of these are the hydrofoils that hammer across the Bay like speed-boats on steroids. The hydrofoils are, basically, how commuters get from job to home and yet they seem to be a hell of a lot more stylish than the trains I get in the morning.

But they are full of commuters. I can tell this because I can smell my own (when you get the smell of Naples out of your nose) and because while I was running from stem to stern, looking at Naples vanishing into the distance, gawping at Vesuvius or watching Sorrento creep closer, the commuters were reading books or files. Also, I was the only one drinking beer before noon.

I can see one eventually getting used to a view, no matter how spectacular and reading a book rather than looking at the coast…but it takes something special to not keeping your eye on an active volcano – possibly a really good Grisham.