The summer season is almost over and the shore towns on the Adriatic Sea are slowing down. Jack and I thought that this would be a great time to explore, Termoli, a small city that we have flashed through once or twice before. I booked a hotel that was right on the sea and adjacent to the sea wall of Termoli’s historic center. In the province of Molise, this shore point is less than an hour and a half from our home in Pontelandolfo.
After checking in, sipping aperitivi by the sea, we climbed what felt like a million steps up to centro storico. The ancient city reminded us architecturally of one of our favorite places in Italy, Alghero Sardegna. (Shout out to the best language school ever – Alghero’s Pintadera.) We wandered the cobblestone streets, stared at the sea, and then I froze – there was a wee alley festooned with white lights, tables classically set and with an artsy vibe that took us back to Venice. (Read the blog Searching for Goldoni and you’ll understand.)
I decided that we absolutely had to eat there. Since it was only 7:30 PM, and way too early to eat, I needed to make a reservation for the yet unnamed space. Around the corner from the alley, we saw a handsome, curly haired man sitting by the restaurant’s front door. He smiled. I smiled and asked if there was a table for two available tonight in the alley.
“Si, signora – quale il sua nome?”
“Midge.”
“Midge?” He looked at me quizzically and probably thought, “Her mother named her after a small annoying fly?”
I shrugged and speaking the barely uttered truth said, “Margherita.”
He scrawlled “Margherita” on a scrap of paper, handed it to me and told me to choose a table, put my name under the water glass and come back whenever we wanted dinner. Then –
“Tu sei inglese?”
“No, sono americana.”
“Da dove?”
“New Jersey – ma vicino Philadelphia.”
“La mia moglie parle “Americano. Lei da Rochester – vicino New Jersey?”
Then and there it was decided that I should meet his wife! I mean, maybe somewhere between Rochester and New York/Jersey we might have run into each other during our decadent youths in some bar or another.
Jack and I continued our pre-dinner passeggiata and tried to keep our tourist faces at bay. The stillness of the old town, the colors of the buildings, the scent of the sea and the warm breeze made it a beautiful evening. Eventually, we made our way back to –
“Jack, what was the name of the restaurant?”
“I don’t know. You were talking to the owner. Don’t you remember how to get back there?”
“Of course I do.”
(I mean we only meandered up and down a few narrow vicoli, posed for a selfie near the sea wall and entered three different piazza since we made the reservation. )
“I will swiftly guide us back,” I lied.
Yes, I lied. But since the centro storico is enclosed by a wall, I managed to guide us back to Sognadoro, Via Rocco Mugnano,3 in Termoli! (For purposes of the blog, Midge, the smart-ass, looked up the address.)
We got back, found our reserved table waiting, looked at each other and smiled. What a cool environment. A young gregarious waiter appeared, brought our local white wine and asked if we knew what we wanted. What happened next couldn’t have been played out better by Netflix. Just as Jack started to say “tonno,” the owner, Francesco Sciscillo, came over, took away the menus and told us to wait.
We waited, he returned with a fish that was so fresh it was still jumping. You are all wondering what kind of fish it was. I am too. We are calling it the former alive fish called X. X had been very recently caught, right here in the Adriatic Sea.
Rats – I took the video in the wrong direction but you’ll get the point.
The thinly sliced fresh X was drizzled in olive oil from Francesco’s trees and spritzed with a dash of fresh lemon. Who knew that something so simple and swiftly prepared would be absolutely incredible.
Next appeared calamari fritti. Jack tries calamari everywhere we go. When I saw it, my fork of its own volition dashed into the plate. Tender, tender, tender. I immediately noticed that the calamari had not been cut into rings but had been sliced into rectangles. In the future, I too will prepare them this way. Each bite was full of flavor. They had been be very lightly coated in flower and flash fried. Yummmm.
Enjoyed more than you can imagine.
I don’t remember what else we ate, I do remember an enjoyable night spent in conversation and laughter. A young woman approached the table, introduced herself as Anna and said that her mother would be getting out of work soon and was anxious to meet us. The effervescent mom, Patrizia, regaled us with tales of making the transition between life in Rochester, New York and Termoli. The building that housed the restaurant had been in her husband’s family for generations. There was such pride in her voice as she spoke of his family and her family. A photo of Francesco’s mother is prominently placed inside the restaurant. Obviously, the sea and what it provides plays a preeminent role in their lives. She is climbing onto the fishing pier.
We were so enamored with the food, setting and family that the next day we returned for lunch. The entire family was seated at the “family table” and greeted us warmly. As the only customers, I suggested we simply eat what Francesco was serving the others. What a smart move! Polpette, ground fish and spices formed into but not to be confused with packaged fish sticks, were served in a rich red sauce. Next was a simple but tasty dish of chicory, red pepper and sepia. Great conversation, perfect lunch and then I saw something I didn’t like. Obvious tourists stopped outside the restaurant, pulled out their phones and stood there reading. Then they smirked a little and left. Smack me in the head – they were looking at reviews. Why would they leave? I quickly scanned the obvious sites. WHAT??? The place only had a few reviews on each site but there was a theme – rude owner, bad food, lousy atmosphere. TOTAL BULLSHIT! All we could think of was that the scant reviews were posted by someone who was jealous or opening their own place. Lesson learned – DON’T TRUST REVIEWS. I never look at reviews. That is a lie – wow two lies in one blog. That same night I asked at the hotel what place they would recommend for dinner. Then I looked the restaurant up – 5 stars everywhere. We ate there. 0 stars from us – boring tourist fare. The learned lesson was reinforced. In our quest for meals, we will continue to wander back lanes of towns until we find a place that just calls to us.
As we walked out the door that day, we looked at each other and both knew that Sognadoro would be on the top of our “lets go for a ride and eat something wonderful” short list.
Pontelandolfese and lovers of Italy wherever you are – check out my tourist guide to Pontelandolfo’s historic center – written in English and Italian.Or simply enjoy the life we lead in Italy by reading my humorous travel memoir.
Jack and I rented an apartment for a week in a cute seaside town. The Adriatic Sea is just over the mountain from Pontelandolfo. It took us an hour and a half to get to San Salvo. That’s a hop, skip and a jump to a fabulous beach resort. Having lived in Asbury Park and Jack’s growing up in Sea Girt, we are pretty familiar with life at the beach. Well, life at the beach here is a wee bit different than a visit to the Jersey shore. First of all, I wasn’t the pack mule carrying an umbrella, chair, cooler, towel, hat, book, water bottle etc. I was a lady of leisure with my own little spot on the water line.
When we first got to San Salvo I scoped out the beaches across from the apartment. One of the things I love about Italy is the beach system. There are totally free beaches that are well maintained or you can rent a fully furnished spot on the beach. I was determined to get the best deal on renting il posto for a week. This would include 2 lettini (lounge chairs) separated by a little round table with the requisite umbrella. Since it was June and not yet high season I was looking for a sconto. The seasonal price for a week averages €100. For €70 we rented a prime spot in the first row of set-ups with the sea lolling in front of us. Ahhhhhh. No schlepping chairs to the beach – just a bag with our iPads, sunscreen and towels. This beach, as they all did, had a bar. Who could ask for more!
Lounge chairs, a table and an umbrella opened by the friendly beach boy.
While I was lying about reading novels and staring, what struck me smack in the face was how secure the Italian women were and insecure I was. There I was hiding in a beach coverup, hat, towel and just about anything that would disguise my 65 year old pudgy body. There is something about self esteem and bathing costumes. Italian women exude an incredible self confidence and sexuality. That was made even more apparent to me in San Salvo. Scantily clad women of all and I mean all body sizes and types were strolling along the water line. Teeny tiny bikinis were the fashion of the day on everyone – but me. There was no hint of I hate my fat ass and am hiding it under this diaphanous skirt.
These women were laughing, charming, sexy and confident! I hid.
Bare topped little girls, hair streaming as they ran and played, were not embarrassed by their bodies. Even the chubby ones frolicked like nymphs. I’m not saying that I had a lousy childhood. I’m saying models of security begat secure children. Here, that really hit home. Growing up I was used to covering up – hide those imperfections – from Clearasil for zits to bows in my hair to draw attention from my too skinny little girl face (yeah, hard to believe that now.) Thank God I came of age in the 60s and started to uncover but still felt I was too fat, too skinny, too not right. I sat on my lettino staring at the Adriatic Sea thinking about all of this self esteem stuff. Feeling pretty and good about themselves seems to be part of the Italian female DNA or is it cultural? Yikes, I’ve got the DNA it must be cultural!
OK, your bored with this topic.
The Condominium – We were on the top floor.
Back to San Salvo. We rented a 2 bedroom apartment with an ocean view – if I stood on my tip toes I could see out the windows. It only cost us off season €250 for one week. It was on the 4th floor of a building that needs its condo owners to take a little better care of the exterior. The elevator only went to the 3rd floor which was perfect – I considered the steps my daily stair master workout. The apartment was small but clean and the owner was charming. I’d rent it again. Actually, I’d rent his second apartment on the same floor – it has a giant terrace facing the sea. The best part was that we were a scant 2 unencumbered blocks to the sea. Here is the link to one of the apartment listings: http://www.mediavacationrentals.com/campomarino-vacation-rentals/0006966000/84945.
View from our Kitchen window. Our blue beach is on the left.
The Adriatic is incredibly calm. It is easy to see why families come here. I could walk out for at least as long as a football field and still only have water up to my waist – at high tide.
Jetties defined the beach bathing area. It was June so the beach was not crowded during the week.
The best part of the week was when Rosella Mancini, Pasquale Iacovella and my favorite Pontelandolfo kids – Alessio, Gabrielle and Annalaura – came to visit. I rented a paddle boat with a slide and got a great butt workout pedaling around for a hour while the kids slid into the water.
That’s me hiding from the sun in the pink hat.
The sliding board was a great idea.
The market comes to San Salvo on Sundays – even before church there were folks shopping. They line up the market trucks along the pedestrian beach walkway. I bet there were 100 stands selling everything from artisanal cheeses, breads, preserves to electrical supplies. The clothing stalls were more high end than the trucks that come to Pontelandolfo. We all ate lunch at one of the pork stands – yummy roast pork on crunchy hard rolls. I would take a ride back on a Sunday just to go to the market.
The vendors went on for blocks along the walkway.
This vendor was snoozing. Guess business was slow.
Great colors everywhere.
Does coconut grow in Italy?
For those of us who were just too lazy to get off our lounge chairs and walk to the market – the market came to us. Every day vendors of all types strolled the beach. Looking for gold – well maybe it was gold – here comes the guy with the velvet cases. Want your hair braided? How about a henna faux tattoo? Coconut milk to slurp – here comes the rolling cart. Need beach toys – no worry – just raise your arm and the vendor delivers. Rats – you spilled goop on your bikini – for €10 you can get a new one. I loved the action between the vendors and the beach goers and I perfected my ,”no, grazie.”
Wait – I need that wading pool.
Color, fashion and a cheap price – who could ask for more!?
What a clever way to display jewelry and walk on a sunny beach.
Moms and grandmoms were buying colorful scarves – not for themselves but for the boys in the family. The pirate look was DE RIGUEUR for all young men – really young. Have you ever tried to get a boy to keep a sun hat on? I haven’t but I’ve seen moms prodding, threatening etc. The pirate look was everywhere and no one’s little head got burnt.
Ahoy matey!
We found a super restaurant, Porto Turistico La Marinelle Osteria del Mare, next to the yacht marina. We quickly became regulars – by that I mean we ate there every other day! We would sit outside, look at the water and order fish. Of course, we were usually there before anyone else and the family was just setting up. 8:00 PM is a bit too early for Italians to venture out for cena. The family didn’t make too much fun of us and were charming to the American who was butchering the pronunciation of the fish. Fresh food, all prepared in house and a nice family staff.
San Salvo is just down the road from Termoli a really interesting beach city with a terrific downtown. Lots of bars, shops and historic sights to peruse. We visited on a day Italy was playing in the Calcio World Cup – every bar but the one I picked was jam packed with folks dressed in their best “go Italy” costumes cheering on their favorite team. We went to the only bar that didn’t have a TV set up – “go aperitif”. Not only did we get the requisite Compari soda for me and white wine for il mio marito but it came with an adorable plates of little snacks. We sat, listened to the sea, munched and watched the world go by. Ahhhh.
Toss the SPF 50 in a bag and visit San Salvo – you’ll be glad you did.
Nonna's Mulberry Tree 