Etruscan Afternoon

Rome, last August: First, there was the sprint for the train to Ortebello. We headed towards the sea on blue vinyl seats as dogs paraded up the aisle and a little girl exhaled bits of crisps onto my arm. My mother met me at Capalbio station. I introduced her to my new friend Angus. We drove to a beach and then to a house just outside Pitigliano. The clouds had cleared so we picked up my sister and headed to the hot springs at Saturnia. (The Terme are a series of waterfalls and rocky springs surrounded by rolling Tuscan hills.) Revived, we got back in the car and listened to Elvis with the windows open and the summer air rushing in. My sister pulled over and we all leapt out to pick blackberries on the side of the road. That night we went to Il Talismano in Sorono where I ate a pizza bianca (no tomato sauce) with slivers of zucchini garnished with fresh mint leaves.

                                   

On Sunday my sister drove us to the Vie Cave. We walked along to the ancient Etruscan paths in the morning fog. Massive walls of mossy rock rose up on either side of the narrow path. The afternoon was even more exciting…
 

My mother surprised us with an excursion on Lake Bolsena. She rented a little boat and we sped out to the forbidden island with beautiful ruins. After driving for a bit, my mother gave Angus the role of captain, and she began painting the island. We paused by a statue of a lion carved in the rocks so my sister could take pictures with her medium format camera. We took turns jumping off the boat into the water. The sun warmed my skin as I lay down and drank the blue sky. Back on shore, we ate ice cream cones and sipped icy granites.

That night we had fantastic pizzas at La Tavernetta in Savona. My pizza Russa was covered in several kinds of cheese, sautéed onions and a splash of vodka. Back at the house, we drank Negronis around the kitchen table and ate the last of the blackberries. They tasted better staining our fingers by the side of the road.

Walking in Athens

                                     

The glittering sea rippled under the wind. We approached thistle land and landed with a thud. My father met me at the airport, in an elegant collared shirt, linen trousers, and suede brogues, topped off with sunglasses he’s had since the 70s, oblivious to the intense heat except for a blotting of his white brow.

He drove me to the Acropolis in his 80s Renault. We climbed the slippery white marble stairs, so soft and smooth I was tempted to pet them. Tourists felt the same and reached out for the columns for a historic stroke, despite the “Do not touch” signs. My father told me how he visited the Acropolis as a boy and back then you could sit on the steps. In the ancient amphitheatre dancers rehearsed below the endless steep stairs. Music drifted up to the crumbling temples. The cream columns glowed golden in the twilight.

Next he showed me a little abandoned building nearby that resembled a Japanese teahouse. It used to be a café. It still had the mood of a place you could spend hours in, resting your feet on the uneven marble floor in the warm Athenian evening. We noticed two half-drunk champagne flutes and the remains of a picnic on a table.

We walked past the outdoor movie theatre to Psirri, dipping into narrow streets, people watching and pausing to admire boxy old cars, guessing the make as we got closer. One street had cables or ropes strung up and down it, as if the houses on either side were loosely laced together. The ropes were decorated with a random assortment of chandeliers and old lamps.

We went for dinner at Omorpho in Kolonaki where I devoured potatoes seasoned with oregano, followed by garlicky tsadziki, fried zucchini balls, and green beans in a fragrant tomato sauce, gently spiced with a dash of cumin. My father drank wine in a small glass, poured from a small tin pitcher. For dessert, we ducked into a pastry shop and bought two miniature chocolate cakes with rich, gooey insides.

It was nearing midnight so he drove me to the boat. He deposited me inside the ferry with hugs and kisses and a wave. Goodbye Athens.

YOUR QUICK GUIDE TO ATHENS

Walk around Psirri (there are lots of nice little bars in the neighbourhood) and Plaka.

Visit the Acropolis and the Acropolis museum; check out the traditional costumes at the main branch of the Benaki Museum on Vassilas Sofias Ave. 

Watch traditional Greek dancing nightly at the Dora Stratou theatre by the Acropolis. 

Eat In Kolonaki. There’s Athenian food at Omorpho on Xenokatous Street. While you’re in the neighbourhood nibble on a little chocolate cake at the French-named sweet shop on  (Patriarchou Joachim Street about half way down towards Kolonaki Square on your right.) At Hatzi's try the cake soaked in honey syrup topped with buffalo milk clotted cream. There is one in Kolonaki and one in Sytagma. Of course there are other delicious places too. If you have any suggestions leave them in the comments section...

The Night is Tender on the Côte d'Azur

They fed us cherries on a baron’s yacht. We lay on the deck in Pucci bikinis before jumping into the sea dangerously close to an island guarded by thousands of pink jellyfish. After dancing all night we threw breakfast parties at our house, featuring hot brioche with vanilla pear jam, scrambled eggs and cocktails by the piano. Witty Swiss chaps joked on the balcony at dawn as a pretty South African nymph sunk into a Madeleine-scented bubble bath with a French Dionysus. In the afternoon, underwear-clad, we read books in the searing sunlight as birds cruised over the palm trees. The air in Cannes was scented with flowers and toast. 

Took the train to Nice, left our luggage at the station. After walking to the old town and exploring the beautiful baroque churches we enjoyed strange gelato at Fenocchio: refreshing tomato and basil flavour, orange blossom, and almond flower. We strolled to the beach and saw a man walk on water. Back by Place de Yves Klein, breakdancers practiced their moves by the contemporary art museum.

Evening tiptoed in and it was time to return to London. I can’t wait to see the rest of the south of France. Send your invitations…

p.s. Here are some pictures of Nice and Cannes around 1900-1925, from Editions Giletta:

 Colour photo (at beginning of post) by Megan MacKay. 2014.

Brighton for Dreamers

A page from the book I bought at Rockola.

Jim and I took the train to Brighton a few days ago. I missed the sea and I was dreaming of ice cream cones, record-hunting, blue dresses from the 1960s, and walking down quiet streets lined with pastel houses. If you like vintage shopping, vegetarian food, or pretending you're in a Flamingos song, here is my guide for a day out in Brighton.

Rockola Coffee Bar is a 5 minute walk from the train station. Every wall is painted a different shade: lemon yellow, pale blue, mint green, and they're adorned with memorabilia of 50s and 60s pop stars: Elvis records, Billy Fury posters, Beatles collectables... Take a seat in the booth and order buttermilk pancakes and the tart fresh-squeezed pink lemonade. They also have burgers and a vegan menu. While you're waiting for your breakfast browse around the attached record store. Jim bought a rare Echo & the Bunnymen record while I drooled over an early Pulp 12 inch before the waitress popped her head in to tell us our breakfast was ready. Between bites you can pick out songs to play on the free jukebox. Before paying the (inexpensive) bill I bought an old book of pop star portraits and mod advice called 'The Boyfriend Book' for 4 quid. (I heard Food for Friends on Prince Albert Street has better vegetarian food but this Archie-comic-book-come-to-life is more fun.) 29 Tidy Street.

If you like vintage shopping walk down Upper Gardner Street to Sydney Street.

North Laine Market at 5A Upper Gardner Street is a random assortment of old cameras, furniture, photographs, some 70s clothes and a few treasures. It's like looking through your grandfather's attic and discovering that dusty bookshelf is actually a bar. I bought a large bamboo hatstand, which was a big hit on the tube back in London...
Wolf & Gypsy at 30 Sydney Street often has great stock though it's pricier than the others, about 30-70 pounds per dress.
Immediate at 34 Sydney Street caters to mod fellows.
Dirty Harry at 6 Sydney Street is more 90s than vintage. For jean shorts, Levis, and American-style jackets.

What next? An essential stop is Gelato Gusto on 2 Gardner Street. They serve delicious gelato and sorbet in exciting flavours. Try the peach melba, apple cinnamon, bacon waffle, or Ecuadorian chocolate. If you're more in the mood for a light drink swing by Hell's Kitchen, at 4 Gardner Street, for a bottle of ale or a Toffee Apple cider, which tastes like cream soda. Walk by the Brighton Pavilion on your way to the famous pier where spaniel-sized seagulls roam free. There you can find cotton candy, bumper cars, mechanical bulls and other rides. If you prefer a quieter scene try the old carousel on the beach. Lastly, lounge on the dusty rocks and kiss your sweetheart by the sea.

The view from Brighton Pier