In June, 2019, we again visited the island of Ischia in the Bay of Naples. We noticed subtle changes.
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| Town of Forio, Ischia |
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| Il Castello, Town of Porto, Ischia |
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| Overlooking Forio |
Our hotel, previously owned independently by a family from Naples,
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| Mezzatorre Hotel pool and tower rooms |
had been sold to the Il Pellicano group, owner of three other large hotels in Italy.
Giovanni, our beloved manager, had retired. The rest of the faces at our hotel remained the same, though Silvestro, the breakfast chef, was no longer cooking our eggs in the dining room but remained hidden in the kitchen. Giorgio, the pool and harbor director, now shared duties with a young man thirty years his junior, who spent time catching up with his friends on his Iphone. We struggled to remember all of the staff names, since their metal name plates had disappeared. "We don't have to wear name tags any longer," Fausto the waiter told us. "I guess any of us can be replaced."
"Can we reserve our favorite table for dinner?" I asked him.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Carey, but we can no longer reserve any tables."
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| Breakfast chef Silvestro |
The first of two interior dining rooms had been converted into a circus tent with red and cream striping, while the second boasted a mural of dark green foliage reminiscent of an English hunt scene. Gone were the sorbets served at 4 p.m. to those lounging by the pool. Gone were souvenir raffia totes emblazoned with "Mezzatorre Hotel." The ubiquitous white linen draperies, three-foot scented candles, and aqua blown glass, reflecting the sea below, had been replaced with white ceramic guard dogs and circus elephants holding bowls of lemons on their backs. In our room the ambiance of Napoli had been replaced with generic wicker.
But some things had not changed. Upon arrival, a golf cart picked us up half-way down the mile-long serpentine driveway. Although the new cart could now accommodate four with luggage and boasted a fringed awning, the neighbor's cement wall still veered at ninety-degrees into the hotel's driveway after eight years, making it impossible for anything larger than a Volkswagen "Bug" to approach. Obviously the dispute over territory between the new hotel owner and his neighbor had not been resolved.
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| Driveway to our hotel blocked for large vehicles by neighbor's stone wall |
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| Two hungry seagulls |
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| Stone steps from our room to the sea |
Bright green four-inch lizards still scampered away from our feet on stone steps leading from our room to the sea, while seagulls, emboldened by al fresco temptations, swooped above our tented platform.
During our morning walk I browsed through tee shirts on display on the sidewalk while Charley disappeared inside and emerged with a grin and small paper bag. Since we would celebrate our fifty-fourth anniversary on the island, I figured he'd forgotten to purchase a card and had found one in the shop. I knew from past trips the sentiment would be in Italian, surrounded by champagne glasses and flowers. I was right.
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| Sunday recreation for the islanders |
When we sat at our favorite cafe for a drink, a local resident stood nearby to sip his espresso. He wore a peach printed shirt with rolled-up sleeves, rust-colored slacks, and matching woven leather loafers without socks. The next day he appeared in a navy and white nautical shirt with rolled-up sleeves, navy slacks, and navy canvas boat shoes. There was always a fashion show in Italy! Of course, there were also exceptions.
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| Who dressed this guy? |
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| Cards on the beach |
Before walking back to our hotel, I paused inside the cream and white decor of a boutique. The clock on the street read 12:45 p.m. Fifteen minutes later I had selected a few options to take to the dressing room, but the shopkeeper blocked my path. "Cuiso!" (Closed!) she said, pointing to her watch. She shooed us forward as though she were sweeping the floor. Charley and I marched like school children into the street (sans merchandise) so she could enjoy her mid-day pasta.
What else had not changed? The fragrance of wisteria and white passion flowers as we marched up and down never-ending stone stairs to the sea; the "Buon Giorno Signore and Signora Carey!" and bear hug from every staff member upon our return; the lavender and peach glow of sunset across our al fresco dinner perch; the fishing boats sputtering home at sunset and the screaming seagulls returning to their rookeries above; and the perfection of spaghetti a la vongoli (with clams) accompanied by a glass of local Bianco L'Ella.
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| Waterfront, Town of Lacco Ameno |
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| Fruit and vegetable stand, Town of Forio |
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| La Mortella Botanical Garden |
