Wes + Marlow Travel Blog: Isola di Procida, Napoli: 15-17 October 2019

Wes and Marlow
Isola di Procida, Napoli, Italia
15-17 October 2019

We are twenty days into this voyage. I say voyage rather than “vacation” because we have become quite good at immersing ourselves in our varying locales. In Italy, we have become able to express ourselves in the local language. We have had meaningful late night conversations with locals, without a word of english. We value the “old world”. After all, our American culture grew from the seeds of old world culture.

Today, we are in Isola di Procida, a small island (1.6 square miles), 14 miles beyond the bay of Naples. Of the many places we have been, Procida ranks high. Last night we had eight o’clock dinner at the waterfront. Da Maria alla Corricella quickly became a favorite ristorante. But, before walking from the hotel, down the hill, 150 stairs to Da Maria we went to our hotel’s garden for an aperitivo. The evening lights made the water shine. The boats moved gently. The dwellings climbing the steep cliffs were yellow and red and blue and green, but faded by the sun. In the garden we met a man and woman from Berlin. The man asked if I had earlier been playing Bach. In our room I been, but so softly so no one could be bothered. But he heard it. It pleased him. In the garden I happened to have my viola with me. I offered to play a few minutes for him. He was interested, so I did. The garden had a few lights, but it was mostly dark. The air was moist, the viola damp. Our sparkling wine was poured. I sipped then began to play. Softly at first. Then louder. After the first piece, I sensed more was appropriate so I played more; and drank more prosecco. Mr. Berlin was smartly dressed with pointy shoes and a neck scarf; a generically international artsy style. He knew music peripherally. Then we heard the eight o’clock church bells. We were late for dinner. I told him I would play more down the hill at Maria’s.

Fifteen minutes later we arrived at dinner. Da Maria’s is nestled into a courtyard rectangle between three buildings at the edge of the water. Long ago (or maybe still) the boats would be pulled onto the dry land where the ristorante sits. Her place steadily descends right into the water. We got used to our wine glasses at a tilt and things rolling off the slanted table. Two nights earlier while walking that spot we saw a man. Smallish, compact, barrel-chested with a smooth worn wooden crutch under one arm. Somehow, I am not certain how, we became acquainted. Maria was his cousin. He (Francesco) and Maria were native to Procida. He was kind to us. He spoke slowly and clearly and with patience. Whether it was intended or not he was a perfect conversation companion. That first night we made a date to see him again two days later at Maria’s. He implied he would have something special for us to eat.

So there we were. Two days later. There were a few people in Maria’s tiny piazza. Not too many because the busy season has wound down. Wes and I said quick hellos. I right away opened the viola case and began to play. It was a natural theater for optimal sound. I faced the boats. The listeners faced the surrounding buildings behind me. The light was warm and amber. Passers by stopped to listen. Upstairs neighbors leaned out windows. Maria, the chef, came out from the kitchen. It might have been the most comfortable I have ever felt playing. The listeners were kind and generous. It seemed meaningful to them. A platter arrived to the table. Of course I stopped and sat.

On the platter were the special things promised by Francesco. Tiny sea creatures as sweet as could be. Calamari (squid) fully grown and the size of our pinky finger. Tiny crustaceans (canocchie) with two black spots. The spots look like cartoon eyes, but they are just spots. The taste was clean and sweet. Everything was caught a few hours earlier. We cleaned the plates with bread; here that is called “making the little shoe,” (fare la scarpetta.)

When the plate was clean I took up the viola again and played more. I hoped I was not overstaying my welcome, but they seemed happy and I was, too. In tiny Procida life is simple. You do not go to the movies. Locals do not go to the restaurant; not when the locals are fabulous cooks. We were making our own entertainment: food, wine, music, conversation, friendship.

This morning, our last in Procida, we woke early, just before daylight. I was glad to watch our tiny harbor slowly illuminate.

The day we arrived it was to the busy side of the island where the ferries arrive. We had earlier had a challenging taxi experience leaving Naples. Interesting enough to make want walk next time. So I was more interested in walking to the Procida inn. It seemed easy enough. About a half a mile. But it was to the summit of the island. The pavement was black lava slabs lain diagonally. Rolling luggage must roll slowly. But we made it.

The building seemed to have been a former three story residence divided into individual rooms. Each room has a terrace. The view down is steeply vertical to the water of the quaint bay. The bay is a former volcanic crater. The beaches have black sand. The vertical cliffs are filled with dwellings stacked about seven high from the dock. It is plain to see how menacing earthquakes are here. The residences are entirely interconnected on these slopes.

We have visited Sorrento, Amalfi, Bellaggio, Portofino, Taormina; exquisitely sited places, overrun with tourists, glitz and souvenirs. Procida strikes us as an equally alluring destination, perhaps like other popular Italian villages were before they were “discovered.”

So on that first night when we slowly rolled bags up the hill to the splendid vista, we wandered the waterfront on our quiet side of the island. We had dinner at Da Maria alla Corricella. I recognize that what to me seems like random wonderful discovery is actually the splendid thorough work of Wes. It has been arranged like a outstanding feast. Each course leads perfectly to the next. Many things have been considered. The lodgings are optimal for comfort and vistas.

Our first Da Maria meal unfolded at sundown. We sat at 7:53 at our slanty table. We began with a platter of seafood appetizers (antipasti):

Da Maria appetizer plate. WOW.

fresh anchovy meatballs, tuna (fresh caught small tuna) bruschetta, marinated baby octopus in radicchhio leaves, tomato bruschetta, fresh and sweet anchovies lightly dressed. The table clothes are printed with vivid enhanced color photos of the cluster of buildings behind us. Maria’s daughter is a photographer and features her work on the fashion runways of Milan. We made our first contact with Francesco. He told us he was 78 years old. He showed us videos on his large Samsung phone of Maria featured in television shows of celebrity chefs. Maria is also an expert fish catcher. Her boat sits in the water, feet from her dinner tables. Maria and Francesco are cousins. Their mothers were sisters. Maria’s young granddaughter comes over talking to her pet parrot, her best friend, on her shoulder. American jazz plays softly: Sarah Vaughn, then Dinah Washington, (What a difference a day makes; Cry me a river; Is you is or is you ain’t my baby.) The lamps cast a golden glow ... Fishing boats are feet away reflections in the still water ... The ristorante patio descends to the water ... The antipasti are wildly good ... It is difficult to choose a favorite: the tuna on toast, the stuffed squid, the chopped octopus in radicchio leaf? ... The pastas have arrived ... One is a local noodle, scialletelli, with shellfish, but the sauce is garlic, olive oil and pureed chickpeas .... Another is spaghetti with seppia ..... Seppia is squid-like and calamari-like .... It has black ink ... It always presents as a plate of blackness ... That does not bother our blind friends ... Especially when your palate is so happy ... Tonight, all is right with the world.