Day 7 - Living the Dream on the Blu Mediterraneo

Day 7 of La Mia Avventura Italiana was the one I'd been looking forward to the most: a small-group boat tour of the Amalfi Coast, including two stops for swimming and a three-hour interlude on the famous Island of Capri.

After parking my reliable but boring Opel Crossland in a massive—and strangely deserted—underground garage right next to a lime green Ferrari (who'd steal an Opel when you can nab a Ferrari, right?) I hightailed it to the nearby Port of Salerno and the headquarters of Blu Mediterraneo, the vendors for this "product" (Tripadvisor, lol).

There, the lovely Morgana, first mate to Captain Luigi, summoned me and NO ONE else to our luxury mini yacht. At least for the first leg of my voyage, I'd have her, er, them all to myself.

Naturally, I milked my private cruise for all it was worth, lounging on the padded bow like a Roman Senator on holiday, sipping sparkling water, and etching vistas on my tablet.

Meanwhile, my sea chariot sliced through the glorious Blu Mediterraneo as the sumptuous Amalfi coast rolled by in an endless spool of 4-D frescos.

I was especially thrilled to spot La Rondinaia (The Swallow’s Nest), near the top of the mountain overlooking the sea in Ravello, the home—and definitive lofty perch—of our greatest American political essayist and one of my favorite novelists, Gore Vidal.

I met him only once during his 86 years after a talk he gave on his short but searing exposé of the USA called Imperial America: Reflections on The United States of Amnesia. My autographed copy is a prized possession, which I keep next to Saul's… and Philip's… and Joseph’s.

Gore Vidal at La Rondinaia — Photo Credit: https://www.larondinaia.com/gore-vidal/

Vidal, who passed away in 2012, often remarked that since he split his time between homes in Italy and the Hollywood Hills, he didn't live in the United States at all. Perhaps this gave him the perspective he needed to slice through the faux-partisan charade of American Politics and see it for what it is: bread and circuses for the masses. Meanwhile, the "Uni-party," aka "the Property Party, with two right wings," robs the people blind in service to Wall Street and Military Industrial Complex. But enough of that bollocks; these memories are too vivid and wonderful for politics!

Cruising into the Port of Amalfi, it was hard to suppress my unearned triumphalism as I waved like a beauty queen on a Rose Bowl float to the tourists who packed the dock. At the same time, their would-be conveyances bobbed and weaved in a careful water dance, jockeying for a berth at the crowded dock.

As we waited for our spot, I admired the multi-colored structures that rose above the rolling blue waves and up the steep green-studded limestone mountains to the cloudless summer sky, all of which gave me the distinct impression of living in a magnificent simulation—so beautiful, so achingly picturesque, and so quintessentially Italian, that it couldn't be real—although the gentle breezes on my bald head and the occasional mists of ocean spray worked hard to convince me otherwise.

Once docked, Morgana fetched the rest of our group: five attractive American medical students plus two pairs of RNs, including two adorable young nurses from Australia enjoying a grand six-week holiday. With all this medical expertise at the ready, the Gods were taking extra special care of me that day.

Rounding out our group of 12 was a rugged and amiable British couple, who were kind enough to spray sunscreen on my back and even rub it in a little after the effortlessly sexy but always professional Morgana politely declined. Naturally, in the movie version, she'll offer seductively and usher me below deck.

From Amalfi, we cruised southwest to our first swimming spot of the day, near the tiny islands of Li Galli, famous for their pristine waters. I couldn't wait to jump in since I was nearly two hours into my journey and desperately needed a dunk. The water was bracing but perfect with just the right amount of roil. And I was glad for the noodles tossed out to us by Morgana since my right arm was still sore from the pinched nerve I'd been dealing with since I left LA.

I haven't mentioned it until now, but my shoulder hurt so severely Sunday night before my trip that I almost canceled it! Now, after jumping in that ocean and bobbing beside my boatmates, I was happy I didn't fall prey to the fear or the pain—even if it meant switching from the sporty Fiat 500 I'd reserved online to the sluggish Opel with its automatic tranny, and suffering—and I did suffer—for the 12-hour flight to Rome and the several days after. Funny how the pain subsided when the fun and the food rolled in! The body is remarkably resilient when the mind gets out of the way.

After the swim, we set out for Capri, which soon rose out of the sea like a massive green iceberg. Luigi docked at the bustling port, and Morgana handed us each a generous Caprese sandwich, which I promptly fed to the gulls. I didn't travel to Capri to eat a Caprese sandwich from Salerno!

The Aussies and I formed an impromptu trio, and we cabbed it to the top of the island, where we immediately scored lemon sorbet in cups made of actual lemons.

Three hours on this island, so dense with beauty, history, and shopping, was like "Capri, the Amusement Park Ride" at a surreal Italo Disneyland. Still, we savored each moment, wandering the windy walk streets filled with fellow travelers—many glam, most not—window shopping at the luxury boutiques, checking menus for just the right bite, and snapping photos that would cement us in this place and time forever.

The girls were kind enough to snap photos of me at a magnificent overlook. I instantly realized what a schlepper I looked like in my black Vuori swim trunks and Amazon Essentials 50 SPF swim top. I needed a Caprisian makeover, and quick!

And so, with my companions' polite and oh-so-sweet indulgence, I popped into the first men's boutique that caught my eye and dropped two-hundred euros on a gorgeous green linen shirt chosen for me by the owner Vincenzo, who dissuaded me from the orange. He even had his assistant iron it out and roll up my sleeves three times to complete the look.

Two-hundred euros for a linen shirt, you ask? Well, that's about what I paid for something of similar quality back in the States. But this was more than a shirt. This was a memory. And I'll have it forever, even after the moths get it, unlike the hardy but boring buck mason I'd purchased at the Century City Mall.

Back on the boat, I stowed my new prized linen and basked in too much sun, apparently, as we sailed to the end of Via Tragara for another glorious swim, this time near the Faraglioni rock formations. As I bobbed on my noodle and did my best not to be pulled by the current into the rocks, I had to admire the dozens of luxury yachts anchored in the sheltered waters. Where better to catch some rays and avoid those pesky international trade sanctions… or the IRS?

Then it was one last stop at the oasis of Punta Campanella before our return to Amalfi, where I bid my new friends farewell in the late afternoon light before enjoying my second solo cruise back to Salerno.

Back at the hotel, I reflected on the awesomeness of this day, a triumph of advanced planning and spontaneity. All I can say is, hats off to Tripadvisor! So far, they were two for two! And I was tired, the good kind of tired, from energy—and time—well spent.

La Mia Avventura Italiana—Day 6

Vietri Sul Mare—My Gateway to the Amalfi Coast

Staying up till 5 AM singing Karaoke with your new Italian friends is one of those good-bad decisions one makes when traveling, especially after an intense four days of learning… eating… and drinking in an exotic locale.

Still, I managed to sleep a few hours before reclaiming my rental from the local garage in a somewhat less ancient part of Matera, cranking up the "Pop Italiana" on the FM radio, and driving 2.5 hours due west to my next stop, the Amalfi Coast.

On this leg, I finally got my Italian driving chops down. I figured out that the speed signs were minimums—not limits—and each lane had its own. And you best not dawdle in the fast line, lest some turbo-charged Audi or over-achieving Fiat 500L drive up your ass, lights strobing, with a sense of entitlement just this side of American.

As usual, I was joined to Google Maps like a cellular umbilical cord, with any signal loss or power drain the occasion for a mini-panic attack. But the drive was smooth and uneventful—until I got off the main road. That's when the nav apps seem to lose their AI (Actual Intelligence), reading off street names that weren't there or unmarked and making me guess how far 50, 100, or 500m is before this next turn or that, often misjudging and getting lost on the windy, but breathtaking, scenic roads in this part of the country.

The Hotel Raito, my home for the next three days, is a lovely, multi-level feat of architecture built high up on the mountain above the sea in a small, picturesque coastal town just southwest of Salerno called Vietri Sul Mare. My deluxe king room had a generous terrace with a 180-degree view of the coastline, including Vietri and Salerno, and the glorious azure blue Mediterranean luxuriating below as far as the eye could see—or the heart could wander. 

After taking in the view, I hit the hotel's massive blue-bottomed pool with its panoramic ocean views and swim-up bar. I did a lap or two for shits and giggles, then started pounding G&Ts garnished with succulent local lemons while befriending a tour group of mostly middle-aged American hikers having, like me, the time of their lives. Everything about this moment was refreshing. I could get used to this world traveler thing. Hmmmmmm….

Anyway, after my swim and a shower so long I felt guilty, a lovely young woman knocked on my door and presented me, from a rustic woven basket, the most beautiful red apple I'd ever seen. It was perfectly delicious too. The Italian's sense of hospitality is impeccable; little moments like this mean everything. Honestly, I'd never been so enamored with an apple before! But I'll never forget that precious piece of fruit, so ripe with biblical metaphor, as long as I live. And, while there wasn't a snake in sight, "Eve," it turns out, would join me the following evening. More on that delightful bit of Kismet later...

Too tired to venture out of the hotel, I chose to dine al fresco at the picturesque hotel restaurant located lobby-level beneath a pristine white canopy with the same gorgeous views I enjoyed from my room, although from a slightly higher perch. Lush evening breezes complimented the warm coastal ambiance, engulfing me in relaxing early summer vibes.

After eating too many of the fresh rolls slathered with anchovy butter they brought me to whet my appetite, I ordered a starter with two kinds of fish tartar, which I drenched, on the suggestion of my impeccable waiter, in a delicious local lemon-infused olive oil. Lemons are big around here, apparently. For my main course, I ordered Linguini and lobster tail and finished off my meal with the most delicious piece of lemon cake I'd ever eaten. It was beautiful and shaped like a ball—a luscious lemon cake burrata. And it was fucking delicious. Meanwhile, I drank enough red wine to put me down for the count. Luckily, the only thing I had to navigate that evening was my way to the elevator.

Back in my room, I admired the view from my terrace until I couldn't keep my eyes open, then slipped into bed for a luscious deep sleep.

I'd need it for tomorrow's adventures.

Ancient City. New Horizons.

Matera and the Indie Unconference Europe 2023 

After an epic night in the Trastevere district in Rome, I picked up my rental car at the Rome Termini Train Station and drove approximately 4.5 hours through the gorgeous Italian countryside to the historic city of Matera for the Indie Unconference Europe, 2023.

Holding this event in Matera was a stroke of genius by the sponsors, including the Book Whisperer, Reedsy.com, and Draft2Digital. The city is one of the oldest continuously inhabited communities in the world—over six thousand years—and its magnificent, ancient architecture and winding cobblestone streets and stairways are nothing if not exotic and inspiring. No wonder the producers of the James Bond Franchise chose Matera as a location for "No Time to Die," and the organizers of the G7 held their 2018 conference there.

One of the best parts of planning this leg of the trip was choosing a place to stay from among the many unique and beautiful options for accommodations Matera has to offer, from ancient cave homes and stone buildings in various states of rehab to 4- and 5-star hotels with pools and spas.

For my Matera pad, I chose a rather deluxe Airbnb in an old stone structure with a loft bedroom, an amazing—and much-needed—jacuzzi in the living room, and a private terrace with an unbeatable panoramic view of the ancient city called "The Sassi di Matera," a UNESCO heritage site known for its magnificent Rupestrian Churches, winding walkways, and homes literally carved into caves.

I was so thrilled with the view from my terrace when I first arrived that I immediately stepped out and started filming, not realizing that about 50 people on a nearby public terrace had, if they noticed, a panoramic view of an excited American in his boxer briefs. I didn't call attention to myself, but who knows? Perhaps I made it into some hapless tourist photos from that day. I hope so, er, NOT!

An Unconference is a unique concept wherein the attendees set the agenda, which is then brought to life by the experts who sponsor the event and conduct the daily sessions. During the three packed days of seminars, fueled by copious amounts of coffee, delicious breakfasts, lunches, and dinners—as only the Italians can prepare—I learned a lot about independent publishing from the experts and attendees alike, including many successful indie authors. I also made some fantastic new friends.

I learned that, as a writer—and now publisher—of literary fiction, I'm a bit of an outlier. "Literary" tends to be the domain of the trades, whereas most successful indie authors work in genres like Romance, Thriller, Crime, etc., or in the non-fiction realm. The thing is, I had no idea I was blazing a trail! I was just doing what I needed to do to achieve my vision.

Because, after sending out hundreds of queries to literary agents for my novel, The Tyranny of Desire, and dozens to the few remaining independent publishers who accept unsolicited manuscripts, I decided, finally, that these literary "gatekeepers" were an anachronism at best, and obsolete at worst. The ONLY reason traditional publishers might be helpful to me is for the literary "cred" they provide when competing for reviews in major publications and qualifying for the most prestigious end-of-year lists and awards. That's not nothing, but it is no guarantee of success.

Case in point. One particular title I competed with in the Absurdist Fiction category on Amazon, where my book has performed well, was traditionally published AND had a write-up in the New Yorker. But, The Tyranny of Desire still beat it out on release day.

Ultimately, I created my own publishing company and hired freelance professionals to do everything a traditional publisher would do. The only difference is that I'm the boss and keep all my rights. Moreover, I achieved my little red Amazon "Best Seller" badge not by permission from some corporate gatekeepers in Manhattan but through my own efforts—and those of a brilliant team of freelance editors, designers, and marketers who comprise the entity I call "Flying Bed Books."

For this, I must thank Shaun Loftus and everyone at the Book Whisperer who successfully brought my book to market and encouraged me to visit them in Italy, where they welcomed me with open arms. And special shout-outs to Ricardo Fayette at Reedsy.com, who helped create the online platform where I found my freelance all-stars, and to Dan Wood at Draft2Digital, who, along with Shaun, David, Rachel, Daniela, Ricardo, Liz, David, Vittoria, and all the talented writers I had the pleasure of learning with—and from, were so welcoming and generous to me during the conference.

Grazie!

Ciao, Baby! First Night in Rome!

Ciao from Italy, friends! The first day was long but fun. I Flew direct from LA to Rome and cabbed it to my super vibey Airbnb, complete with a living room jacuzzi in the classic Trastevere neighborhood. After a much-needed soak, I grabbed a bite and some vino in the sweet little restaurant right next to my flat, then took in a walking tour of local delicacies, exploring classic street foods, pasta carbonara, pizza, and gelato. Then, it was back to the pad for another jacuzzi and some shut-eye. Next day... on to Matera for the Indie Unconference - Europe!

March Hawks

Hawks in the hood

Squirrels have gone missing

No more scampering through trees

No more chasing tails kissing

No more tormenting my pup

From that branch out my window

They’ve fled for their lives

Or lie prone paws akimbo

While the hawks pick away

At their plump little corpses

Grown fat from the peanuts 

On my neighbors’ porches

Did they know whose tummies 

They’d really be filling?

Spring’s almost here

Let’s get on with the killing

 

Hawks in the hood

Squirrels have gone quiet

It’s all good

They needed a diet

The squirrels, I mean

The hawks are still restless

Preying on high

In their methodical harvest

While the few squirrel survivors

Hide out shivering and beaten

When it comes to March hawks

Better hungry

Than eaten