Thursday, 12 October, Paris to Naples to Sorrento, La Favorita

Written 29 November 2023

At the left here is Hall 2F, where we have actually been before, more than once. For a long while, it seemed as though CDG airport was entirely remodeled every time we passed through, so we never encountered anyplace familiar. Now, though, Hall 2F seems relatively stable, and right in the middle of the photo is the huge word "Paul," which we love to see—it's our favorite chain bakery in France.

Strangely, the eateries in this part of the airport are down in sunken pits, below the level of the gates, so you have to go down a half flight of stairs to get to them, then back up again (there are elevators, but mostly for wheelhair access). This Paul didn't have either decaf coffee or hot chocolate, but we had a lovely breakfast of pastries and tea.

The flight was uneventful, though they changed our seat selection on us, and I wound up in a middle seat in economy, but it was only a two-hour flight.

In Naples, we met the Tauck van without difficulty. Our driver, Lauro, was waiting with a Tauck sign at the exit from security. He ferried us and another party of two—DeAnne (hairdresser) and Becky (professional baker) from Encinitas/Cardiff, California—to the Grand Hotel La Favorita in Sorrento for our welcome reception and first-night dinner. The trip took about an hour. To the right, above, is a view of the Sorento jetty as we approached the city on a road high above the sea.

On the drive, I noticed lots of oleander (in bloom; does it ever stop blooming?), a few Norfolk Island pines, and lots of lovely specimen plantings of the local umbrella pines. The southern magnolia, which grows wild in the southeastern U.S., is a very popular planted tree here. We saw lots of back-yard gardens with vegetables, fig trees, loquats, and other fruit trees, as well as a field of onions. We drove through a couple of quite long tunnels; unfortunately, that's where the few traffic delays were, just where we had no view!

Interestingly, locust trees were everywhere, apparently growing wild, except in peoples' yards or gardens. In France they're often planted, but around here, they're apparently of no interest whatever. Along the roadsides, I spotted tangles of Rubus (the blackberry/raspberry group), and bougainvillea was common.

As we got nearer to Sorrento we passed groves of olive trees in fruit, and coming into town, little stands selling lemons and others selling lemon ice. The street leading to our hotel was planted with redbuds, another southeast U.S. native.

Here are more views from the drive. In the left-hand photo (sorry 'bout the fence; guard rails interfered with photography), note how, at the very left-hand edge, the land drops away in a sheer cliff to the sea.

At the right is a view of the Sorento jetty, from a bend in the road high above the town, as we approached it.

Our rooms weren't ready when we arrived, but it was lunch time, so we repaired to the hotel's roof-top café. At the left here, David admires the view out over the town to the sea.

He ordered “button” ravioli stuffed with cheese, which came dressed with both fresh tomatoes and tomato sauce. Fresh basil was both cooked into the sauce (the dark patches) and placed on top as a garnish

I got this lovely mixed "frittura" of prawns and squid. It was delicious but a little crunchy, because they had battered and fried the prawns with the shells on. I didn't eat the heads, but the rest of the shells were tender enough that I just chewed them up.

For dessert, we split three balls of extremely chocolate ice cream with a disk of (not very brittle) peanut brittle. Way too chocolate for me, but David liked it.

The hotel's decor was, um, interesting in places. For example, a pair of these strange chairs graced the lobby.

The rooms, though rather too ornate for my taste, were spacious and comfortable. It took me about 24 hours to realize that the "painting" over the desk was actually a flat-screen TV. When turned off, it masqueraded as part of the decor.

The flowered pattern on the floor was not carpet but tile.

The patterned tile was continuous throughout and, in the bathroom, continued up the walls as well.

At the right is part of the view from my room's balcony, again out over the town to the sea.

At the appointed late afternoon hour, we and the other 24 travelers on our tour reported to the appointed location above the hotel lobby to join the Tauck tour and meet our guide, Anna Kosti (or Costes, depending on the language in which she was introducing herself). We turned in a little paperwork having to do with vaccinations and whatnot, and had our photos taken, then enjoyed cocktails and munchies while getting to know each other.

Unfortunately, David skipped our welcome dinner at a local restaurant because his stomach was seriously upset (not the result of the lunch—he'd been complaining about it for a couple of days). But at dinner time, Anna led the rest of us a few blocks to L'Antica Trattoria. On the way, she pointed out two brands of ATM to avoid, Travel-x and Euronet, which cannot be trusted. For example, you might withdraw 400 euros. The machine hands you 400 euros, but the receipt (which you probably don't look at carefully, if you bother to have it printed at all) says you withdrew, e.g., 700 euros! She warned us always to use an ATM associated with a bank and not these two "stand-alone" ATM companies.

In the trattoria, we were accommodated at two large tables in a private room. At the right here is the assortment of breads we were served. And, as you can see, the lighting in our room was decidedly on the yellow side.

Italian meals are generally four courses: starter (antipasto), primi (first courses, often pasta), secondi (second, "main" courses), and dessert. We were offered a menu with three choices for each course. The starter I chose was stuffed squash blossoms, very common while we were there because they were in season just then. I got two of them, stuffed with ricotta and ham, lightly battered, and fried. To my way of thinking there was too much filling—it overwhelmed the flowers themselves, but they were still delicious. They were served on a pesto sauce, sprinkled with a little grated cheese, and garnished with cooked slices of the baby zucchini that came attached to the blossom.

Other choices were quail stuffed with sausage and fried calamari.

My second course was spaghetti "cacio e pepe" (cacio goat cheese and pepper), served over Neapolitan beef ragout and topped with something soft and orange. Our table's consensus was that it was sweet potato. Excellent. Best dish of the meal.

Other choices were tagliolini with prawns and ravioli.

My third course was Mediterranean sea bream with tomatoes, oregano, capers, and black olives. Each filet was wound into a tight coil for cooking, and a couple of folks at my table expressed dismay that they had left the skin on. I in turn expressed surprise that they didn't eat fish skin—it seems I was the only one at the table for 12 who did! Unfortunately, I couldn't in this instance because they had also left the scales on, so all of us who ordered that dish had to pick the coils apart to scape out the scaly skin.

Other choices were rack of lamb and pork tenderloin.

At this point, an elderly gentleman with a mandolin arrived to entertain us with songs both romantic and comical, but all traditional. Apparently, he is not an employee of the restaurant and doesn't even do it for tips. He just likes playing for people, and he's been coming and playing here since he was a youth.

For dessert, I chose "crispy cone with double lemon cream and fresh fruit"—a wafer cookie coiled into a cone, filled with lemon cream, drizzled with raspberry sauce, and decorated with slices of apple, pear, kiwi, and banana. Yummy.

The other choices were tiramisu and vanilla panna cotta. I would have loved to have the tiramisu (on this occasion and on many subsequent ones), but they're always made with highly caffeinated espresso, so I never dared.

On a shelf over my left shoulder throughout the meal was the fascinating object shown at the right, on a little wooden stand. For scale, the object in the upper left corner is the rim of dinner plate.

Wondering what the heck it was, I Googled the phrase on the long arm at nine o'clock, "Horologiam nocturnam," and learned that it's the night-time equivalent of a sundial, called a "nocturnal" in English. The little arm pointing out at one o'clock is labeled "media nox" (midnight), and the even smaller one at about eight o'clock says "0–24," presumably the hour. I didn't entirely understand the instructions for use on one quick reading, but apparently, you set the date with some of the dials, sight a star (Polaris, maybe?) through the tiny hole in the middle, and somehow read the time off the other dials. I never knew such a thing existed!