Cheering for Naples

It all begins with a promenade.

So we dress and start up the hill toward the town square, along with scores of other people doing the same.

Despite cobblestone streets, I see women in all kinds of cute shoes and feel under dressed in my flat sandals.

Lesson learned.

Fireworks are still exploding periodically on the hill as we circle around the fountain and head back down for dinner.

We stop at Terra Mia, a place with a sleek dining room, tile floors and a patio under a cloth-draped gazebo.

We are the only people on the patio, but the servers proceed to light terra cotta saucers of candle wax to add to the charming ambiance.

We are joined by other tables on the patio.

I have been warned by the Neapolitan that in Vico, we will be eating seafood and pizza.

Pshaw. I have no problem eating nothing but either.

 Our server, 26, handsome and able to speak Italian, Spanish, English and Portuguese, brings us a basket of bread knots.

Warm from the oven, it is dough with a filling of eggplant and the tiniest bit of tomato sauce and Perorino on top.

Divine.

We tell him our choice of wine, only to be told they are out of it.

Picking a second, he says they are out of it, too.

What do you have, we inquire. House wine, he says, just house wine.

What then is the point of a wine list, I ask.

"Just for fun," he says, returning with a small carafe of white wine.

Well, even house wine requires a bottle, we say and he grins and returns with the bottle we originally ordered.

Okay, so Neapolitans are jokers,

He delights in having fooled us and we are happy to be drinking Villa Matilde 2007 Falerno del Massico.

Everyone is smiling.

Meanwhile, we have found a place where, like so many in Florence, they are slaves to the '80s.

That's fine when it's the Smiths, but less so when it's Power Station.

Even so, we are having a ball.

The fantasie di mare is truly that and the array of seafood on it dazzling.

Prawns (head-on, natch), oysters, mussels baked in shell with bread crumbs, shrimp in a creamy cocktail sauce, sliced octopus, salmon with red peppercorns and bluefish crowd a platter.

Every bite tastes like the sea, fresh and briny.

Next we order linguine with sea truffles, eager to learn what a sea truffle is.

Our waiter, now our best friend, explains that they are deep water clams obtained from 25 to 40 meters under the sea.

Moments later he returns with a grin, saying, "We are out of sea truffles for real."

Not for joke, I ask?

"No, for truth," he says sheepishly.

We adjust and order paccheri with amberjack, eggplant (or as menus in Italy always say, "eggplants") and Provola cheese.

The pasta is like ziti but bigger, the amberjack is delicate and with an almost creamy mouthfeel and bright red tomato bits add color.

The combination of flavors is bright and again, entirely evocative of the sea.

Our waiter is pleased that we are so satisfied with our second choice.

He tells us he wants to move to NYC and experience "more and bigger things."

My companion asks if I miss Richmond. Rich who?

Because we have somewhere to be, we ask our waiter for a dessert recommendation and he tells us to go to Gelateria Gabriella.

Assuming that a native knows of what he speaks, we ignore the dessert list and finish our wine and conversation.

Suddenly we hear a cheer rise up and have no idea why. when we go inside to pay, we find out.

Soccer is on the TV, the kitchen staff is crowded around it and Naples is up by one.

All of a sudden, we've run out of time for sweets and head to our final destination, that of a local couple who live in an apartment building overlooking the bay.

When offered an espresso, I decline, explaining that I don't drink coffee. Clearly my Italian hostess is shocked.

I glance at the picture of the Pope over her stove and wonder if she will say a prayer to him for me and my failures.

Do they make people who don't drink coffee, her expression seems to say.

But because she is Italian, she must find something to serve me and offers me her homemade Limoncello.

It is beautiful, thick and tasting of true lemon flavor and I sip it appreciatively.

She asks if I've brought a bathing costume (I have, of course) and recommends a spot to experience the water while I'm here.

Her English-speaking son suggests day trips to Pompeii and Capri in a charmingly accented voice that surely serves him well in his job as a recruiter for Princess Cruise Lines.

With the last sip of Limoncello, we say our goodnights to head home to bed after a long day of traveling.

A week of this place? I think I'll do just fine.