Real Italy

     I can relax now. The boys arrived at the house. It took them almost 20 hours from the east coast of the U.S. to get to our Italian side of the hill, but they're there, safe and sound.

     "You have not walked up that hill until you've walked up it carrying a big backpack after a 20-hour journey," our son told us last night.

     Uh, okay. Yeah, I can imagine. Your choice, though, I seem to recall.

     Anyway, they're there. And we're here -- on the Amalfi coast.

     How bad can that be, right?

     Not bad at all. Gorgeous actually. 

     The water is clear and beautiful, the sun never stops shining, the landscape is majestic, and the chilled limoncello (made from some of those monster lemons I was telling you about) is exquisite.

     It's not real Italy, though, I hate to say it. It's overrun with foreigners. Last night, as we walked around town and then had dinner, we heard more American and British accents than Italian. 

     One of the waiters at our hotel confirmed what I had noticed. "Hardly any Italians come here anymore," he said. "It's all foreigners."

     There's probably one Italian guest for every 10 foreign guests at this hotel at the moment. And the center of town is one souvenir, ceramics and limoncello shop after another. (although the Duomo, or main church, is magnificent). 

     That's what I love about our side of the hill. It's Italy.

     Not that foreigners don't like the area. They do. It's gorgeous there, too, on that big, beautiful lake. Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes even got married nearby.

     We were concerned that could change it. But it hasn't. 

     It's still unmistakeably, undeniably Italy in every way.

     Grazie tanto for small favors!