As it turned out, we did neither.
Not five minutes into our trip, my wife saw a small marker for the chapel Madonna della Neve. Madonna of the Snow? Here?
In Portoferraio, we'd been impressed by the churches and their odd mix of styles and local traditions. The Church of Santissimo Sacramento, for example, had 18 crystal chandeliers hanging from the wooden rafters, as well as a domed, Byzantine-style war memorial chapel with Turkish lamps and artillery shells. So why not Madonna of the Snow? I turned up a dusty road through rows of vines and found the hilltop chapel. We tried the doors -- locked.
The ancient hill town of Capoliveri, on the Italian island of Elba, could make even an exiled emperor happy with its lively street scene.
(Robert V. Camuto)
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On the way back down the hill, we saw a hand-lettered sign announcing the sale of wine and olive oil direct from a producer in what seemed a normal house.
Within minutes we were chatting with Signora Anna, as she is known. She is a schoolteacher and her husband an agronomist, both mainland Tuscans who settled in Elba years ago. The couple's minuscule operation is called La Chiesina, after the church, which Anna said drew its name from the local legend of the miracle of snow in August.
We bought our Aleatico and told her we were off to Cavoli. She said Cavoli was indeed beautiful before the crowds swarmed in August, but just up the road was the magnificent Punta della Stella -- the point at the end of Capo Stella peninsula, accessible only on foot or mountain bike, something not to miss. Our plans changed, we drove to the trail and headed out on an hour-long hike to the point. We walked under the shade of umbrella pines and eucalyptus, passing first one German couple, then another -- the men wielding cameras with lenses the size of killer zucchini to shoot wildflowers.
The peninsula provided a dramatic perspective of looking back over the sea to the island and the twists and turns and layers of its coastline in all directions. We followed the path down the cliff toward the coast, descending through a spice rack full of Mediterranean color and smells: wild lavender, rosemary, curry and tarragon.
A set of stone steps brought us the final 100 yards to the water's edge and a field of red volcanic boulders that looked like beached asteroids. We waded in the pools among the asteroids and ate the provisions we'd brought with us -- a bag of Italian cheese doodles.
By the time we got back to the car it was after 2 o'clock and we were ravenous. On the beach in nearby Lacona, we followed the signs to the Essenza Restaurant and Pizzeria, which also announced itself as a "Disco Bar."
At first I was dubious. Walking on the terrace of Essenza, we found ourselves in another world -- postmodern Italian beach culture. All the furnishings -- tables, chairs, sun awnings -- were made from angular plastic and metal right out the Alessi design shop. We sat at a table set with cylindrical stemmed wine glasses and white, flat, round ceramic discs. (I never figured out if they were meant to be plates, placemats or just cool looking.) The joint appeared to be run by a couple of young, well-financed Italian ragazzi ("dudes") in baggy pants and leather Pumas. They had their own small table where friends -- mostly female -- stopped by on their way up from the beach. Sunken into the dune nearby, a stone dance pit with what appeared to be tens of thousands of euros worth of light and sound equipment sat idle.
