I broke a long standing rule last night, because we went back to eat at the same restaurant as the night before. The food is so good at Maona that it would have been silly to chance it somewhere else. The food is simple but of a high quality and well cooked and I can't praise it high enough. Go there.
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Breakfast this morning was funny. We were surrounded by the oddest group of people, and that's coming from Jan who is usually far too polite to make such comments. Not me, bruv. On a table to our left was a couple who spoke a latin language, which was difficult to comprehend. Anyway, this guy sounded like a mafia don. He had the gruffest most rasping voice imaginable and, on top of that, he spoke to the waiter in English whilst ordering 2 Diet cokes for his breakfast. Close to them was a female couple, probably mother and daughter, the older woman looked to me exactly like an old friend of Jan's from England. No names because I don't want to be sued, but she behaved so slowly and strangely that she looked as though she had just been released from a home for the terminally bewildered. Last but not least, was the chap who reeked of old money. A gold signet ring on his left pinkie, a great mop of hair, and the oldest scruffiest pair of tennis shoes with no laces. The sort of guy I used to meet in the old days at certain merchant banks in London. You could tell he was a bit gagga because he asked the waiter for a table for four and five of them promptly sat down. His three boys all had an over confident, public school, nonchalant air and all of them needed a good haircut. If I said Don King you should get the idea. Anyway, it gave Jan and I something to giggle about and, more importantly, something for me to write about. I love it here and for once I feel normal (steady on - Ed.)
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Visiting the town centre you can't help but be amazed at the number of scooters. These young men, but mostly young women, weave in and out of traffic, at break neck speed. They appear reckless beyond belief and you can only imagine that they must have learnt their skills delivering pizza in Beirut. They were that good!
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The swimming pool is not for the faint hearted. All the bronzed, olive skinned beauties vying with each other to see how little they can wear. They're about as subtle as a Meatloaf concert. I got to know the bagninos fairly well, in a cor blimey, look at her, leering kind of way. I asked if it was permissible to sunbathe topless, the bagnino shrugged his shoulders and said he supposed so. I told him to go and tell one pneumatic blond that she could take her top off if she wanted to.
Actually I didn't say that, I just thought it, but I would have said it if I'd known the Italian for pneumatic!
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We lunched at the pool side restaurant Corallina. This was disappointing. The food was no better than down below and the service poor. The restaurant had oodles of staff but they were not well organised. The Maitre d' took all the orders and spent too much time with customers at the expense of people waiting to be seated. It took the edge off the expectation of our last night's dinner in 'Il Giardino', the garden restaurant where you do not have to wear a jacket but are expected to wear long trousers. I suppose that's not too much to ask.
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