This morning we had a visit from Massimo, the gentleman who plastered the wall cracks before we arrived. Because of the consistency of the walls (everything is textured), filling in the cracks is not a messy job as there is no need to sand to achieve a smooth surface. Paul paid Massimo and enlisted him to paint the interior walls (sans bathroom) in the future. On Monday at 6pm he’s going to bring paint color samples for us to review, so no need for us to go back to the hardware store. 

Massimo is the first person all week to suggest a time for his appointment with us. Biaggio yesterday said “later today” for his visit with the drill. Yesterday we were told to call the beach club “in the morning” and the waste removal people said they’d call us “the day before we arrive.” We’ve been lacking in specifics and are used to it at this stage. 

Before Noon we had dropped off D at the local train station (he’s visiting a friend vacationing in Florence) and Paul and I went to a beach club in Sperlonga. The beach club was ten minutes away from where we had stayed 3 years ago, and only $31 Euro for an assigned, shaded parking spot (no over crowding) in a lot lined with olive trees, two beach chairs and an umbrella.  Upon arrival we saw Marco who we had run into at the hardware store earlier in the week, his wife Frederica, and their children, who live in Pico. While we arrived at Noon, they left at 12:15 for sit down lunch away returning more than two hours later. Because you rent your chairs for the day, it’s safe to leave everything at the shore. 

I just love Italian beach culture: the silver-haired men wearing a blue pin striped button down shirt, mostly unbuttoned, with his bathing suit. The women of all shapes and sizes wearing small two piece suits. The public displays of affection from 20-somethings infatuated with each other; the kids eating bowls of pasta in red sauce as their beach snack. 25 years of visiting Italian beaches and the scene never gets old for me. 

I fell asleep on the beach and awoke to the familiar sounds of a beach vendor selling cookies. “Bella bella signori!” he calls out followed by some indecipherable sentence. It caught our interest on the last visit and know he has a cart of cookies. It’s literally the same guy selling cookies three years later.

For lunch we ate at the beach club: prosciutto with melon to start, fried calamari for Paul, and gnocchi in a very light red sauce for me. 

The music thumped all day long but wasn’t intrusive – a mixture of American songs with a constant dance club beat. Similar to what I remember from years past, the 1950s tunes start in the late afternoon. 

By 7:30pm it was time to leave the beach and drive into the Sperlonga borgo for dinner. Driving is an adventure here; and Paul is very good at it — stick shift and all. We secured a spot in a tiny garage and walked through the borgo to our favorite restaurant from 3 years ago: La Piazzetta. 6 Euro aperol spritzes, an appetizer platter of potato chips, peanuts and local Itrana olives, a platter of bruschetta and a spaghetti cacio pepe (cheese, salt and pepper.

Before driving back to Pico, we walked through the borgo and grabbed our first gelato of the trip: tiramisu for me, and chocolate/nociola for Paul.