Breakfast the next morning was a few levels off of the ground floor –encased in white travertine and with the bright overwhelming faded sunlight that one finds on the edge of the coast. Black tuxedoed waiters were there to show us what there was to offer.
I was ready to swim in the Adriatic Sea, lay on the beach, and catch up on my writing. Mom was going to take a walk, my brother and husband were going for a run and Dad was going to do something in between. The beach in front of the Europa was sunny and clear with a nice cool breeze. A gentleman who introduced himself to me as someone with the hotel offered to set up beach chairs for us.
I laid there for a few pages of writing, listening, closing my eyes and tanning my legs. It was the most restful thing yet. The African pines and groves further north with ever-interesting beach schemes led the runners along a flat run that never felt like a chore. The boys ran 8 miles.
The day before I’d called Campetti Sapori restaurant to ask in broken Italian if they were open today and at what time. Our hotel would call a taxi to go up to Mosciano. So, lunch in the hill town of Mosciano, at a restaurant that bore our family name was ahead of us.
When we had cleaned up from our morning fun and were ready, we asked the front desk to call our taxi.