Positano
For some, the ideal holiday means rest and relaxation, where “shop ‘til you drop” is regarded as a legitimate form of exercise. For others, R&R translates as “ready and raring to go”…on challenging up-hill trails, if possible.
Italy’s Sorrentine Peninsula offers the perfect setting for both extremes. If six-inch stilettos are your style, choose Sorrento. If your “good shoes” are the pair least caked with mud, you’ll probably prefer Positano. Read on for tips on making the most of la dolce vita, however you define it.
Getting Your Bearings
On the north, overlooking the Bay of Naples, Sorrento is a civilized little city, filled with interesting stores, scores of restaurants, and cafes tailor-made for a sunset aperitif. Above all, it is beautifully, blessedly flat.
A sunny square in Sorrento
Walking more than 100 feet without encountering a steep slope or an even steeper set of stairs is something you’ll quickly learn to appreciate when you cross over the Lattari Mountains, the spiny backbone of the peninsula, and arrive on the Amalfi Coast.
This is perhaps Italy’s most scenic stretch of coastline. The road is curvier than Marilyn Monroe in a bikini, with hairpin turns that snake between jagged mountains on one side and eye-popping drops to the sea on the other.
A mind-bending stretch of road along the Amalfi Coast
Atrani
Even more impressive than the road are the villages themselves, which cling to cliffs with the tenacity of cacti in the desert.
Some seem to have been designed by an especially sadistic fan of M.C. Escher, with endless staircases leading to, well, more endless staircases, as epitomized Atrani, one of the tiny gems along the coast.
But the most famous of them all, with its Jenga-like jumble of gravity-defying bungalows, bougainvillea-draped terraces and jaw-dropping views, is postcard-perfect Positano. (more…)
When the government of New Zealand invited citizens to submit designs for a proposed new flag, they probably weren’t expecting a kiwi (the bird, that is) shooting lasers from its eyes—or a rainbow from its backside, for that matter.
“The laser beam projects a powerful image of New Zealand,” Gray says of his design. “I believe it is so powerful it does not need to be discussed.”
But that’s what they got, and sooooo much more. Approximately 10,300 more wanna-be banners, to be exact(ish).
After months of unflagging (ahem) anticipation, the results are finally in. This week, Kiwis voted on their favourite design. But before “the big reveal,” let’s take a moment to see how the contest shaped up—and review the best of the bizarre designs. (Hang in there. I promise you, it’s worth it).
The initial task of whittling all those thousands of submissions down to a mere 40 fell to “The Panel,” as the official flag deciderers dubbed themselves—anticipating, perhaps, a “So You Think You Can Design a Flag” reality show judged by retired warrior princess Lucy Lawless and down-at-their-furry-heels ex-Hobbits.
Personally, I would have voted for this flag. But that’s probably because I designed it–and also, I’ve just got back from the pub, so my judgement may be slightly impaired.
Given the enterprising “anything goes” spirit of this endeavor, I had hoped that the ultimate victor would be selected in a televised cage match, where the participants would not be scored on the merits of their designs, but by their Smaug-slaying skills (or, at the very least, their bikini mud wrestling abilities).
In fact, voters selected what they deemed the best option from a field of five in late 2015, and the winner of that referendum—a triumphant fern—was then pitted against the old flag in a final vote in March 2016.
The fern is nice and all, but can we all just agree that Xena and Gollum would’ve kicked some serious derriere?
And the winner is…the original New Zealand flag, first adopted in 1902.
Seriously, New Zealand, you chose this over the rainbow-farting kiwi?
That’s right. The whole business cost $27 million dollars, and absolutely nothing changed.
The competition wasn’t a total waste, however. At least the good people of New Zealand proved they have a winning sense of humour.
So, lest their efforts be forgotten, here are the most, er, “creative” designs, which, unfortunately, will not be waving proudly over New Zealand’s parliament building anytime soon.
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Flash back to the last millennium. (Wow, that makes me feel old). I’m standing on an Atlanta street corner outside the Metroplex, a grimy mosh pit of a music venue that never aspired to a title as noble as “nightclub,” waiting to see a punk band with a rude name that I wouldn’t repeat in polite company…if I ever kept any.
I’m drinking clear rot-gut fluid—ostensibly vodka, which tastes as though it was brewed in the bathtub of a flophouse—out of a Coca-Cola can. Why? Well, I’m technically a wee bit underage to be seen drinking alcohol, and hiding the contraband liquor in a soda can seems somehow classier than slurping out of a bottle in a paper sack. Not that anyone else cuing at the Metroplex is terribly bothered about keeping up appearances. They’re more concerned about keeping up their spiky, gravity-defying mohawks in the Southern humidity.
I have no pictures of the Metroplex, but this pretty much sums up how you felt after a night at that infamous venue.
Fast forward to last Friday. Now I’m sitting beside a marble fireplace in the Donovan Bar at Brown’s Hotel in London. This Rocco Forte property is a paean of wood-paneled elegance, lit by flickering candles and bright laughter.
Donovan’s Bar, courtesy Brown’s Hotel
Beluga Gold Vodka at Brown’s Hotel
Once again, I’m drinking vodka—but this time, it’s served in a respectable shot glass emblazoned with a sturgeon, and the fluid is so smooth, it slips past my lips and glides over my tongue like a warm, breathy whisper.
While the stuff I guzzled outside the Metroplex may well have been poured from a gasoline can, this nectar comes in a limited edition bottle with an embossed silver and gold label.
It’s sealed with wax and opened with a tiny, Barbie-sized hammer and brush, for heaven’s sake.
This, my friends, is Beluga Gold Line Vodka.
It’s made by the Mariinsk Distillery in Siberia, and it’s not even the same species as any vodka I’ve tasted before. It is, quite simply, dangerously delicious stuff. (more…)
