78 NATGEOTRAVEL.COM
ANTONIO VIOLI/ALAMY STOCK PHOTOGreat Aunt Maria in the country, this room looks the part. Antique
chests, faded prints, draped bed with a whiff of damp. Bedside
lamps with Christmas-tree wattage. Vintage bath but perfectly
clean and large. Through the olive groves and down a lane, we
find a deserted stretch with golden sand and blue water, quiet as
a cat lapping milk. What a luxury—a Blue Flag beach to ourselves.BESIDES LA COSTA JONICA, the Ionian coast, what else
draws us to eastern Calabria? Food. Two of the most lauded
and starred Calabrian restaurants are nearby. Tonight, we’re
at Praia Art Resort, a small and luxe beachside hotel and its
restaurant, Pietramare, helmed
by the young and gifted Ciro
Sicignano. We’re seated in a
simpatico room anchored by an
olive tree. I especially love the
flatbread incorporating slivers
of vegetables and the basket of
house-made breads served with
wood-smoked olive oil. The
Gravello Val di Neto, a blend
of the local gaglioppo grape
and Cabernet Sauvignon, is a
gift with its big, mouthy fruit.
The freshest fish, the tenderest
pork, and a fine finish—cherry
soufflés served in individual
copper pans beside a scoop of
cherry gelato. Probably because
we’re enthusiastic about every
bite, the waiter brings over the
owner and the chef. There are
toasts all around and photos. We
leave with their gifts of pastas
and local honey.
Early in the morning we
drive into rugged hills to the
Byzantine turned Norman
town of Santa Severina, set
on high tufa rocks like a foun-
dered ship. But inside, we find
flower-festooned houses with crocheted curtains and, just
below the centro, the exquisite, tiny Byzantine church of Santa
Filomena, topped by a cupcake-shaped cupola ringed with 16
slender columns.
The second night on the Ionian side, we dine at Ristorante
Abbruzzino. Chef Luca Abbruzzino shows us the kitchen, which
provides a flash of insight into how calm and organized he is.
All guests are served the same lavish antipasto, five seafood
courses representing different areas of Calabria. Each one is
on rounds, trays, or blocks of wood, each one so artfully pre-
sented that I feel obliged to take photos of all, even the glassesTyrrhenian to the Ionian side of Calabria at its narrowest cross-
ing, only about 20 miles away through groves of citrus trees. I’m
a fan of the quirky 19th-century English traveler George Gissing,
who wrote By the Ionian Sea. A classicist, he traveled alone in
search of remnants of Greece. One quest was Capo Colonna, a
lone Doric column extant from a lost temple to Hera, on the
easternmost promontory of Calabria. Gissing became terribly
ill, and much of the book focuses on how devastated he was
not to reach the column. He’s led me here. How easy now, via a
land approach and a path lined with myrtle bushes. This lonely
marker, circa fifth century B.C., rises from the poppy-strewnrubble of antiquity, outlined against the same sky that once
arched over the largest temple in Magna Graecia. The temple
remained intact until the 16th century, when it was raided for
building projects and city walls for nearby Crotone.
Spooky, the one column standing. A stray cat wraps around
my ankle. I feel a quick chill: the cat’s sinuous tail, or the single
column’s mighty symbolism of Calabria’s history?
We check into an agriturismo, a farm-stay inn, with an over-
grown garden and a pool. The owner, hair flying, comes out
wiping her hands on her apron. She’s busy putting up blackberry
jam and waves us upstairs. If I imagine I am Italian and visiting78 NATGEOTRAVEL.COM
ANTONIO VIOLI/ALAMY STOCK PHOTOGreat Aunt Maria in the country, this room looks the part. Antique
chests, faded prints, draped bed with a whiff of damp. Bedside
lamps with Christmas-tree wattage. Vintage bath but perfectly
clean and large. Through the olive groves and down a lane, we
find a deserted stretch with golden sand and blue water, quiet as
a cat lapping milk. What a luxury—a Blue Flag beach to ourselves.BESIDES LA COSTA JONICA, the Ionian coast, what else
draws us to eastern Calabria? Food. Two of the most lauded
and starred Calabrian restaurants are nearby. Tonight, we’re
at Praia Art Resort, a small and luxe beachside hotel and its
restaurant, Pietramare, helmed
by the young and gifted Ciro
Sicignano. We’re seated in a
simpatico room anchored by an
olive tree. I especially love the
flatbread incorporating slivers
of vegetables and the basket of
house-made breads served with
wood-smoked olive oil. The
Gravello Val di Neto, a blend
of the local gaglioppo grape
and Cabernet Sauvignon, is a
gift with its big, mouthy fruit.
The freshest fish, the tenderest
pork, and a fine finish—cherry
soufflés served in individual
copper pans beside a scoop of
cherry gelato. Probably because
we’re enthusiastic about every
bite, the waiter brings over the
owner and the chef. There are
toasts all around and photos. We
leave with their gifts of pastas
and local honey.
Early in the morning we
drive into rugged hills to the
Byzantine turned Norman
town of Santa Severina, set
on high tufa rocks like a foun-
dered ship. But inside, we find
flower-festooned houses with crocheted curtains and, just
below the centro, the exquisite, tiny Byzantine church of Santa
Filomena, topped by a cupcake-shaped cupola ringed with 16
slender columns.
The second night on the Ionian side, we dine at Ristorante
Abbruzzino. Chef Luca Abbruzzino shows us the kitchen, which
provides a flash of insight into how calm and organized he is.
All guests are served the same lavish antipasto, five seafood
courses representing different areas of Calabria. Each one is
on rounds, trays, or blocks of wood, each one so artfully pre-
sented that I feel obliged to take photos of all, even the glassesTyrrhenian to the Ionian side of Calabria at its narrowest cross-
ing, only about 20 miles away through groves of citrus trees. I’m
a fan of the quirky 19th-century English traveler George Gissing,
who wrote By the Ionian Sea. A classicist, he traveled alone in
search of remnants of Greece. One quest was Capo Colonna, a
lone Doric column extant from a lost temple to Hera, on the
easternmost promontory of Calabria. Gissing became terribly
ill, and much of the book focuses on how devastated he was
not to reach the column. He’s led me here. How easy now, via a
land approach and a path lined with myrtle bushes. This lonely
marker, circa fifth century B.C., rises from the poppy-strewn
rubble of antiquity, outlined against the same sky that once
arched over the largest temple in Magna Graecia. The temple
remained intact until the 16th century, when it was raided for
building projects and city walls for nearby Crotone.
Spooky, the one column standing. A stray cat wraps around
my ankle. I feel a quick chill: the cat’s sinuous tail, or the single
column’s mighty symbolism of Calabria’s history?
We check into an agriturismo, a farm-stay inn, with an over-
grown garden and a pool. The owner, hair flying, comes out
wiping her hands on her apron. She’s busy putting up blackberry
jam and waves us upstairs. If I imagine I am Italian and visiting