It’s been quite a day. After having lunch in Santa Margherita Ligure, we decided to walk from there to Portofino. It turned out to be more of a “hike” than a walk, but we made it. Now it’s time to leave. On the way to Santa Margherita Ligure, we’re going to learn something that we didn’t know about Portofino – it’s another world.
Portofino is interesting. With the exception of a few obvious signs, (a million-dollar yacht, for example), it looks like any other quiet, but touristy, fishing village. But what about all that “rich-and-famous” buzz about Portofino? Is that just clever marketing to bring in the tourists?
The taxi we took back to Santa Margherita Ligure was a clue. A discrete little sign on top said “taxi.” But this was a brand-new, pristine, white Audi SUV. A big one. No advertising for ambulance chasers on the back. Inside, the leather-upholstered interior had that new-car smell. And the driver was dressed like a chauffeur.
The Italian Sebastian Cabot
Our driver was an enormous guy. Very dapper. Black hair slicked back. He looked just like an Italian Sebastian Cabot. Remember Sebastian Cabot? He played “Mr. French” in “Family Affair” in the 60’s. Nice-looking guy. Always polished and distinguished.
I’m pretty sure he had moved the driver’s seat back as far as it would go, but after he got in, there still wasn’t any space between his stomach and the steering wheel. He was wedged in there, alright.
His english was excellent, spoken with a beautiful italian accent. He may have had some respiratory issues, because it seemed like he had to make a real effort to talk. Not that it slowed him down. He talked non-stop all the way to Santa Margherita Ligure.
He spoke in a slow, steady monotone, with a big, heavy heave of the chest to get more air after each sentence. It reminded me of Marlon Brando playing the godfather, when he was so weak and tired, it was an effort to get the words out. He may have sounded like Marlon Brando as the godfather, but he still looked like Sebastian Cabot.
We told him where we wanted to go, (“Santa Margherita Ligure, per favore”), and as soon as we pulled out we started talking. I told him we were impressed with Portofino, and he proceeded to give us a guided tour that lasted all the way back to Santa Margherita Ligure.
He told us about rich people who have houses in the neighborhood. He’d say, “See that villa over there? Ats-a belong to Giorgio Armani. Not to live in. Just a little vacation spot.”
Then he’d point out another one. “You know Dolce and Gabbana? Ats-a his place over there,” he’d say as he’d point to a gigantic villa on the other side of the Portofino marina. I don’t remember whether the place was Dolce’s or Gabbana’s, but there would have been room enough for both of ‘em.
It’s Another World
We went along like that for quite awhile. He pointed out all kinds of stuff. We didn’t have to stop or slow down to take a look, because he never went more than three miles per hour the whole way. We just sort of floated along the curvy little road.
I noticed a big building high on the hillside above us. I asked him what it was. He said, “Ahhhhh… Ats-a the Splendido. The hotel Spelndido. Beautiful. Maybe something like a thousand euros per night to stay there.”
“Yikes,” I said. “Who can afford that?”
“Mostly Russians,” he said with a sigh. “Russians love Portofino. They come here and spend a fortune. Stay for months at a time. They have so much money, it means nothing to them.”
Then he took in another deep breath, heaved his chest, and exhaled as he said, wistfully, “It’s another world.” It was just as if the godfather had said it, except it wasn’t the godfather talking, it was the Italian Sebastian Cabot.
We rounded another bend and he pointed to a huge villa perched on a cliff above the sea. That one belongs to Silvio Berlusconi.” He was the Prime Minister of Italy, but he was more famous for being a rascal than for being Prime Minister. He was well-known for hanging around with beautiful girls who could have been, but weren’t, his grand-kids.
He continued, “Berlusconi… you know him? He’s the boonga boonga man.”
“Boonga boonga, eh?” We were cracking up.
“Sì – boonga boonga. He like-a the young girls.”
I took a deep breath, heaved my chest and said, shaking my head, “It’s another world.”
“Another world,” he sighed.
To be continued…
