Buying marijuana Portoferraio

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Buying marijuana Portoferraio

Sitting on the balcony of a cozy white villa, we tried to identify a few of the thousands of stars spangling the velvety black sky. Far below, a few lights still twinkled in Marina di Campo. Except for an occasional breeze rustling an olive tree and an ancient clock striking the quarter hour in the village above, the quiet was absolute. Our friends had been trying for years to lure us to Elba. With busy careers that divide their time between New York and London, they had sought, and finally found, they assured us, a summer home in a pocket of tranquillity, with a small airport at hand. We had a few moments on the waterfront at Piambino when we doubted their claims about a peaceful hideaway. After a leisurely drive down through the hill towns of Italy, we expected a calm Monday morning ferry crossing. Instead, it seemed that half of Europe was there, intent on the same destination. Aggressive Mercedeses blocked defiant little Fiats. Drivers left campers loaded with children in the middle of the street to crowd into long lines at ticket windows. People shouted and shook fists, but it was all in a good-natured, Italian holiday spirit. By noon everything was sorted out. An amazing number of the Mercedeses, Fiats and campers drove aboard the gleaming white ship for the one-hour crossing. Later our friends explained that the ferry usually is uncrowded, except on the first two days of July and August when most European schools begin monthlong holidays. We had unknowingly hit one of those crushes. The island of Elba has earned its peace. Although it is quite small, a rectangle of only 86 square miles, its history clashes with the sound of battle. Jason and the Argonauts laid up here to recuperate from a tempest unleashed by Zeus. The Greeks, Etruscans and Romans came in waves to fight over its rich iron ore. Saracens pillaged it and Cosimo di Medici, that redoubtable Renaissance man, built a strong fort and walls around Portoferrario. Its chief claim to fame, however, is the month exile Napoleon spent here in , busily creating a kingdom in miniature before succumbing to his larger dreams of empire. As we twisted and turned up through the dry hills covered with yellow broom, I wondered where all the Fiats and Mercedeses and campers had gone. We soon learned that there are more than enough accommodations in the camping grounds, pensiones , hotels and rental villas tucked away among the hills and pine woods overlooking secluded little coves that dot the island shore. If you like your vacation fast-paced, with lots of sightseeing by day and elegant nightclubs at night, Elba is not for you. The old port town is a wonderful place for wandering through archways, up flights of steps, along narrow passages lined with elegant old buildings. Another hot, sunny morning we went down to Marina di Campo to roam through its street bazaar, held each weekday in a different island town. Shoppers jammed the streets, lined with temporary booths, snapping up bargains in leather, bright beach wear, baskets, lace tablecloths, small appliances and a thousand other articles. Our hostess had told us to watch for gemstone bargains at the bazaar. A road on the east coast is said to be covered with chips of azurite, malachite and copper pyrite. You can find beautiful jewelry and stones, cut and uncut, in island shops, but its more fun to go looking for them yourself on rocky slopes. Nearly everyone, natives and visitors, heads for the beaches on summer afternoons. There you can meet an amalgam of Europeans who, like our friends, have vacation homes here. Lazing on the long golden strand at Marina di Campo, we chatted with an Austrian Shakespearean actor, his British ballerina wife, an editor from Paris and a banker from Stuttgart. The western half of Elba is dominated by two mountains, Perone and Capanne, so rugged and densely forested with oak and chestnut that the interior is nearly impenetrable. But a good road circles the clifftops from Cavoli in the south to San Andrea on the northwest, passing through quiet villages far above the cobalt sea. On the western shore the road drops to sea level at Pomonte. We stopped there to buy crusty Italian bread, cheese and freshly-roasted chicken at a little grocery, spread our lunch on a big boulder and watched scuba divers and snorkelers popping in and out of the crystalline water. From San Andrea the road climbs to two delightful mountain villages, Marciana and Poggio, on opposite sides of a deep valley. In Marciana, which dates back to Roman days, we climbed up a series of steep steps, past fine old houses with red roofs, outside stairways and cascades of roses, to the Piazza del Cantone. We had a drink from its fountain and a rest beneath its shady trees, deliberately whiling away the afternoon so we could drive the rest of the way through the mountain pass at twilight. Even in summer these heights can be shrouded in mist, but we were fortunate. The evening sky was lemon and pink and the views on the looping road from Poggio to Cavoli spectacular. To the west reared the huge bulk of Monte Capanne; to the north, beyond the Gulf of Procchio, the island of Capraia shimmered on the blue horizon; and to the south, two more tiny islands, Pianosa and Montecristo, rode like buoys in the sea. At La Ferrigna in Portoferraio we had excellent swordfish and an intriguing dish of baby squid with risotto. At La Cantina in Procchio our waiter, with proud flourishes and gloved hands, set before us sizzling platters of tagliata , a delicious dish of paper-thin slices of beef still cooking in olive oil. In Marina di Campo we joined other strollers in the evening passeggiata through the tree-lined streets, in and out of shops, along the waterfront to inspect the boats tied up at the quay. Finally we stopped at a crowded sidewalk cafe for cappuccino and tartuffe, a delectable ball of ice cream rolled in powdered chocolate. The atmosphere was as casual and friendly as a country fair. As we walked up the road they explained that the neat vineyard we were passing belonged to the entire village. Every resident contributes either labor or money to its upkeep, and shares in the profits. In the glassed-in restaurant, La Cava, cantilevered out over the steep mountain slope, we shared tasty dishes of pagliatelli al pesto and fonduta , pieces of bel paese cheese fried in olive oil. The resort hotels are open May to September but several pleasant and inexpensive pensiones are open all year. Rates are considerably lower during spring and fall. De Los. Times Everywhere. For Subscribers. 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