Even a broken rib hasn’t stymied my inner beach girl’s autocratic power this summer. She is having her moment in the sun, conquering the shores of the Ionian, Adriatic, Mediterranean, Pacific and Atlantic in 10 days alone! July waned down in Puglia, basking on a chaise lounge and devouring langoustines at Lo Scalo, swimming in sea caves and napping under Bagno Marino Archi’s scalloped umbrellas, hiking Sentiero Cipolliane, where the white caps of the Ionian Sea meet the continuous currents of the Adriatic, and roaming around Polignano al Mare, a stunningly-preserved medieval town situated on a steep rocky spur with a maze of narrow alleyways that somehow all lead to garlicky bowls of homemade orrecchiette.
I never unpacked my suitcase because I checked in at a new hotel—or castle or palazzo or the residence of a former mayor (i.e., Elvira, Danielle and Paragon 700)—almost every night. The heel of Italy’s boot has 584 miles of coastline, punctuated by whitewashed villages, rocky beaches, steep cliffs, and ports—so much to see! Inland, I discovered the creamy limestone city of Lecce, A.K.A., the Florence of the South, with its Baroque architecture, ancient ruins, and shock-and-awe piazzas. Then it was on to Alberobello’s stone-walled huts with their signature conical roofs and the hilltop town of Ostuni, perched above a green carpet of olive groves.
August fired up with a turn-and-burn in LA, followed by a red-eye straight out to the Hamptons, the inner beach girl’s native lands, where the searing heat and humidity precipitated non-stop jumps into the ocean, foraging at Round Swamp Farms, and sweating through long, languorous meals at Le Bilbouquet and Baker House 1650.
What did I wear through it all?
Summer’s not over yet, so my Inner Beach Girl is in charge until further notice!
Gorge! How about that black tiered number ⚡️⚡️⚡️