58 minute read
bookshelf
August books
NOTABLE NEW RELEASES
compiled by Sally Brewster
In the Weeds: Around the World and Behind the Scenes with Anthony Bourdain, by Tom Vitale
In the nearly two years since Anthony Bourdain’s death, no one else has come close to filling the void he left. His passion for and genuine curiosity about the people and cultures he visited made the world feel smaller and more connected. Despite his affable, confident and trademark snarky TV persona, the real Tony was intensely private, deeply conflicted about his fame, and an enigma even to those close to him. Tony’s devoted crew knew him best, and no one else had a front-row seat for as long as his director and producer, Tom Vitale. In the Weeds takes readers behind the scenes to reveal not just the insanity that went into filming in some of the most far-flung and volatile parts of the world, but what Tony was like unedited and off-camera. From the outside, the job looked like an all-expenses-paid adventure to places like Borneo, Vietnam, Iran, the Democratic Republic of Congo and Libya. What happened off-camera was far more interesting than what made it to air. The more things went wrong, the better it was for the show. Fortunately, everything fell apart constantly.
Alpha: Eddie Gallagher and the War for the Soul of the Navy SEALS, by David Philipps
By official accounts, the Navy SEALs of Alpha platoon returned as heroes after their 2017 deployment to Mosul, following a vicious, bloody and successful campaign to drive ISIS from the city. But within the platoon, a different war raged. Even as Alpha’s chief, Eddie Gallagher, was being honored for his leadership, several of his men were preparing to report him for war crimes, alleging that he’d stabbed a prisoner in cold blood and taken lethal sniper shots at unarmed civilians. Many young SEALs regarded Gallagher as the ideal special operations commando. Trained as a sniper, a medic and an explosives expert, he was considered a battle-tested leader. But in the heat of combat, some in his platoon saw a darker figure — a man who appeared to be coming unhinged after multiple deployments in America’s forever wars. In riveting detail, Pulitzer Prize-winning New York Times correspondent David Philipps reveals the story of a group of special operators caught in a moral crucible — should they uphold their oath and turn in their chief, or honor the SEALs’ unwritten code of silence?
The Women of Troy, by Pat Barker
Troy has fallen and the victorious Greeks are eager to return home with the spoils of an endless war — including the women of Troy themselves. They await a fair wind for the Aegean. It does not come, because the gods are offended. The body of King Priam lies unburied and desecrated, so the victors remain in suspension, camped in the shadows of the city they destroyed as the coalition that held them together begins to unravel. Old feuds resurface, and new suspicions and rivalries begin to fester. Largely unnoticed by her captors, the onetime Trojan queen Briseis, formerly Achilles’ slave, quietly takes in these developments. She forges alliances when she can, all while shrewdly seeking her path to revenge. A daring and timely feminist retelling of The Iliad from the perspective of the women of Troy who endured it.
Her Heart for a Compass, by Sarah Ferguson
From one of the most famous former members of the British royal family, Sarah Ferguson, Duchess of York, comes a mesmerizing novel of a young noblewoman’s coming-of-age that richly details both high and low society in Victorian England. Lady Margaret Montagu Scott is expected to make an advantageous marriage, but she is an impulsive and outspoken girl in a repressive society. Her parents arrange a society marriage, but shortly before her betrothal is announced, Margaret flees, leaving her parents to explain her sudden absence to an opulent ballroom stuffed with 200 distinguished guests. Banished from “polite society,” Margaret throws herself into charitable work and finds strength in a circle of female friends like herself — women intent on breaking the mold, including Queen Victoria’s daughter, Princess Louise. Margaret resolves to follow her heart, a journey of self-discovery that will take her to Ireland, America and back to Britain, where she finds the life she was always meant to lead. SP
Sally Brewster is the proprietor of Park Road Books at 4139 Park Road. parkroadbooks.com
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SEVEN EAGLES
8424 Eagle Glen, Charlotte
$3,100,000 – California contemporary on 1+ acre in gated community. 4BR/4.3BA, incredible outdoor living area w/pool. Susan May : 704.650.7432
CHERRY
718 Morgan Park Drive, Charlotte
$850,000 – Saussy Burbank home near Uptown w/4BR/3.1BA, open plan, chef's kitchen, screened porch. Fantastic location! Heather Bonner : 704.756.1394
UNDER CONTRACT - PHARR ACRES
1934 S Wendover Road, Charlotte
$925,000 – Elegant home built in the 1930’s. Beautifully updated and restored. 3BR/2.1BA, private 0.62 acre lot. Jessica Jenkins : 704.607.9389
THE SANCTUARY
13712 Sage Thrasher Lane, Charlotte
$675,000 – Pristine waterfront lot with breathtaking views. 4.28 acres on Lake Wylie with private beach. Cul-de-sac lot. Stacey Stolar : 704.400.1539
SOUTHPARK | WAVERLY | LAKE NORMAN | 704.552.9292 | HMPROPERTIES.COM
At this point, your 8-year-old neighbor’s kazoo recital might qualify as an artistic “best bet.” We’ve been through a long cultural dry spell. Fortunately, the arts are back. You’ve no doubt experienced Immersive van Gogh at Camp North End (you have, haven’t you?) You may have tickets to Garth Brooks’ sold-out show at Bank of America Stadium in September, or Sir Elton’s concert in 2022.
But your plans don’t have to be that grand. Sitting in a darkened theater, surrounded by other humans, and witnessing a concert, play or any performance may be a cure for the post-pandemic blues.
Isaac Julien, What is a Museum? (Lina Bo Bardi –A Marvellous Entanglement), 2019. Courtesy the artist and Jessica Silverman Gallery
August
Charlotte Squawks 16: Going Viral!, Aug. 19 - Sept. 12
The creators describe it as “Saturday Night Live meets Broadway meets our beloved Queen City.” The creative team of Mike Collins and Brian Kahn — a lawyer who can always fall back on comedy writing — collaborate with local singers and actors to make fun of pop culture, politics and Charlotte’s tendency to take itself a mite too seriously. They had to skip the 2020 show, so there’s two years’ worth of material to cover. Booth Playhouse at Blumenthal Performing Arts Center, 130 N. Tryon St. Tickets from $24.50-$59.50 for VIP seats. carolinatix.org
Colin Hay, Aug. 19
The former Men at Work frontman’s latest solo tour is sure to contain songs from his new covers album, I Just Don’t Know What To Do With Myself. He’s virtually guaranteed to sing the crowd-pleasing “Land Down Under,” but diehard fans are there for the soulful introspection of his ballads — to love, to his late father, to the joys of sobriety. His between-song banter is often hilarious and endearing. McGlohon Theater at Spirit Square, 345 N. College St. Tickets are $49.50-$69.50. blumenthalarts.org
John Leslie Breck (American, 1860–99). The Cove, Annisquam, ca. 1893, oil on canvas
September
Trumpet Summit, The JAZZ ROOM, Sept. 10-11
The Jazz Room returns with a season opener of classics performed by five of the top jazz trumpeters in the Southeast. “The trumpet is played over a whole range of musical genres, but the most famous trumpet players inevitably hail from the world of jazz,” reads the news release. Expect songs by Louis Armstrong, Miles Davis, Dizzy Gillespie and more. Shows at 6 and 8:15 p.m. on Friday and 7 and 9:15 p.m. on Saturday. Stage Door Theater, 155 N. College St. Ticket prices TBD. thejazzarts.org
Douglas Tappin’s I Dream, Opera Carolina, Sept, 16, 18 and 19
Opera Carolina is back with an updated version of the 2018 blockbuster. A reimagined account of the last 36 hours in the life of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., this “popera” celebrates the civil rights pioneer, his inner struggles and the peaceful protest movement he championed. Using opera, jazz and pop, Tappin honors the preacher from Atlanta — a very human hero — who became an icon while pursuing a dream of equality for all. Belk Theater, 130 N. Tryon St. Tickets from $22-$157. operacarolina.org
John Leslie Breck: American Impressionist, Mint Museum Uptown, Sept.
18-Jan. 2, 2022
The French Impressionists get all the glory, but America produced painters of that perennially popular genre, too. Breck is credited with introducing Impressionism to America after studying with Claude Monet in Giverny, France. Inspired by The Mint’s s 2016 acquisition of his “Suzanne Hoschedé-Monet Sewing,” this exhibition includes 70 of his works. Many have not been on public view in more than a century. Works by other French and American Impressionists will be on view as well. Mint Museum Uptown, 500 S. Tryon St. Admission is $15 for adults, $10 for college students and seniors, $6 for children 5-17, and free for members and kids 4 and younger. mintmuseum.org
My Wonderful Birthday Suit, Children’s Theatre of Charlotte, Sept. 25-Oct. 10
A colorful surprise party gives three kids something unexpected to celebrate — their differences. Friendships are in jeopardy when comments about skin color slip out. Fortunately, one of the kids has a “thinking tree” — a place they can go to search for the words to make things better. “We’re excited to have audiences back at the theater — especially for this show because, not only is it a play with music and puppetry about a birthday, but ImaginOn’s birthday is Oct. 8,” said Children’s Theatre’s Alex Aguilar. “We’ll have two things to celebrate closing weekend.” Performances are at 11 a.m. and 3 p.m. on Saturdays and 2 p.m. on Sundays. Recommended for ages 4 and up. The McColl Family Theatre at ImaginOn, 300 E. 7th St. Tickets from $15-24. ctcharlotte.org
Lindsey Buckingham or Spike Lee, Sept. 21
Two virtuosos will be making noise at either end of Tryon Street on Sept. 21, and we don’t know how to choose between them. The groundbreaking Fleetwood Mac singer/ songwriter/guitarist? Or the groundbreaking writer/director of such important and popular films as Do The Right Thing, Malcolm X and BlacKkKlansman? Both joints are bound to be hoppin’. Lee is in town for a talk as part of Charlotte SHOUT!, the uptown arts festival that takes place Sept. 17-Oct. 3. Spike Lee at Belk Theater, 130 N. Tryon St. Tickets from $35-$195 for VIP meet & greet. Lindsey Buckingham at Knight Theater, 550 S. Tryon St.. Tickets from $35-$235 for VIP soundcheck package. carolinatix.org
Get Out in Concert, Charlotte Symphony Orchestra, Sept. 30 and Oct. 1
Experience Jordan Peele’s comedic thriller with a social conscience (that also gives a nod to The Stepford Wives) live with the CSO performing the soundtrack as part of Charlotte SHOUT! Get Out won the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay, and composer Michael Abels won the Black Reel Award for Outstanding Original Score. The film is equal parts funny and horrifying. Belk Theater, 130 N. Tryon St. Single ticket pricing TBD. charlottesymphony.org
October
Tuck Fest, U.S. National Whitewater Center, Oct.1-3
Cram everything you missed during the pandemic into three days at this family-friendly outdoor extravaganza. There’ll be obstacle courses, trail and kayak races, climbing competitions, yoga and live music. Bands include Steep Canyon Rangers, Dawes and Boy Named Banjo. The 2019 Tuck Fest drew 48,000 people — expect big crowds. 5000 Whitewater Center Parkway. whitewater.org.
Bob Saget, The Comedy Zone, Oct. 1-2
If you know Bob Saget only from the squeaky-clean, family-friendly Full House, you don’t know Bob Saget. He’s got a darkly funny side, as evidenced by the title of his 2014 memoir, Dirty Daddy: The Chronicles of a Family Man Turned Filthy Comedian. The popular standup performer has been cracking jokes for more than 30 years. And they’re often raunchy. Shows at 7 and 9:45 p.m. on Friday and Saturday. 900 NC Music Factory Blvd. Tickets are $30 for general admission and $40 for Gold Circle. cltcomedyzone.com
The Rocky Horror Show, Actors Theatre of Charlotte, Oct. 6 – 31
Poor Brad and Janet. It’s dark, rainy and they’ve had car trouble. Good thing there’s a castle not too far in the distance — and a sweet transvestite waiting to welcome them. You’re shivering with antici … pation, aren’t you? Let’s do the time warp again. Part of ATC’s “Rock the Barn” series at The Barn at MoRa – A Levine Property, 8300 Monroe Rd. Season subscriptions available; single ticket pricing TBD. atcharlotte.org
50th Anniversary Celebration, Charlotte Ballet, Oct. 7-9
Charlotte Ballet’s season will kick off with a production that honors the Company’s first five decades. Charlotte Ballet II Program Director Christopher Stuart will present a new work set to music by Philip Glass. Former Artistic Director Salvatore Aiello’s The Rite of Spring returns with re-imagined designs and, for the first time, live music performed by the Charlotte Symphony Orchestra. Due to adult themes, this performance is considered PG-13. Belk Theater, 130 N. Tryon St. Single ticket pricing TBD. charlotteballet.org
Gold Over America Tour (G.O.A.T.) starring Simone Biles, Oct. 27
If you’ve been hooked on the Olympics this summer, you may soon be suffering from withdrawals. But you can get a quick fix of everyone’s favorite Olympic sport. The 35-city tour stops in Charlotte for a high-energy, “gymnastics-meets-pop-concert spectacular” headlined by pint-sized powerhouse Simone Biles. An all-star team of female gymnastic champions will dazzle with their athleticism and grace while spreading messages of empowerment. Spectrum Center, 333 E. Trade St. Ticket prices start at $26.50. ticketmaster.com
An Evening with George Winston, Oct. 31
He’s been composing and performing for more than 40 years, sold more than 15 million albums and plays about 100 concerts annually. George Winston may be the best-known pianist in America. His music is evocative, soothing, peaceful — it could be the antidote for stressful times. Knight Theater, 550 S. Tryon St. Tickets from $25-$55. carolinatix.org
Isaac Julien: Lina Bo Bardi — A Marvellous Entanglement, The Bechtler Museum of Modern Art, opens Oct. 30
Just as one immersive art experience (van Gogh) leaves Charlotte, another one arrives. This is the U.S. premiere of a nine-screen immersive installation that spotlights Italian-Brazilian architect (and furniture and jewelry designer) Lina Bo Bardi (1914-92) and her contributions to modernism. British filmmaker Isaac Julien (Looking for Langston) pays tribute to the architect and her legacy. The show’s title comes from a Bo Bardi quote: “Time is not linear; it is a marvellous entanglement.” Bechtler Museum of Modern Art, Levine Center for the Arts, 420 S. Tryon St. Admission to the museum is $9 for adults; $7 for college students, seniors and educators; $5 for youth 11-18; and free for kids up to age 10. bechtler.org
November
My Dinner with Andrea, Charlotte’s Off-Broadway, Nov. 4-20
“Live actors in front of a live audience,” is what director Anne Lambert shared about this production. Who knew there’d be a day when that would constitute a headline? But it’s big news now. Lambert’s sister, Susan Lambert Hatem, wrote the play inspired by the film My Dinner with Andre. The plot: Julia Grace is a scientist who needs a job. Andrea is a billionaire with a scientific startup. They’re having dinner at the finest restaurant in town. Julia Grace could get an offer that allows her a chance to change the world. Thursdays at 7:30 p.m., Fridays and Saturdays at 8 p.m. Pay What You Can Night is Wednesday, Nov. 10 at 7:30 p.m. Arts Factory (formerly the JCSU Arts Factory), 1545 W. Trade Street. Tickets are $25; discounted tickets available for students, seniors and groups of 10 or more. charlottesoffbroadway.com.
Straight No Chaser, Back in the High Life Tour, Ovens Auditorium, Nov. 9
These nine guys, using nothing but their voices as instruments, helped usher in the national craze for a cappella music. You’ll probably know (and love) every song they sing. The genres they cover include pop, rock, R&B, holiday standards, TV theme songs and commercial jingles. Always a good time. Ovens Auditorium, 2700 E. Independence Blvd. Ticket prices start at $39.50. ticketmaster.com
All Together Now, Theatre Charlotte, Nov. 12-14
The historic building that houses the theater was damaged in an electrical fire in 2020. Ongoing repairs make it impossible to stage productions there, but the show, as they say, must go on! “The Road Trip Season Tour” takes place all over town. The November production is one weekend only, and it’s sort of a Broadway’s greatest hits revue. Sing along to music from Company, Come From Away, Rent, Waitress, Ragtime and more. Dilworth United Methodist Church, 605 East Blvd. Single ticket pricing TBD. theatrecharlotte.org
FRIENDS! The Musical Parody, presented by
Blumenthal Performing Arts, Nov. 27
If you loved Monica, Ross, Rachel, Chandler, Phoebe and Joey, you’ll love the musical parody that pokes good-natured fun at the gang that hung out at New York’s (apparently) only coffee shop. In fact, the action takes place in Central Perk. This is a national tour making a one-night stop in Charlotte. Could we be any more excited? Knight Theater, 550 S. Tryon St. Tickets start at $28.50. carolinatix.org
December
Reginald Dwayne Betts, poetry reading and master class, Charlotte
Center for the Literary Arts, Dec. 3-4
Before he became an acclaimed writer and Yale Law School alum, Dwayne Betts was a 16-year-old sentenced to nine years in prison. He’s written three volumes of poetry, including his most recent, Felon. Betts’ writing challenges prevailing notions of justice, and his speaking engagements focus on the role that grit, perseverance — and literature — played in turning his life around. Friday, Dec. 3: Evening poetry reading at Midwood International and Cultural Center Auditorium. Saturday, Dec. 4: Master class at Charlotte Center for Literary Arts. 1817 Central Ave. charlottelit.org
An Officer and A Gentleman, presented by Blumenthal Performing Arts, Dec. 7-12
You know the movie starring Richard Gere and Debra Winger. You know the theme song, “Up Where We Belong.” Now, see the jukebox musical, which contains other hits you’ll know from the era — “Girls Just Want to Have Fun,” “Don’t Cry Out Loud,” “Material Girl.” The stage adaptation includes choreography by Patricia Wilcox (Motown, A Night with Janis Joplin). Part of Blumenthal’s Equitable Bravo Series, a one-year series featuring five shows. Ovens Auditorium, 2700 E. Independence Blvd. Single ticket pricing TBD. carolinatix.org SP
All information was correct as of press time. However, event details, including dates and pricing, are subject to change. We encourage you to check an event’s website before making plans.
A brave new world
Earlier this year, in the midst of global lockdowns, pandemic fatigue and an unprecedented sense of loss, we asked three North Carolina authors — Frances Mayes, Etaf Rum and Daniel Wallace — to share their tales of our brave new, old world. Offering glimpses of resilience, hope, fear, transformation and what-ifs, each piece is an exploration of freedom and the mystery of the human spirit. Read on for one essay and two works of fiction that open our eyes, minds and hearts through remarkable storytelling.
Into the new
by Frances Mayes
illustration by Gerry O’Neill
During the pandemic, I became enthralled with The New York Times word game, the Spelling Bee. I’d never been attracted to crossword puzzles, Mensa quizzes or those already-penciled-in sudoku squares in airline magazines. I’d rather read a book. But there I was at midnight, spending good hours I should have used on my nascent novel, staring at seven letters that must be arranged into words. At least I could excel at finding the pangram — the word that uses all the letters.
What I couldn’t do at all was imagine what my fictional characters Charlotte, Lee and Annsley possibly could be up to in their imagined world, given that a plague was loose in the real world. Their concerns seemed of no concern.
But I was learning dozens of new words, such as lambi, boba, libelee, doggo and ricin — words that proved useless outside of boosting me from “amazing” status to “genius.” Ah, genius. What an accomplishment, that is, until the next morning when the new puzzle appeared.
Many friends also had developed obsessive activities. My husband Ed seemed always to be mowing the grass, even measuring the height so it remained at 2 inches. My friend Susan tore through several Indian cookbooks, leaving containers of spicy food at our back door constantly, and an Amazon truck pulled up daily at our across-the-street neighbor’s driveway. She was shopping maniacally.
Those of us who were lucky survived that suspended and puzzling and frustrating siege. Remember wiping off grocery bags on the porch? Remember when fashion masks in silk prints appeared? Remember those annoying suggestions to keep a gratitude journal? For decades, we’ll be puzzling through this aftermath of grief, its effects on students, what refusal to believe the virus existed means, the incalculable, staggering losses, the global politics, on and on. Per ora — for now, as the Italians always caution — we are reassessing, realizing that we are lucky to do the things we so took for granted.
Are we in a Brave New World?
By metabolic nature, I’m a traveler. After having covered a lot of the globe and written many books about place, of course I knew that those journeys play a major part in my life. During confinement, I chafed. I started spending hours researching the history of Cyprus, the accommodations at Machu Picchu, a hike from Bratislava to Prague.
Working on the Spelling Bee one week about eight months into house arrest, I came to an impasse. Instead of forming the usual words, I saw that I was picking the letters for “London,” “Rome,” “Miami,” “Hawaii.” Not allowed, any place names, but my travel gene was taking over. I couldn’t get “bountiful,” “exciting,” “texting” but adamantly typed in “Paris,” “Kenya,” “Greece.”
Travel, it turns out, isn’t just what I like to do, it’s who I am. Did others find such truths?
I pushed my novel to the back of my desk — bye-bye Annsley, Lee, Charlotte — and began writing about home. Where’s home? Why leave home? What happens when you do leave home? Why do memories of various homes come back over and over in dreams? How do you make a home? The pull of this subject, so unlike my novel, took over my days.
I quit pouring that second, third glass of wine with dinner; I exercised; I lost 20 pounds. Despite all the activity, the desire to go, just go, became overwhelming.
Ed and I donned N95 masks and traveled to our home in Italy. I felt like we held our breaths the entire way. We were allowed in because we have residency cards. Everyone greeted us like returning Olympic stars. We quarantined at our home, then lined up for entering the negozio di frutta e verdura for groceries, enjoyed our friends within the limits of our houses, harvested our olive crop, and, before returning to North Carolina, spent two days in Rome prior to departure.
Rome alone. I walk. All day. At night. Walking the soles off my shoes. In this slowed, surreal scape, here’s Rome washed clean, the city showing its beauty unalloyed. I revisit favorites of mine, even though many are closed — Bramante’s Tempietto on the Janiculum Hill, the Baroque extravaganza Palazzo Colonna, the chalk pastel palazzi on Piazza San Lorenzo in Lucina, kiosks of botanical prints and severe engravings of ruins at the Mercato delle Stampe, Gelateria del Teatro for sublime gelato of lavender and white peach, or cherry, or orange and mascarpone. Who can choose?
At Trevi fountain, Ed and I stand there alone. For the first time in decades, I toss a coin. In Piazza Navona, too, I can hear the musical splash of water from the Four Rivers fountain and walk around the lovely ellipse of the ancient stadium. The great Marcus Aurelius, copy of the second-century bronze rider, atop his prancing horse at Michelangelo’s Piazza del Campidoglio, gains in majesty as he surveys a vacant piazza. Totally real, Rome feels imagined, conjured as one of Italo Calvino’s invisible cities.
Eerie. There’s a lone woman with red fright-wig hair wobbling along the sidewalk with a basket of oranges; the familiar aroma of dark coffee wafting out of a bar, where the barista stands polishing glasses for no customers. The sky is a color a watercolorist might mix, find it too milky pale, and decide to stir in another dollop of cerulean. Trajan’s Column seems to tilt against rushing clouds. The forum appears doubly ancient, columns white as bleached femurs. Church bells send out circles of silver sound. The sculptural pines, the vulgar magenta bougainvillea, the surprise of palms.
Because Rome was still “yellow,” low-risk but cautious, some
restaurants are open for lunch outside. We order both the fried artichokes and the artichokes with tender homemade pasta. We’re talking about whether anything of this Rome can be carried forth into normal times. We remember the day we showed our grandson 18 fountains in one day. We remember that Keats rode a pony around the Piazza di Spagna in his last weeks. We remember an apartment we rented with a roof garden that looked down on a clothesline with flapping giant underpants. The waiter forgets our glasses of wine, apologizes, and brings over a whole bottle. (That’s Rome.) I’m thrilled to see Rome like this: an unforgettable, once in a lifetime experience for this traveler.
I hope never to see Rome like that again.
After a day, I missed the scramble to see what’s on at the Quirinale, new restaurants, friends toasting at wine bars, shopping for shoes, tracking down 10 things on my to-see list. All this amid a chaos of sirens, horns, weaving motorcycles, tsunamis of tourists, overflowing garbage bins, buses spilling out groups from all over the world, silly goofs trying to get in the fountains. Life. People, annoying, glorious people.
Back at home, the bleak holiday season arrived, then in January, hallelujah: the vaccine. A quasi-normal life recommenced.
Am I grateful for this period of solitude, introspection, focus? Not a bit. I’m grateful that no one I love died, that’s it. Let’s not whitewash: the period was relentlessly awful and a flash of panic washes over me when I wonder if it will happen again.
What remains? Is there no silver lining? Yes, the major takeaway: a heightened awareness of carpe diem, seize the day. I love so many people; have I said so enough? All the posts and emails showed friends making their level best of the situation. I saw anew their humor, resourcefulness, brilliance, thoughtfulness and determination. They signed off not with “ciao,” or “xoxo,” but now with “Love you,” “Miss you,” “Always and Forever.” Don’t forget this, I told myself, when we’re back at Vin Rouge and JuJu, toasting and chatting and exchanging plans, feeling invincible. We are not invincible. The drastic happened. Don’t forget the lively crowds in Istanbul, the subway crush in New York, the swarms reveling in the extreme beauty of Cinque Terre. Living their lives. Keep the table set, keep the antenna alert for friends in need, keep working to know what’s really going on, keep the rosé chilled, write the check to someone running on ideals, say you are dear to me, order the flowers, the Georgia peaches, the book I just read that X might enjoy. Oh, I do this, but now, my effort doubles and cubes.
Brave New World — we know Aldous Huxley’s depressing novel and his title has been used and used, ironically and seriously. Maybe used up. He took the words from Shakespeare’s The Tempest and the whole quote is now somewhat lost. The last half of the sentence is best. Miranda speaks, “O brave new world, that has such people in it.” What mind-bending losses.
Memento vivere, remember to live. We go on now, together. You are dear to me.
I didn’t give up on the daily Spelling Bee, but if I can’t be a quick genius, I click over to visit Annsley, Lee and Charlotte. They’ve been waiting a long time to resume their lives. When last seen, they were arising from the table after a dinner party, about to make enormous changes. I think they are ready. SP
Fran ce s May e s’s l at e st b o ok i s A lways It a ly f rom Nat iona l G e o g r aph ic . Her n o v el Women in Su n l ig ht i s in p ro du c t i on a s a m o v i e from Water’s End. Sh e i s th e auth o r of Under t he Tu sc a n Su n, B el la Tu sc a ny, Ever yd ay in Tu sc a ny an d oth er int er n at i on al b e st sell ers. Sh e liv e s in D urh am an d in Co r t on a, It aly.
Her fav o r it e b o ok i s O ne Hu ndre d Ye a r s of S ol it ude b y Gab r i el Garcí a Márqu ez..
The world is still the world
fiction by Daniel Wallace
illustrations by Lyudmila Tomova
On our last day at the beach the sun came out, and the fog, which for that whole week had draped the shore in a veil of cotton, burned away: We discovered there was an ocean here, after all. It wasn’t blue, really, closer to black, but when the waves flattened out across the beach, the water was perfectly clear and full of minnows and tiny crabs.
The shells were just so-so, mostly shards of something that used to be beautiful, like ancient pottery washed up from the ocean floor, there to remind you the world was old.
I’d like to say that these discoveries inspired in us a recognition of our own mortality, but the truth was it just felt good to have the sun on our shoulders as my wife and I — so young, newlyweds in fact — walked across the warming sand, hand in hand. She was wearing a black two-piece, simple and very small, and so striking that even the women we passed couldn’t help but stare. Her hair (thick and chocolate brown) was in pigtails, and somehow this girlish maneuver heightened her brazen but effortless display of pure, glorious womanhood. I was invisible in the best possible way.
“I’m glad our honeymoon wasn’t ruined,” she said.
I stopped walking and looked at her. “I didn’t know it was even close to being ruined,” I said. “We’ve made love like a hundred times, read three novels and watched an entire season of The Walking Dead. That’s almost perfect.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I didn’t mean ruined. But you can’t go back and tell people that it was foggy and it rained the whole time and you read and watched TV. It sounds gloomy.”
“You skipped the part about making love.”
“Because you can’t tell people that.”
“No,” I said. “Let’s tell them it was sunny every day and we swam with the dolphins.”
“But that would be wrong,” she said, and we laughed. Somehow this had become a joke: saying but that would be wrong after every wrong thing we talked about doing. I have no idea why or how, but it was hilarious to us, just to us, the way that something that clearly isn’t funny becomes funny for reasons impossible to explain. “That being said, I’ll totally never forget that ride we took on the humpback whale.”
“Because it’s unforgettable. We’ll tell our kids about that.”
“Little Johnny and Marie.”
“I thought we’d settled on Zeus and Hera?”
“I just think that might put too much pressure on them, honey.”
I slapped my forehead, and a few grains of sand fell into my eyes. “Of course, you’re right. Why did I never think about that? Sometimes I feel like I knew nothing until we met.” Pause. “At least I know you’re a goddess.”
She squeezed my hand. “Keep ’em coming,” she said.
“Don’t worry. We’re good for the next 10 years at least.”
“Whoa. You stockpile flatteries?”
“Flatteries are my specialty.”
“Oh no,” she said, in a husky whisper, knocking against me with her shoulder. “No, they’re not.”
How long had we been walking? I had no idea. I stopped and looked behind us: I couldn’t see our hotel or any landmark at all. Civilization had disappeared behind the curve of the shore. I could imagine that we were on a deserted island, looking toward the horizon for a rescue we knew would never come. I don’t know what she was thinking, but she had that faraway look in her eyes as well, and as I looked into them (her eyes were the color of ivy), the tail end of a wave chilled my toes. I almost gasped it was so cold.
She turned to me.
“I’m going in,” she said.
“No way.”
“I could never live with myself if I went to the beach and didn’t get in. I would be ashamed for the rest of my life. You’re coming in, too.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You’re my husband now,” she said. “You have to. It was in our vows.”
“Those vows were ambiguous.”
“On purpose, just for occasions such as this.”
She let go of my hand and took a deep breath, girding herself.
I took a step toward the water myself, but with her hand on my stomach, she held me back.
“I’m first in,” she said. “I’m always first in. Ever since I was little. That’s what I want on my tombstone: First In, Last Out. Remember that.”
“I will.”
“I’m serious,” she said, and she studied my face. “You’ll remember?”
“I’ll remember. But I didn’t know that about you.”
“Well,” she said. “I guess there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
But she was already gone. She ran into the water, whooping, and kept running as fast as she could, but slowed as the water got deeper. She pushed into it until she couldn’t walk at all, and then she dove under, disappearing completely for what seemed like a long time. Then she reappeared about five yards out, the bigger waves rolling against her back, lifting and releasing her, up and down, up and down. I think she was smiling.
We’d planned a big wedding, with friends and family coming in from all over. There was going to be a band and your choice of chicken or fish or veg, and a first dance and a sound system that could turn even my mousey 80-year-old Aunt Muriel’s voice into that of a roaring lion. But all that was postponed, of course. We’d talked about waiting, to do what we’d hoped to do just a little bit later. When things got back to normal. But we couldn’t wait a minute longer. We were married at the courthouse, with our two best friends, witnesses to our contract, safe behind a Plexiglas wall. Now here we were at the beach, in the days just before summer, the rest of our lives ahead of us. Six days of fog and rain, one day of sun, and then the rest of our lives.
She waved, I waved.
“Come and get me if you dare!” she yelled into the wind, my freckled goddess in the wine-dark sea, the woman who had already told me the words she wanted on her tombstone when death does us part. I wanted to tell her what I wanted on mine, too, but the water was cold, and she was already so far away. SP
Dani el Wall a ce is th e auth or of si x n o vels, in clu ding Big Fish an d, m ost recently, E x t r aord inar y Advent ures. He live s in Ch apel Hill, wh ere h e direct s th e Cre at ive Wr it ing Prog ram at th e Universit y of Nor th Carolin a.
All -t im e fav or it e bo ok? “My m ost recent fav or it e bo ok is B ew i lderness, b y Nor th Carolin a w r it er K aren Tu ck er. It’s a roll er coa st er, page-tur ning lit erar y gem.”
The stitch around her mouth
fiction by Etaf Rum
illustration by Marie-Louise Bennett
The stitch was starting to come undone, shedding fine, thin threads at the corners of her mouth. For as long as she could remember, she had never seemed to notice it — a ribbon the color of dust woven tightly around her lips. It had been there ever since she was a child, ever since her mother taught her how to roll her first grape leaf, ever since her grandmother read the thick, musty grounds of Turkish coffee at the bottom of her first kahwa cup. By the time she did notice it, she was a mother herself, devoting her energy to her husband and children, her feet firm in the fabric her family had sewn. When she awakened one morning to find the stitch unraveling, a wild terror overcame her. She dared not tug at the loose ends of her stitch in fear her world would unspool.
She paused to think now as she hurried to complete her chores before her children returned from school. What was it that had snagged her stitch loose now, after all these years? She wondered if she had done something wrong. The worst thing a woman could do was question her condition. Her mother had told her that once. Only she’d barely been thinking lately. She knew such freedoms were the province of boys and men, not for women, whose delicate fibers were spun like webs on the kitchen curtains like a daily reminder. Not for a woman whose life was a tight pattern overlapping her mother’s. There was nothing to think about. Things have always been this way
She closed her eyes to the image of her 7-year-old face as she waited in line at the fabric store. Mama had prepared her for the stitching tradition the way Mama’s own mother had done before, wrapping her unruly hair and staining her hands with rust-colored henna. While all the other young girls had locked their eyes on the brightest ribbons, her gaze fell quietly on a strand as pale as wheat. She snatched it, gripped it close to her chest. She thought if she must endure the numbing and needling, the pain that comes with saying words too full, the swallowing of thoughts, the stitch should at least blend in with her olive skin. Others should never know.
She stood over the stove now, her afternoon chores completed. The steam from an ibrik of mint chai prickled her stitch. She felt her mouth stiffening, a burning sensation around the edge of her lips. In the distance, she could hear the sound of a school bus, then her two children approaching — a boy of 8, a girl of 6. She tucked her thoughts away. She didn’t want them to notice her loose stitch, confusing them, or worse, igniting their curiosity. She had no answers to the questions they might ask.
The oven clock read 7 p.m. by the time she finished helping the children with homework and cooking dinner. More than once she considered calling her husband to ask when he would be home. But each time she stopped herself. It would be unseemly to question him, to ask where he was or what he was doing as if he wasn’t working the way she was working. Only what if he wasn’t? She teased her loose stitch with the tip of her henna-stained finger before pulling it away. No, she shouldn’t question such things.
Growing up, Mama had said the stitch would make her more desirable, not only in the eyes of men, but also women, who were taught to see beauty in lips that were tightly sealed. Yet it was Mama who originally suggested that she choose a ribbon that would blend in. A plain ribbon will help you endure the pain, Mama had said, holding her hand at the fabric store, steering her down the fig-colored aisles. She could see other mothers in the aisles too, smiling as they helped their daughters select their ribbons. Some ribbons had the luster of pride and joy; others had a glow of satisfaction. But not hers. She had wondered why her mother steered her to a ribbon that was barely visible, and why she even needed to get a ribbon at all. What would happen if she decided not to get a ribbon, like some of the unstitched women she knew? She wondered what her world would be like without a stitch around her mouth.
The next thing she knew, the thought escaped her lips. “What if I don’t want to get a stitch?”
“Nonsense,” Mama said, shaking her head.
“But not every woman gets stitched,” she said, frozen in the center of the aisle. “The woman who reports the news doesn’t have one. Or the widow who opened up the pharmacy in town. Or even the girl who lives a few blocks away from us.”
Mama fixed her with a glare. “This is the way things are, daughter. It’s always been this way.”
Soon after the stitching, she began to feel a burning sensation in the corners of her mouth, the quiet ripping of flesh. She did what she could to dull the pain, swapping out words, shortening thoughts, sometimes even getting rid of ideas altogether. Some words, she realized, would never be hers to say. Maybe her mother was right. After all, women were woven with a fabric meant to endure the knots and coils of their lives, like carrying the bulbous world in their center. The stitch was just another natural difference, another law of womanhood.
Now there was a sound at the front door, then the twist of a lock, and quickly she turned off the faucet, dried her hands, tucked a strand of dry hair behind her ear. She felt the tip of the dusty wheat ribbon tickle her hands, like the touch of her grandmother’s finger when she read her palms as a child. What would her grandmother say if she knew her stitch was coming undone? What would Mama say? Surely they would tighten it. Her stitch was supposed to last a lifetime, a legacy passed along generations. A loosened stitch was the ultimate disgrace, a shame that would swallow her family whole. Wasn’t it her grandmother who said that no good can come from a wide-mouthed woman? And hadn’t Mama agreed, unquestioning, stitching her lips before she learned how to question? Well, she was a mother now, to a daughter whose mouth would soon need stitching. She swallowed a lump in her throat. She didn’t like to think of it.
Her husband awaited her at the kitchen table, glancing at her with knitted brows. There was a silence between them, one which she had learned not to mind, and she hurried to pour the lentil soup into four bowls. A blanket of steam covered her face, and she withstood the temptation to open her mouth, if only for a moment, and stretch the stitch loose. She could feel her children watching her, and she didn’t want them to see her this way, opening her mouth in such an unnatural position, the contortions of her face the opposite of womanly. No — there are some moments a child will never forget, like the sound of a mother’s tears, roaring like rain against the roof. Her children shouldn’t have to feel what she felt now, a mountain of memories clung to her chest. She decided she would only stretch her stitch when no one was watching.
Somehow at the dinner table, she could hear her grandmother in her ear, the same way she had heard her as a child. Sayings and lessons, like fortune cookies hanging from her ears. “A woman belongs at home,” her grandmother would say. “No good will ever come from a woman thinking.”
Her husband cleared his throat, bringing her back to the room. “I have to travel for work tomorrow,” he said. “Where to?” She let the words leak through her stitch as if by accident so as not to make her mouth hurt. It was a trick her mother taught her.
“A conference in D.C.,” he said, shoving soup into his mouth as if to purposely end the conversation.
She said nothing, having learned from a young age to find safety in silence. She placed a crumb of bread between her slightly parted lips and clenched hard.
Dinners were the same every night, with her husband sitting at the end of the table and all three of them curled around him like children. More often than not, one of them would signal her, and, as if wired to be true to her nature, she would drop her food and leap with eagerness, refilling cups and bowls, smiling to the rhythm of clinking spoons. Look how much they need me, her tender heart would whisper as she scurried around the table. Delighted, her husband would look at her and smile as if to say: Look at the family we’ve created, you and I. Look at what we’ve done.
Only tonight, huddled around the dinner table with her fami-
ly, she could hear another whisper: What has she done?
The question grazed her stitch, bitterness on her tongue. She looked up at her daughter and felt a tide of guilt rolling in her chest. For a long time, she studied her daughter’s face, resting her eyes on the dull brown mole on her left cheek. All she could think of was the fine needle, slithering up and down her lips like a snake. Soon her daughter would be 7 years old, and what could she do then? She couldn’t stop it. Lately she had begun to think the stitch was the reason she only had two children. Her mother-in-law never missed an opportunity to remind her to get pregnant, as if she had somehow forgotten her duty. In fact, she closed her legs purposefully at night, feigning exhaustion or sleep, or when she was particularly distressed, a desperate sadness. On those nights she felt an ache swelter not only from her stitch but from a place buried inside her. But now, looking at her daughter’s mouth, thinking of what was soon to come, never had she felt a pain deeper than the shame of mothering another girl. She wondered if her son knew how lucky he was.
Her husband, noting the strain on her face, scrunched his eyebrows in a knot. “Is there something wrong?”
She met his eyes and instantly turned red. Had her face betrayed her? Had her thoughts escaped her stitch? “No, no,” she whispered. “Nothing’s wrong.”
He lowered his gaze to the bowl, stirred the soup fiercely before scooping a spoonful into his mouth. Swallowing at once, he said, “There’s something on the corners of your mouth.” He handed her a rag. “Here, wipe.”
Calmly she took the rag from his fingers and pressed it against her stitch. She looked at the stain: it was blood.
Her husband stared at her in silence before clearing his throat. “Careful now,” he said, reaching over to tighten her stitch. “The children and I need you around.”
At that, her children looked at her in their usual way, their eyes glistening with the past and future as if always to remind her. It was as though they’d made a permanent mark upon her heart from which she could never escape. No, she would never escape. In awe of herself, she swept the thought away. Wasn’t she a believer of God, a believer in His will? If He wanted her this way, with this stitch around her mouth, then surely it was for the best. Besides, did she want to be like some of the unstitched girls she knew, still in their mother’s house, unmarried — or worse, divorced — an ocean of shame in their ribs? Of course she didn’t want that. Yet within herself, she didn’t understand why she couldn’t be happy. Inside she could hear all the women, and all the women she could hear were tired. She bit the inside of her lip, swallowing her thoughts. She could hear a whisper in her ear. Be thankful, or God will take it all away.
The days passed, and her stitch kept bleeding: at the dinner table, during the day, whenever she stopped to think about it. Only when she wasn’t thinking did she seem to forget the uncomfortable grip around her mouth. But soon enough she would remember, feeling the heaviness in her mind sink into her lips whenever she spoke. Then the sound of a stitch unraveling, then the taste of blood. Sometimes it felt as if her mouth was only one stitch away from slitting all together, as if at any moment a thought would come and undo everything. Her life as she knew it. She became afraid. Then she began to wonder: Perhaps it’s all my fault. Perhaps I am being unreasonable. And even though there were no noticeable changes in her, all she could think of was what would become of her life if she let the stitch unravel. This fear had become an everlasting whisper in her chest which no amount of thinking could get rid of.
Four months passed. The day had finally come. Outside, the sky hung oppressively low, suffocating her. Quietly, she reached for her daughter’s hand as they walked into the fabric store. The room was made of glass, with gold circles glistening across the walls. Between the brightly colored aisles, she thought she could hear, very faintly, the silent sounds of sorrow. She let go of her daughter’s hand. From a distance she watched her reach for a dusty pink ribbon, almost identical to her own. Her heart swelled in her chest. She could feel her stitch ripping open, blood leaking from her lips, desperate to spare her daughter. But she said nothing.
How she sewed the ribbon, how she stitched her daughter’s mouth — none of that could she remember later. Only one thought came to her now: the mild expression of submission painted on her daughter’s face as if it had been given to her since birth. Alone, she studied her own stitch in the mirror with shame. She ran her fingers along the edges of her lips, dug them into the corners as if to rip the ribbon out. Trembling, she tried to keep from screaming. She could taste her mother on her stitch and it made her weep. SP
T h e d aught er of Pal e st ini an immig rant s, Et af Rum wa s b o r n an d rai se d in Bro okly n, New Yo rk. Sh e h a s a m a st er’s d eg re e in Am er i c an an d Br it i sh lit erature a s w ell a s un d erg ra du at e d eg re e s in phil osophy an d Engli sh. Sh e liv e s in Ro cky Mo unt an d r un s th e @b o ok san db e an s In st ag ram a cco unt. A Wom a n Is No Ma n i s h er first n o v el.
All -t im e fav or it e bo ok: T he B el l Jar b y Sylv i a Pl ath
SHORE STORY
PRETTY PATTERNS AND FEMININE FLORALS CREATE BREEZY, BEACH-CHIC STYLE AT BALD HEAD ISLAND.
Left: Ulla Johnson Gaia top, $475, Erdem Ethelwyn striped seersucker skirt, $3,720, and Veronica Beard Jourdan belt, $295, all Vermillion (Raleigh); Kristin Hayes Jewelry sterling silver curve earrings, $120, KristinHayesJewelry.com Right: Cara Cara long-sleeve crop top, Poole Shop, $345; La Double J printed tiered big maxi skirt, Capitol, $590; Indego Africa handmade bag, $150, and Primaura rattan belt, $75, Chosen; Lele Sadoughi pink satin headband, makeup artist’s own
photographer: Mira Adwell
styling + production:
Whitley Adkins
model: Dierra Davis, represented by Directions USA hair & makeup: Janis Lozano, represented by Directions USA
production assistant:
Jay Seago
photographed on location at
Bald Head Island
special thanks to Trisha Howarth and Intracoastal Realty Corp., IntracoastalRealty.com
Above: Staud Frieze top, $225, Ulla Johnson Idalia skirt, $595, and Lizzie Fortunato Agnes belt, $265, all Vermillion; Primaura Khloe hoop earrings, $85, Chosen Right: Tracy Feith long-sleeve robe coat, Capitol, $1,500
Left: Chloe puff sleeve top, $1,095, Staud Mattia skirt, $310, Gigi Burris Hilma hat, $425, all Vermillion
Right: Erdem Augustus floral dress, $1,761, Vermillion; Sheila Fajl Stella hoops, Monkee’s of Charlotte, $73
Above: Ulla Johnson Dali Maillot swimsuit, $285, Faliero Sarti Ginevra scarf, $225, and Ulla Johnson Meadow bottle bag, $295, all from Vermillion Right: Zimmermann Alaine terry towel dress, Vermillion, $375 SP
Fresh approach
DESIGNER CLAUDIA RICCIARDONE UPDATES A 20-YEAR-OLD BALLANTYNE HOME WITH A FRESH COLOR PALETTE AND FUN PATTERNS.
by Blake Miller • photographs by Laura Sumrak • styling by Kendra Surface
Like many homeowners who have lived in the same house for 20 or more years, the Reynolds family was ready for a change.
“When we bought the house in 2001, it was already built, so even back then we didn’t get to pick out any of our finishes,” says Sheryl Reynolds of the 3,800-squarefoot Ballantyne home. “The layout of the kitchen also was never what I wanted, so that was always in the back of my mind.” The couple, who have three children and eight grandchildren, wanted a lighter, brighter space but also one that would accommodate their large family for dinners and holidays.
In February of 2020, the Reynolds decided it was time to renovate their kitchen and make it exactly as they’d imagined over the last two decades. On the recommendation of two friends, the couple enlisted designer Claudia Ricciardone of Claudia Josephine Design to update the dining room and adjacent kitchen to make the space more
lively, colorful and practical for family gatherings.
“Cheryl ... loves bright color and is a little more adventurous than my typical client,” Ricciardone says. “She wanted a more fun but functional kitchen. And her love of green really spurred the design.”
The kitchen’s footprint was redesigned to allow ample room between the island and cooking and prep area. But the redesign also opened the space to the family room, resulting in a large gathering area. Dark maple cabinets were replaced with custom white ones by Eudy’s Cabinets, while granite counters were replaced with Statuary Classique quartz, with complementary handmade Zellige tiles for the backsplash. The real transformation came with the addition of the custom green lacquered cabinetry on the island, which added just the right pop of color to the otherwise neutral white kitchen. “The green really set the tone for the rest of the home’s design,” the designer says.
While the couple didn’t set out to redesign the family room, after the kitchen renovation they realized they’d need new furnishings and accessories to keep the flow between the spaces seamless and functional. The original furniture layout discouraged conversation with those in
the kitchen, so Ricciardone replaced stationary seating with more functional pieces such as a pair of swivel chairs.
“Now you can turn around and talk with everyone in the kitchen, and turn back around and talk with people in the family room,” Reynolds says. “Once you do one room, you realize to make it all work, you need to do it all.”
The dining room, however, was on the original punch list, and Ricciardone was eager to add color to the space. Reynolds wanted to keep her existing draperies and rug, so the designer worked with those items, layering in new, more modern pieces such as the Visual Comfort chandelier, Vanguard sideboard, and Woodbridge dining chairs. Ricciardone knew the Schumacher wallpaper would tie together the homeowners’ existing elements.
“I like to mix retro, contemporary and traditional elements to help a room feel timeless, because when you design a room solely in the current trend, it will date as soon as that trend is over,” the designer explains. “I use high-quality, beautifully-made furnishings, sticking to the minimum number of items and layers necessary to make a room feel complete.”
After the transformation of the kitchen, family room and dining room was complete, the Reynolds decided to have Ricciardone redesign the rest of the downstairs. In the breakfast nook, the homeowners’ existing table and chairs were made new by the addition of custom Roman shades in a Thibaut fabric.
Once the pandemic hit, Cheryl’s husband, Randy, began working from home and soon realized his home office needed an upgrade. “Randy prefers a modern, streamlined look,” Ricciardone says. “We ended up with a midcentury modern-inspired, handsome, moody office with plenty of custom storage, well-suited to a business executive.” Custom window treatments in an Osborne & Little fabric complete the sophisticated space.
What began as a simple kitchen and dining-room renovation resulted in a downstairs overhaul that the Reynolds had no idea they needed or wanted until the work was completed. SP
INTRODUCING
Continuing Care at Windsor Run
OPENING IN 2021!
Assisted living and memory support services and long-term care are coming soon to Windsor Run, the premier senior living community in Mecklenburg County. Feel Confident in Our Care
We offer the ideal lifestyle for seniors who could benefit from help with everyday tasks like medication management, dressing, bathing, or meal preparation. Your loved one is in safe, secure, and capable hands.
Now Accepting Priority List Memberships!
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Call 1-888-484-1689
or email zachary.goldberg@erickson.com to join the Priority List and request your free brochure today!
Artist rendering and representative images. Finishes and fixtures may vary.
Independent Living | Assisted Living Memory Care | Long-Term Care
Sun days
DOMINICAN REPUBLIC’S CASA DE CAMPO — JUST A THREE-HOUR FLIGHT FROM CHARLOTTE — DELIVERS THE VACATION GOODS, FROM PRISTINE BEACHES AND WATER SPORTS TO INVENTIVE DINING AND SOME OF THE BEST GOLF IN THE CARIBBEAN.
by Michael J. Solender
After more than a year of missed vacations, once-homebound travelers will find many temptations to heed the tropical call of Casa de Campo, one of the Caribbean’s dreamiest resorts.
Hop an early morning nonstop flight from Charlotte to Punta Cana, transfer to nearby La Romana, and you can be sipping margaritas by mid-afternoon on the resort’s private Minitas Beach. Guests will find more than 7,000 acres of immaculately manicured grounds at Casa de Campo, where every day is the weekend and the most difficult choices are which of the three Pete Dye-designed golf courses to take on or where to dine among the more than half-dozen on-site restaurants.
Spanish for “country house,” Casa de Campo has long been one of the Caribbean’s premier luxe island getaways and sporting destinations. Following a recent $37 million renovation, the property gleams. Whether traveling with a buddy, your significant other or extended family, you’ll find accommodations ranging from luxurious rooms and suites to fully staffed luxury villas, each offering complete access to the resort’s amenities.
It’s easy to be taken with the topography and natural beauty of this easternmost part of the island, where sugarcane fields host migratory birds. Spotting cranes, egrets and other waterfowl soaring alongside the ambling Chavon River flanking the property is a fine afternoon diversion. Guests are provided with their own golf cart for the duration of their stay, making navigation of the expansive property a breeze.
A most unexpected treat is found in the 16th century-style Mediterranean village overlooking the river, Altos de Chavon. Here, guests stroll cobblestone streets, admire Roman-inspired grand fountains and snap selfies at St. Stanislaus Church, home to the ashes of Poland’s patron saint, a gift from Pope John Paul II. The village was handcrafted by Dominican masons, carpenters and blacksmiths under the direction of Roberto Coppa. The Italian stage and film set designer was engaged by the resort in the ’70s to create this architectural gem. Today, the village is home to art studios,
retail shops, restaurants and a 5,000-seat outdoor amphitheater that’s hosted the likes of Sinatra, Pavarotti, J.Lo, Elton John, Ricky Martin and Andrea Bocelli.
SPORTING PURSUITS
While it’s always in style to chill at the beach with a pulpy novel, guests here are equally tempted by an endless list of sporting activities. Here’s what not to miss:
Saddle up: There is an extensive equestrian program at Casa de Campo, with polo introduced decades ago by an Indian maharaja. Ride the trails, volunteer to care for the ponies, or be lucky enough to catch a polo match or a few chukkas.
Water, water everywhere: Casa de Campos’ marina extends more than 90,000 meters. Seafaring options include daily sailing trips and lessons, deep sea sport fishing, and personal watercraft tours. There are half- and full-day excursions to Isla Catalina, 45 minutes from Minitas Beach. Here, snorkelers find the protected cove teeming with sea life, and sun worshippers score perfection on the white sands, with tropical libations and snacks close at hand. Kayakers can navigate the Chavon River with expert guides to keep them on track.
Shoot: Casa de Campo’s 245-acre shooting center has more than 200 stations for trap, skeet, sporting clays and pigeon rings. A 110-foot tower projects sporting clays, and novices and experts alike are welcomed by a knowledgeable staff.
Tennis: Dubbed the “Wimbledon of the Caribbean,” by tennis buffs, the center has 13 Har-Tru courts and plenty of pros to hit with — even ball boys and girls for your most important matches.
Golf heaven: Three of the finest courses in the Caribbean call Casa de Campo home, including the legendary Teeth of the Dog, Pete Dye’s masterpiece oceanside course that’s ranked No. 32 on Golf Digest’s World’s Greatest 100 Golf Courses. The fabled architect’s other island gems, The Links and Dye Fore, perched along
the gorge overlooking the Chavon, are each bucket-list worthy on their own. Play these three on consecutive days for a golfer’s dream trifecta. The caddies, many with decades of service, are guaranteed to shave strokes off your round and spice things up with a colorful yarn or two.
Spa/fitness: Therapeutic massages, aromatherapies and detoxifying treatments are all available, as are yoga, Zen hikes, aquatics and a complete fitness center.
EAT & DRINK
With full-time play at Casa de Campo certain to generate a healthy appetite, an intriguing variety of dining options covers all the bases. Our favorites:
At Minitas Beach Club, the food is as stunning as the view. Mediterranean fare is on tap at this beachside eatery. Expect Spanish tapas like shrimp and ham croquettes, ceviche frito, and chicharron de pollo — marinated chicken with Dominican wasakaka, an herb and lime sauce similar to chimichurri. Mains include branzino, poke bowls and arroz negro — calamari, octopus and local shrimp with squid ink. Pizzas and numerous vegetarian offerings round out the menu.
La Cana serves French-inspired cuisine with a Caribbean twist. Beef Bourguignon is classic red-wine-braised short ribs with a fluffy, spiced potato puree. Confit de Canard is a falling-off-thebone duck quarter with a piquant demi-glace, celery root puree and roasted cipollini onions. An impressive wine list boasts ample French, Californian and South American choices — but no one will blink if you order a cold Presidente, the crisp Dominican lager.
At Causa, a recent addition at Casa de Campo, expect three widely popular styles of Peruvian fare: Creole, Nikkei and Chifa; sushi; and stir-fry and mixed-grill offerings that blend Chinese, Japanese and South American flavors.
Breakfast is served al fresco at Lago, which overlooks the 18th hole at the Teeth of the Dog course. The selection is staggering, from smoked fish, Dominican sausages, made-to-order omelets, smoothies and tropical fruit of every variety, churros, waffles, and homemade French pastries. As you dine, watching the grounds crew fuss pridefully over the verdant golf course is as entertaining as the aerial show of terns and other small birds trailing after the mowers in search of their own breakfast.
With the mantra of “First, Best and Most,” Casa de Campo is designed to pamper. Feeling a bit spoiled during your stay here, however, and you might be planning a return trip before you catch the flight home. SP
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