First Mate's Log II: Hotel Il Pellicano
Celebrating 60 Years of La Dolce Vita
Laura and I are back home in New York after our 25 day trip. We went to Italy, Kenya, London, and Paris. It was dense, varied, and wonderful. I intended to publish my travel diaries as the trip unfolded, but I did not. I’m doing it now in digestible installments. I hope you’re enjoying your summer.
Thursday June 5
The first overeager rays of morning sun bounded over the Tyrrhenian Sea through the green wooden slats of our window blinds and pried my eyelids apart. 5:28? I could try to fall back to sleep — I would either (A) not or (B) enter a second sleep cycle and wake up at noon. I chose (C) and got up to go find coffee because I didn’t want to use the espresso machine and disturb Laura, who was still slumbering blissfully.
Hotel Il Pellicano was not yet in gear. I left the property and walked three miles along the winding coastal road up and down and up and down again until I arrived in the salty fishing village of Porto Ercole.
A group of spry older Italian men in workwear were gathered outside a caffè. “This must be the spot,” I thought to myself. I went inside and ordered a double espresso while trying to maintain an air of calm, confident ‘I know I am a visitor here,’ energy. Perhaps I will reach an age where I wouldn’t care what these men think of me, but that age is not 34.
Hearing Italian spoken is particularly painful for me because I can speak and understand Spanish pretty well. Italian is similar enough that it sounds like I should be able to understand it, but I cannot. It’s like I’m stuck outside a party I’m not allowed into.
I sat and drank my coffee and water and looked at the sea and the birds and the boats. Several of the boats were flying Jolly Roger flags — a little garnish of touristy cilantro that made me feel welcome in this otherwise genuinely lived-in place. I pushed my chair in and brought my empty cup back inside to burnish the brand of the polite and considerate American traveler and began the trek back to Pellicano. The return always seems quicker than the journey out. Maybe it actually is.
As I walked I thought about the things I’d seen that were different and good. The cap to my water bottle remained attached. The cars that drove by me were small. There were cats around. I narrowly avoided stepping on a caterpillar as I rounded the final bend to the cove where Pellicano perched at the foot of the mountain rolling into the sea.
Roberto Sciò purchased the property that he transformed into Hotel Il Pellicano in 1965. On the day we arrived, the mayor of Monte Argentario was presenting Mr. Sciò with an honorary citizenship to recognize his masterful stewardship of Italian hospitality — the opening salvo of a weekend celebrating 60 years of Pelligance.
Pelligance (noun): A distinctive blend of effortless sophistication and unpretentious warmth, as epitomized by the atmosphere and ethos of Hotel Il Pellicano. *Officially minted as of this post*Roberto’s daughter Marie-Louise now helms the gradually expanding Pellicano Hotel Group, and she captained the celebratory weekend that drew us here. There has been plenty of fawning praise written about Marie-Louise already but I’ll chime in anyway. She is like Queen Lucy of Cair Paravel at the height of her powers reigning over the Golden Age of Narnia. She is always exactly where she wants to be and loves to share what she loves. She always seems like she’s dancing.
Sweaty and smug from my exertions, I popped in to the breakfast area where I had to quickly order a coffee and grab a juice before I got sucked into the buffet’s gravity, a force to which I am extremely susceptible. I can’t try one thing without trying everything. It’s like a grizzly bear grabs the controls and I sit helplessly by watching as he samples everything. “Later,” I murmured. He growled and acquiesced.
I escaped the buffet but not the tractor beam of Michel and Roxanne. Michel is Marie-Louise’s boyfriend, a dashing gent of imperturbable jollity and immaculate but non-starched manners. Roxanne Assoulin is a jewelry designer who seems like she keeps a beautiful garden. They were both happy to see me, because I am great, but also because if I am there then Laura must be nearby. I brought the coffee and juice to Laura and shared news of my step count and my sociological run-ins. We shared a little “All right baby, this weekend is kicking off,” moment.
We clambered down the stone steps to the ocean and set up on loungers next to Roxanne. She and Laura were locked into a high MBPS mutual download session as I laid there half listening to them, half listening to the waves, and occasionally chiming in. The conversation flowed naturally into pretty deep waters and I didn’t feel like I was talking with someone I occasionally brushed shoulders with at fancy events. Sometimes it just happens and you feel comfortably completely opening up and someone you haven’t exchanged many words with before feels like someone you’ve known your whole life. I love you Roxanne Assoulin! Laura’s really good at that. I think I’m also good at it but not as universally as Laura is. When it happens, it gleams.
We migrated up to the [more casual of the two] restaurant[s] and had a long leisurely lunch that included focaccia dunked in olive oil, an enormous misticanza salad, and pasta. We have a wonderful thing going where Laura leans toward noodles and I lean toward sauce and she gets full before her plate gets empty. She hands the plate to me at which point the contents are in my ideal sauce per noodle ratio. I even have to use some focaccia to soak up the remnants. I concluded with an affogato which was artfully presented and I tried to land a cross lingual pun: “What’s the name of this dish? I forgot.” I don’t think it landed but I’ll include the video here so you can judge for yourself:
We returned to the ocean for a spell, retired to our room for a siesta, then showered and came back down for dinner. La dolce frickin vida, baby. Eggplant parmigiana, I will never stop loving you. Laura and I have another thing going where we both very much need to be liked by the staff (Laura did marry her waiter). I can see how, in extremis, this might be a character flaw but so far this trait has made my life much fuller and richer and my world more interactive than if I D G A F what anyone thinks. Laura had a head start on me as she and her dear friend/co-author Kristina O’Neill had spent a week at Pellicano earlier in late 2024 to wrap up the writing of their upcoming mega bestseller All The Cool Girls Get Fired. She was particularly smitten by Piermarco and Alessandra, a pair of hot Pellicano servers who have fallen in love with each other and have a wonderful thing going of their own.
I know a rascal when I see one and Piermarco’s delivery of “Yes sir, right away sir,” when I informed him I did indeed prefer sparkling water was molto Han Solo. So I went for it - as the sparkling water he poured into my glass reached the desired limit, I hit him with a “HOYEAH!”
“Can I get a ‘HOYEAH’?” “HOYEAH!” is a widespread call and response joke format which invites the respondent to participate in sending a shockwave through polite society, as the HOYEAH is delivered with the intonation of an adult film performer.
It landed. I knew it would, but it really did. I was in, baby. More guests had arrived that day. We chatted with some familiar faces and retired to bed. Immensely satisfied with how I’d spent the day and lulled by the murmur of the ocean I fell quickly asleep.
Friday June 6
I awoke not as early but just as determined to make my day good. I walked down to Porto Ercole again and found myself at the caffè much more suddenly than yesterday. I was immensely pleased to be greeted with a, “Buongiorno! Un espresso doppio?” “Sì, grazie, grazie mille!” After I finished and restored mise en place, I puttered around the village for a minute but I had juice in my legs so I decided to hoof it back.
I had so much juice in fact that I made a detour to spring up a hill that led to the Forte La Rocca Lighthouse. When I got back to Pellicano I still had juice in the gams so I kept going and ran up the steep gravel switchbacks to a scenic overlook on Punta Avoltore where I looked back on what I’d just traversed as the taste of hemoglobin receded from my throat. Of course the lighting of the beacons scene from The Return of the King in my mind. “The beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!” Goosebumps just typing it. What a film.
I joined Laura down by the ocean. We sat next to Tom and Ruth Chapman of MatchesFashion renown. And dammit I love them too. They each have a twinkle in their eye that makes them look like kids. Just the little details in how they conducted themselves while relaxing by the ocean made me think: whatever your guiding philosophy may be, I’m interested in hearing more. Ruth was particularly tickled by the HOYEAH although she wasn’t very good at reenacting it herself.
We had oceanside lunch on the loungers and then returned early to the room as there was quite an evening ahead. Awaiting us in our room were excellent SWAG bags. I put on everything immediately. Thank you High Snobiety, Speedo, Superga, and Metier!
I changed into my full Zegna look (with the Tod’s penny loafers) for the Friday night kickoff dinner.
Friday night had wedding rehearsal dinner energy. There were close to 200 people, but it felt very intimate. I sat across the table from Marie-Louise Sr. and between JJ Martin and Laura Jackson, not far from my buds Aly Michalka and Stephen Ringer who had a few hours away from their <1 year old baby. Laura was at the other table with Justin Padgett, Haider Ackermann, Christine Centenera, and Joel Edgerton. The common denominator seemed to be that everyone in attendance had built something of their own. [Societal contributions in order of mention: model/muse/matriarch, designer, TV personality/Glassette co-founder, half of Aly & AJ, cinematographer/photographer, PR wizard, Tom Ford creative director, Vogue Australia EiC, Actor/Filmmaker]
I’ve been in plenty of rooms where it’s felt like there are The People and then there is me. I’m not talking about impostor syndrome, because I don’t really have that - I’m pretty much always in these situations because I’m with Laura, who is definitely one of The People. So I’m not really claiming to be anything or anyone, and I’ve got no anxiety about being called out. I’m just happy to be there! But there is this negative pressure area that I would like to fill. I want there to be things that I’ve built. And you know what helps? This Substack. And you, for reading it. So, thank you!
Roberto and both Marie-Louises gave beautiful toasts between courses. This is a family who has devoted multiple generations to caring for this institution! I was honored to be welcomed into the sacred space where they celebrated and spoke aloud about what this place means to them. It was a nourishing evening. Dessert was a generous serving of tiramisu. I had three. I’m telling you, the grizzly…
I had fun. Laura and I took our leave as the tables were cleared and some people started dancing. I needed my rest - I had a tennis tournament to weasel my way into in the morning.
Saturday June 7
I thought I might get up earlier and trek again but when I woke up around 7, my body told me to lie in bed and look at my phone so I did that. Laura and I headed down early-ish to secure a spot by the ocean given that today the property would be jam packed. I just so happened to put my SWAG back on - the SWAG that made me look as though I were ready to play tennis on the tree-lined grass court in the middle of the property.
A man with a clipboard who was running a no-idea-how-competitive-this-could-get-but-I’m-ready-for-anything doubles tournament stopped me as I shuffled slowly by. “Are you playing tennis?” “Who, me?” I told him I would like to, I wasn’t very good but would try my best, and was available and willing if anyone needed a partner. I was in luck. Ethan and I were to play an exhibition match against Michel (yes, that Michel) and another girl whose name I forget but I will call Sam because I think her name may have been Sam. If it was, then it still is.
I love tennis. I took lessons for six weeks when I was 12. I would like it to be the thing I do as I get older (as opposed to golf). The match before ours was actually quite compelling, involving two opponents who had gone through school together and must have at least played on their high school teams. There was Italian shit-talking and blasted forehands. Then we were up.
All four participants were in agreement that we just wanted to have a fun game, that the score existed just to give structure to the rallies, and neither pair would advance - as I said, an exhibition match. We all did the appropriate hedging to make sure that we would all converge to make it fun for whoever was playing at the lowest level. Imperturbable jollity.
Well, I served first, and I don’t know what the hell happened. My warm up serves had gone way long. I identified the element that felt most wrong was that I wasn’t swinging down through the ball, so on my first serve of the match I made sure to snap my wrist and I snapped an ace past Michel at somewhere between 80 and 90 mph. I shuffled to the ad side and did the same thing to Sam. Seriously, these never go in. “Uh huh, sure.” I shuffled over and ripped another one in the box past Michel’s backhand. 40-0. I felt bad about hitting it hard in our fun let’s-volley exhibition match so I took some off my last serve by slicing it and it zoomed at a near perpendicular angle into the service box. Four untouchable aces in a row. I swear I’ve never done anything that masterful in tennis, ever. I tried to assure everyone I was not nearly as good as I just looked. As the match continued, I successfully assured everyone my first service game had been an anomaly.
Sam turned out to be the real ringer. I could do less with her serve than she did with mine, and hers was actually consistent. After bumbling three returns in a row, I tried picking it up on the short hop and ripping it back - sometimes it works for me. I smashed it into the net. I still feel a bit sheepish about this because while yes, I was a bit frustrated with myself, I was not actually feeling frustrated. But the violence of my return attempt seemed to say that I was angry. But I wasn’t! So, I’m sorry about that.
Michel and Sam prevailed over me and Ethan. A good time was had by all. I wished I’d played better, not so I could have won, but so that we all could have had an even better time.
I joined Laura and the burgeoning gang at the ocean. I told her and everyone about my out-of-nowhere masterful service game. We swam even though it was quite rough. We had oceanside lunch again and then suddenly it was 4 pm. The hotel was getting ready for the big soiree so we did too.
I put on my Brunello Cucinelli linen suit and Laura donned vintage Dries van Noten. Other people were dressed in varying degrees of this:
Marie-Louise had the idea to dress up Pellicano the way it lived in her childhood memories. This picture doesn’t capture the grandiosity of the raw bar but it’s the only picture I took:
Down below were two tables placed end to end with a palindromic array of meat and pasta. Eggplant parmigiana, pasta, pasta, pasta, beef, salmon wellington….it looked like the feast I imagined in The Magician’s Nephew when Digory rings the mysterious bell that awakens Jadis, the White Witch. I think I want to reread the Chronicles of Narnia.
I had some of everything. I could hear Ron Burgundy: “I’m not even mad, that’s amazing.” Laura and I made an early move to the dance floor on the lower level by the pool. For me, dancing isn’t just this switch I can automatically turn on. The vibe has to reach me in a rarefied frequency. And on this night, it did. There was a beetle in the pool struggling to get out. I rescued it, and I thought it flew off into the night but in fact had latched onto my leg. I danced with the beetle on my leg and Laura in my arms.
We haltingly made our way out as the party raged on. The upper room where the seafood bar had previously been was now replaced with an outrageous assortment of desserts. This was terrible news. The grizzly came galloping out of the cave. I tried everything twice before I even knew what was happening. It took me a long time to lie down but I eventually did.
Sunday June 8
We hung around until the early afternoon. The glitterati departed (bye bye Maria Sharapova!). I still felt unwell from my dessert consumption so I resolved to fast until we reached our next destination. We got a ride to da Vinci airport and flew overnight to Nairobi via Cairo.
Pelliconclusions: I love this place and am grateful to have spent this specific time there. Being there invited me to treat myself with more dignity and respect than I’m accustomed to. I rose to the occasion and made new friends and strengthened existing bonds. I give it a resounding…
HOYEAH !!!!!
Me too!!!
I had just met my brother at the airport and I needed a drink and then he explained to me as I was trying desperately to remove the cap !!! We still laugh about it !! I kept asking him why and trying to remove it
But as usual Europe ahead of the curve !