The Washington Post
November 19, 2006 Sunday
Final Edition
Turkey With a Side of Sand;
Recipe for a Naples Holiday: Sunshine, Golf and Family
BYLINE: Ceci Connolly, Special to The Washington Post
SECTION: Travel; P01
LENGTH: 1902 words
My mother's words echo in my head, tugging me back year after year.
"A turkey sandwich always tastes better with a little sand," she is saying. We are standing barefoot at a beat-up wooden picnic table, unloading the rem-nants of the previous night's Thanksgiving dinner. Homemade cranberry sauce, brie, Dad's special stuffing, key lime pie and, of course, the prime attraction: turkey sandwiches.
The plates are paper, the glasses are plastic, but the salt shaker is cut glass. We may be in itsy-bitsy bikinis, risking splinters in certain delicate areas, but we have our standards -- especially when it comes to holiday meals.
While friends up north shovel snow, replaying ancient family grudges and fighting hordes of Black Friday bargain hunters, we bask in the glories of Del-nor-Wiggins Pass State Park, an exquisite natural barrier-island beach along Florida's Gulf Coast.
"I hear Boston got more snow," chortles my youngest sister, Liz, who ar-rived from frozen New England a day earlier. Yes, we smugly agree, we're pretty darn smart.
When my mother first suggested Thanksgiving in Naples, Fla., it sounded like blasphemy. Aren't holidays meant to be endured in the family homestead, rife with memories of the times you were banished to your room for refusing to eat vegetables? Can you really call it Thanksgiving, we wondered, if the ther-mometer reads 78 and your biggest worry is which sunscreen to apply, the golden goddess SPF 8 or the I'm-so-very-responsible 30?
Still, my parents had been spending winters in Naples, and the trek back to Pennsylvania was becoming a burden. So several of us kids, skeptical as we were, agreed to try an alternative Thanksgiving, far from the traditions of our youth.
It didn't take long to realize that, once again, Mother knows best. That first trip, five years ago, we discovered the joys of cooking in shorts and slipping out for a quick nine holes of golf while the turkey roasted. To our surprise, gravy tastes just as good out of a flamingo coffee mug as out of any fancy china gravy boat.
Gradually, we became more civilized -- a serving platter showed up one year, linens and roasting pan the next. Finally, last fall, my electric carving knife relocated permanently to Naples.
A new tradition was born. And though the journey this year is much longer from my new home in Mexico, I cannot resist my mother's call.
It takes courage to board an airplane during Thanksgiving week -- snow de-lays, overbooked flights, sneezing kids. But each November, as I step out of the airport and into the Florida sunshine, I shed my tensions quicker than my bulky winter sweater. Though recently expanded, Southwest Florida International Air-port in Fort Myers, 36 miles away, remains quaint enough that rental cars are within walking distance of the terminal. By 1 p.m., I'm poolside eating a fresh grouper sandwich.
Naples, situated on the edge of the Everglades, was founded in 1887 by a group of wealthy Kentuckians. With its mild climate and ocean setting, the city does a credible job of evoking its namesake on the Italian peninsula. From its earliest days, it has been popular with high-society types, including movie stars Greta Garbo and Gary Cooper. Today, Naples is awash in designer boutiques, gated communities and two -- count 'em -- Ritz-Carlton resorts. It also has a reputation as a retirement haven. Translation: yawn.
But Naples is getting hipper. Calmer than Miami, more sophisticated than St. Petersburg and blessedly Disney-free, the city of more than 21,000 is in-creasingly popular with young, active types drawn by the mix of outdoor sports, a quality arts scene and a bustling array of restaurants. Nowadays, you're just as likely to find a good happy hour as an old-fashioned early-bird supper.
As for the so-called seniors, they're the ones with the toned calves and bronzed skin, dragging grown children from morning water aerobics to a midday tennis match to an evening concert at the Philharmonic Center for the Arts. (Last year, my sister Liz brought an Olympic athlete just to keep up.) Younger families enjoy the Naples Zoo, while nature lovers explore thousands of acres of marshland. Shopaholics parade down aptly named Fifth Avenue, hunting for Gucci and Prada, and fine art in one of Naples's 130 galleries.
Though it's a bit too precious for me, the city fathers are especially proud of the two downtown thoroughfares in Olde Naples. Day and night, the wide, palm-lined sidewalks are filled with tan, fit, happy folk eagerly parting with their money. Those on tighter budgets can grab an ice cream, park themselves on a bench and enjoy the parade.
Because it caters to well-to-do, well-educated snowbirds, Naples has a dis-proportionately high number of quality options for culture lovers. Besides the many galleries, art lovers enjoy the new museum attached to the Philharmonic. The Phil, as locals call it, offers everything from "Monty Python's Spamalot" to opera star Denyce Graves. The Miami City Ballet is in residence, and a Sunday jazz series runs throughout winter.
But for me and my family, the city is all about the sun and the pleasures that come with it: Bodysurfing in sparkling waters. Smacking dimpled balls 180 yards off the tee. A sunset stroll along the beach. A late-night soak in the hot tub. Admit it, wouldn't you rather be wearing flip-flops this Thanksgiving?
With more than 100 golf courses, Naples is a mecca for people like me who always have a new driver or putter on their Christmas wish lists. Many of the courses are private country clubs. But plenty of golf communities rent condos directly on the course. So there's ample opportunity to live like the rich for a week, or even a month, without emptying your bank account.
Vanderbilt Country Club is our regular course, but we enjoy trying others. The undisputed best of them is TiburÛn Golf Course, adjacent to the inland Ritz-Carlton. Pro golfer Greg Norman, a.k.a. "the Great White Shark," coyly named the course after himself: TiburÛn means shark in Spanish. The 36 holes are decep-tively difficult, lulling victims into misguided confidence with placid waters and swaying palm trees.
TiburÛn sets aside 18 holes each day for members. But the other 18 are available to any hack with $170 for greens fees. If you're an addict, it's worth it. (If you're a bargain hunter, play in the offseason for much less.) After our round, we devour lunch in the clubhouse, gazing out at the spectacular landscape that has just humbled us.
Valencia Golf and Country Club, with tee boxes for every skill level, is more manageable and more affordable than TiburÛn. For spectacular scenery and long fairways, it's tough to beat the historic Naples Beach Hotel and Golf Club, where in the middle of a round one year, my mother and her friend Judy tried to secure me a husband, singing my praises to the poor stranger in our foursome -- as if my golf that day wasn't humiliating enough. (I knew I should have played with my father and Judy's husband -- I can handle their trash talk.)
On the days when we can't face another beating on the course by our par-ents, my siblings and I go for a ride. A few years ago, we hired a small boat and captain for a private tour of the Ten Thousand Islands National Wildlife Refuge. Dolphins leaping over the boat's wake made us giddy. We pressed deeper into the maze of islands thick with mangrove trees and spotted the massive brown blob we had come to see. There, barely moving, was an endangered Florida mana-tee.
The sea cow, as manatees are known, lacks the bubbly personality and bal-letlike agility of the dolphin. It may bore some. But we were transfixed by these huge creatures -- adults grow to be 10 feet long and 1,000 pounds -- as they placidly plied the waters just a few feet from our boat.
True Naples denizens are world-class shoppers, with wallets to match. We're not in their league, though one year I splurged on a to-die-for black-and-white satin gown. More my style is For the Love of Golf, a shop with a goofy name but great women's golf apparel, and the Best of Everything, another spot with a silly name but fabulous prices on knockoff jewelry and bags. The shops are now so popular that they both have two locations, but if you drive along the Tamiami Trail, you'll hit one of each. One Thanksgiving, my brother Patrick found Christmas gifts for his three sisters and mother in one sweep.
If you are determined to join the crush the day after Thanksgiving, the Mi-romar Outlets, about 18 miles north of Naples, boast more than 120 stores, in-cluding Brooks Brothers, Lenox, Coach, Bose and Escada.
All that shopping makes us hungry. The simplest way to find a good meal in Naples is to saunter down Third Street South or Fifth Avenue, two glitzy thor-oughfares pulsing with energy. My mother's favorite spot to eat, people watch and sip a crisp sauvignon blanc is the courtyard of Campiello, where the innova-tive menu competes for attention with the beautiful people lining the open-air bar.
When we're craving French food and a bit of quiet, we opt for Marie-Michelle's, overlooking Venetian Bay. Starlight speckles the water while we study the encyclopedic menu. The lamb, we learn, comes from Colorado, the duck from New York's Hudson Valley and the salmon from Alaska.
I never leave Naples without a trip to Gabriello's, a New York-style Ital-ian restaurant. It's plunked at the far end of a strip mall and always seems to have Frank Sinatra's voice blaring from outdoor speakers. Gabriello's is every-thing the rest of Naples is not: authentic, homey, even a bit kitschy. Just the sort of place you can get a brick of lasagna, a nice Chianti and a hug from owner Toby Gabriello. (If your dad is a cute little Italian like mine, she may even take him for a twirl on the dance floor.)
As much as I love Toby's veal marsala, the real reason I board a plane every November is for a home-cooked Thanksgiving. On Thursday morning, I begin dicing onions and celery for our homemade stuffing. The recipe, passed down from my grandmother to my father to me, also calls for generous portions of Italian sausage and melted butter. If my sister Michele is with us, she'll prepare her specialty: carrots in a honey glaze.
As soon as the turkey goes in the oven, we hit the golf course, which is blissfully deserted. Once again, we pat ourselves on the back. Who needs foot-ball?
We return famished. Everyone nibbles on appetizers on the screened-in porch while the turkey cools. Somehow, everything seems easier in a sunny climate, even putting out a Thanksgiving feast.
The next day, we wriggle into bathing suits and pack the coolers. With 11 miles of coastland, Naples offers several beach options, including Vanderbilt Beach, Clam Pass Park and Barefoot Beach Preserve County Park.
But Wiggins is the only place for us on Black Friday. It's a steal at $5 per carload and is rated one of the top 20 beaches in the nation by "Dr. Beach" (Stephen Leatherman of Florida International University in Miami).
My brother Patrick strides directly into the water; my sister Liz slathers on SPF 4 (she's a professional tanner). My mother has her book to entertain her, my father the diving pelicans.
For me, the best of all are the turkey sandwiches, extra sandy.
Ceci Connolly, a Washington Post reporter currently on leave, is based in Mexico City.