“Naples has long been home to deep, generational wealth and traditionally functioned as a low-profile enclave of residents seeking privacy.”
By the time my plane straightens out over the patina-green sandbanks west of Marco Island and drops in towards Naples Municipal airport, the first thing that hits me isn’t the wealth — which is what I’ve come here to write about.
It’s the quiet. The nothing-ness. (Which is another kind of wealth, of course). Just a long, slithering ribbon of light suede sand, flanked on one side by water so flat it looks lacquered, and on the other side, by a coastline dotted with white and flamingo homes fronted by wide Hamptonian lawns and native mahogany, magnolia, and cabbage palm trees.
