Capri

19-Settembre-2011

Thunder woke me multiple times.  It rained so hard I was worried that the water on the patio off our room would back up over the door jamb and flood the room.  We awoke to more rain, but after hemming and hawing at breakfast, we decided to take the ferry to Capri anyway.  Good decision, even though the ride was frightfully bumpy.  We were entertained by a group of young German students singing an old Italian pop song almost correctly.  “Oggi, ti amo di più.”  Today we love you more too, but you can stop singing now.  

Leaving stormy Sorrento for Capri.  We stayed in the yellow Hotel Tramontano.

Arriving at Capri's Marina Grande

Just after we arrived, the skies cleared and though it was windy, it was a beautiful day.  Doing a good bit of walking, we were able to take in much of Capri town, the three Faraglioni, and Arco Naturale.  

Capri Town Square

Tre Faraglioni

Kinda makes you want to sit on top, doesn't it?

I’m happy to walk pretty much all day and see the sights, but it seems that sometimes others have different priorities.  We all hopped onto the bus up to the high town of Anacapri.  Interesting to see the reactions of all around you as the tiny bus climbs the steep road, passing oncoming traffic in places that don’t seem nearly wide enough for two vehicles.  The 1000 foot drop straight down past the short stone guard rail is also a conversation starter if you dare to look out the windows.

I had recently read the Story of San Michele, the semi-autobiographical account of Dr. Axel Munthe, who as a young man had fallen in love with Capri.  Part of his experience was rebuilding what he was to call the Villa San Michele on the site of an Imperial Roman Villa, Christian Chapel, and fortresses of both the French and British.  Thus I was compelled to drag Dave along to visit the villa after Mary and Becky were overcome with an irresistible urge to head back down to better shopping.  

The good doctor had a sense of style.

The cliff-side walkway.  I could enjoy this longer term.

The magnificent building and grounds were full of Roman artifacts unearthed from the site and also from the doctor’s travels.  

The view from San Michele in Anacapri

We had intended to take the chairlift to the top of the island, but the storm-following winds prevented the lift from running.  We’d already tempted fate once on the trip in regard to Dave’s heart, so we left the remaining 1000 feet to a future visit.  Or more correctly in Italy, the remaining 300 meters.  Undaunted, Dave and I tromped around Anacapri to prove to ourselves there was not much else to see.  Suspicion confirmed, we headed back down to join the ladies.

Il gatto protects the streets of Anacapri.

We found them shopping.  I hate shopping, but it is part of the give and take, right?  But the activity irritates me both in light of the spending, particularly for items where my concept of value is obviously faulty, and in the meandering time it takes.  When it is required, I am a surgical-strike shopper, minimizing unnecessary collateral damage and time.  Perhaps worst of all is walking in circles trying to re-locate the store identified earlier for the big purchase.  And of course, there is that bit instilled by depression-era parents about “If it ain’t broke, I don’t need a new one.” But anyone who enjoys shopping loves the discovery of new items, the splendid displays, the indecision on the perfection of the item at hand, the helpful bi-lingual staff, and the thrill of the hunt.  I think shopping ranks somewhere between a visit to the dentist and a colonoscopy.

The ladies pose while the cherubs sport their bloomies.

I have the sense that it is good to watch your money anywhere in Italy, but especially in Capri.  The Funicolare is the tram that takes you from the harbor to Capri town and back.  At the ticket counter, both on the way up and on the way down, I was given the wrong change, first lacking €5 from my 20, and a single Euro when I paid in change.  They get you coming and going.  I didn’t even have to complain when I returned to the window after realizing what had happened…my correct change simply materialized.  What a coincidence.  

Traveling in foreign countries, I always expect to be fleeced a bit.  I just don’t want to be any more stupid about it than I have to be.  Or at least no more stupid than I eventually realize.

All were proud of Becky, who managed to stay healthy on the way to and from the island, though even the larger of the two ferries pitched significantly on the way back.  We celebrated her brave victory over motion sickness with a stop on the terrace at the Hotel Tramontano. 

We had a nice dinner at a busy cafe and walked between the raindrops that returned as we finished the day.  


We all agreed that we must return to Capri.  There is so much more to do.  There are several ruins of Imperial villas on the heights, the most impressive reportedly being the Villa Jovis, where Tiberius spent his waning years.  The fortress of Barbarossa sits half way up the mountain above San Michele, with its surrounding bird sanctuary.  I’d be remiss not to mention nightlife and restaurants.  And of course, the blue grotto always beckons.  

And shopping.  Ugh.  We’ll need at least 3 days and more money.  A lot more money.

Sorrento

18-Settembre-2011

We drove south past Rome to Sorrento.  What a pain.  The drive took longer than we would have liked, and though the countryside was interesting, time on the road is a lot less pleasant than wine appreciation in Tuscany.  I like being spoiled once in a while.

Closing in on our destination, we made an unfortunate stop at a rest area that was under construction.   Mary and Becky went off to the makeshift ladies room for a unique experience.  It seems that when they flushed, the results did not disappear into unknown darkness.  They were treated to the sight of all the fluids running under the grate they stood upon.  Other senses were also stimulated.  “Disgusting,” is what they called it. 

It wasn’t so bad on the A-1, but we missed the turn and eventually got off slightly farther south than we should have.  We motored past a few exits before we decided that we had in fact gone too far, so I convinced myself that it would be a good idea to get off and approach from that direction.  We turned around in Nocera Inferiore, where the name of the town indicates that people can’t possibly feel good about themselves, since it means something along the lines of “the lower place that will be bad for you.” Though we didn’t see the first two signs, I’m sure we passed through Irritato and Frustrato to get to Angri.  Even though Angri seemed largely deserted, there were blue and white ribbons and balloons adorning many of the buildings.  I guessed it was for soccer, but I couldn’t figure out why they’d be flying Argentina’s colors. 

After what seemed like a long time traveling on vacant rundown roads following the signs to Sorrento through less than appealing neighborhoods, we got back onto a real road and joined the traffic.  Twisting, turning, cliff-hugging roads finally brought us to Sorrento.   I pulled into one of the wide spots in the road that overlooks Sorrento so that Mary could stop blocking my view in favor of me paying attention to driving.  

Beautiful.  Just beautiful.  And the view wasn't bad either.  We were perched hundreds of feet over the clear water where we could take in the panoramic vista of Sorrento, the towns leading up to it and the mountains beyond.  We didn’t linger long, even with the spectacular view.  It was time to get out of the car.

Not too shabby.

When we arrived at our hotel, we told the busboy of our approach route.  He cringed.  “Why did you come that way?”  I guess he was familiar with the slums and the warehouses and the litter everywhere.  I explained, but he still shook his head.  When the bags were delivered, a decent tip renewed his faith in my potential for sanity.

 

We rested with the intent of going to the pool, but it had closed at 6:00.  While Mary showered,  I went to our Hotel Tramontono balcony, one of the many cliff-top hotels looking out over clear blue-green water all the way to Napoli.  Vesuvio oversees all in the hazy distance. 

As soon as I arrived, fireworks shot up from a pier to the west as the sun went down.  Very nice for them to arrange the display in my honor.  By coincidence, Napoli had just finished playing Milan in a big game.  3-1 in favor of blue and white Napoli not only corrected my Argentinian misconception, but also meant that we would see multiple fireworks displays across the bay later in the evening.  

I’m generally skeptical of the restaurant recommendations made by the concierge.  Whose brother-in-law’s place are you going to end up at?  But we took a chance, and the hotel shuttle bus took us to the Vela Bianca (White Sail) at the base of the cliff.  


What a great time.  The food was fabulous, the wine was plentiful, and the staff was having a good time in the nautically themed restaurant.   And all under the watchful eyes of Sophia Loren, pictured on the walls.  Holding a platter of lemons supplied by our waiter who had detected what we were up to, Mary posed with her lookalike.    



Envious at not being the center of attention in all the photo opportunities, Becky inserted herself into the restaurant-front shot in what we were to come to find out was her signature move. 

We had a short van ride back to the hotel.  One of the other riders let it be known that he actually lived on Lake Como.  Becky and Mary were sure he was George Clooney traveling incognito.  Great makeup job, I must say. 

Before entering the lobby, the ladies posed on the Vespa positioned for photo opportunities just outside the door.  I thought I heard Steppenwolf in the background, but I didn’t understand the lyrics in Italian.  

Doesn't every girl need a Vespa?

Also, Becky made up for the earlier lack of photographic attention by posing statuesquely.

Back on the hotel terrace before retiring, we ordered drinks. I’m not really sure how those lemons got to our table.  This night we were the loud Americans, but we weren’t so loud that we couldn’t overhear a bit of conversation coming from wealthy guests at another table. 

“I have to say, you must have married well.”

“Not really.  I didn’t marry well at all.  But I did divorce well.”