Buongiorno Capri!
With one last breakfast on our cute little balcony with the million dollar view, we packed up and sent our bags down the hill ahead of us, on the cutest little motorised tricycle truck - basically a covered 3 wheeled motorbike that looks like a toy and far too big to seat a grown man inside. We meandered downhill to the wharf and grabbed a coffee and gelato while we were waiting for our ferry (it’s never too early for a gelato in Italy).
The ferry trip was only short, though enough time for a bit of Italian craziness. Everyone’s luggage had been stacked on top of each other, making disembarkation quite a circus-like experience. Capri looked stunning from the water and as we headed for our hotel, we could see beautiful mountains rising from the sea and gorgeous clear blue water. Unfortunately, check-in wasn’t until 3pm, which was 3 and a half hours away and our little hotel didn’t seem keen to let us check-in early. They were happy to store our bags though and sat us down for a (strong) espresso and a Welcome to Capri chat. Anna-Maria was virtually our personal travel agent; so helpful, arming us with maps and brochures and suggestions on what to do and see on Capri. For a small place, there sure does seem to be lots to do.
The weather has been steadily improving, ie. getting hotter, as the days of our holiday progress. We are getting closer to summer and can really feel it. Today, the mercury was peaking at 25 degrees and holiday-makers were out in droves. There’s a funicular (funicolare in Italian, which sounds twice as cool) that takes you up the hill to Capri Town, a thriving hub of designer shops and great restaurants, with a killer view, according to Anna-Maria. In typical Italian style, you have to go down the road to queue for your paper tickets to ride the funicolare - one for going up and one for coming down - before heading back to the station where you queue again to get on, but notta withouta the maska!! Obediently masking up to climb aboard this vertical railway, most people in our standing-room-only carriage, immediately whipped their noses out as soon as they could. Defeated the purpose surely? Keeping our snozzes secreted, we emerged at the top to the promised views - truly magnificent! Looking down on the port, we could see boats buzzing in and out, picturesque mountains either side, seagulls soaring and the bluest, blue water we’d seen since Greece.
A little labyrinth of well-manicured gardens and laneways of famous brand shops, Capri Town was delightful. All the street signs are beautiful - hand-painted, brightly coloured Italian ceramic - I’d frame them and hang them on the wall! With Ross’ Google map skills in overdrive, we made our way to Capri’s version of the Botanic Gardens, the famous Giardini di Augusto. In my research before coming here, I’d read the secret (cup hand at side of mouth now) that down the back of the garden, there’s a spot not many know about, where you have uninterrupted views of the Faraglioni Rocks. Feeling a bit chuffed to have this secret knowledge, we made our way to the said secret spot, only to find that the secret was well and truly out. Selfie sticks held aloft, battled for a spot along the fence as visitors swarmed to catch sight of these more than impressive rocks. The place was crawling with teenagers who we assume were on a school excursion (either that or the school has massive truancy problem) and they were everywhere.
If Amalfi had had a lemon obsession, the Isle of Capri steps it up to the next level. Every restaurant lining the waterfront uses these humungous, mutant lemons -as big as your head- as table decorations. Some are propped up wearing glasses, some are mounted in fancy crystal jars while some just sit proudly as table centrepieces. They are sort of lumpy and not oil painting material but if you are competing on size alone, Capri wins, hands-down.
Our little hotel reminds us of Fawlty Towers. We have our very own Basil, Polly and Manuel. Manuel runs the restaurant and just nods and smiles while Basil talks up his homemade fare. Basil is always milling around, plumping pillows, straightening chairs and just keeping an eye on things. Ross and I needed some washing done so enquired if they had a laundry service. “Oh yes, yes, we do!” Basil told me and handed me a form to fill out, detailing how many of each item we were putting in the wash. I had my washing with me but thought it a little inappropriate to be tipping out the dirty smalls and counting them out in the foyer. At first he almost insisted but then as the penny dropped, he reconsidered our dirty laundry being aired right there. So I returned to our room where we tallied everything up. The form had a section for Signores and a section for Signoras with items listed with English and Italian names, but they were very strange categories. For instance, there was a section for ‘pantlers’ and I wasn’t sure if that meant ‘pant-ies’ or ‘pants’. Various undergarments were listed in the men’s section but I couldn’t find any underwear in the ladies’ section. I had a hilarious game of charades with both Basil and his little offsider, Manuel, as we tried to define each item. Basil did a great ‘slip’ mime (though I didn’t have any slips in my washing) and excelled in acting out the pulling on of a pair of leggings. When it came to ‘bra’, I reached in and pulled out my bra strap, giving it a snap. They both shielded their eyes and looking down, said, “oh yes, yes, yes.” Eventually we had neatly pigeon-holed all our dirty clothes neatly into their Italian categories - quite a job!
As the sun began to set, masses of day trippers started filing down the wharf to fill ferries back to the mainland, leaving the shoreline serene and almost empty. Some restaurants even began closing up for the day after this mass exodus. We loved the quiet. Kids came out of the woodwork to kick soccer balls around, locals stepped out to walk their dogs. The bustle gone, the place took on a whole new atmosphere. Basil had kindly arranged an anniversary gift for us - some champagne - so I thought I’d wander down to the local supermarket to grab some happy hour snacks for us to munch on. The little old-school market, with almost one whole aisle devoted entirely to pasta, had a great deli section up the back. An elderly couple, resplendent in their lab coats, asked what I’d like. I said I’d like a few slices of prosciutto please and before I could rethink my order, she whipped out literally a whole pig’s leg, complete with trotter, and began slicing away. Paddock to plate indeed. That’s not something you see every day. I’m not sure ham off the bone would sell quite as well if there was a trotter involved at the Woolies deli counter. Or maybe I’m just too much of a city girl, too conditioned to prosciutto in a packet? For the record, it did taste incredible!
