Getting To The Grotto
When you think of Capri, one thing usually comes to mind - Grotta Azzura - the Blue Grotto. A quick glance around town will tell you, with Blue Grotto Taxis, Blue Grotto Restaurant, Blue Grotto Souvenirs…this phenomenal blue cave is what has put this little Isle on the map.
After a scrumptious breakfast on the rooftop restaurant at our hotel, (which, amongst the usual, also curiously offered a staggering array of cakes to choose from…for brekky?) we headed down to the wharf clutching the tickets that would transport us by boat to the famed blue waters. As you can imagine, there’s a myriad of ways to get there, all with a different price tag attached. Our hotel had suggested a private boat tour at €200 a pop but a quick check online found us a similar maritime adventure, with almost the exact itinerary, for just €21 each. Sign us up!
We were to meet at ‘Wharf 23’ and the boats left every half hour. To beat the day-trippers’ arrival, we thought we should try to secure a berth on the 10am boat. A little crowd was forming around the dock but though there were plenty of staff members floating around, no-one was offering any clear instruction regarding where to queue or which line corresponded to which tour. One boat let down its passenger drawbridge, nearly wiping out some innocent bystanders as it descended and there was a mad dash to climb aboard. It seemed lots of different companies booked people on this boat because, as the waiting crowd compared tickets, they were all different.
Feet firmly on deck, there was a rush for the seated area at the stern, the Italian crew encouraging the patrons loudly that the back would be the best spot. We decided to stick to the less crowded front deck, where we sat with a nice young couple from just outside Chicago and had a great chat with the Italian deckhand, already swabbing the deck before we’d even left the wharf. He had worked on cruise ships for 30 years, travelling all over the world, including “bee-yewd-eefool Australia”, but was now happily settled here in Capri, watching his kids grow up and working hard for an honest euro.
Not since our boat trip around Milos, had we taken so many happy snaps of rocks. The island had so many magnificent natural features, including a hole shaped like rabbit-head with ears, a natural arch and stalactites that apparently revealed the face of the Virgin Mary, (sadly completely missed by Ross & I despite detailed instructions of where her features were hiding, much zooming and squinting. We’ll have to take their word for it).
Coming to a modest little bay, lots of little boats were gathered around and there was a murmuring amongst the passengers that this could be it - the famous Blue Grotto. A souvenir shop on the hill above was another clue, as was the staircase from up there, leading down to a small platform. Soon it was established that, yes, we were here. Pointing to another boat, manned by two eager sailors, our captain said, in his broken English: “ticket office”. Though not spelt out exactly, we ascertained we had to move to the back deck, climb down a ladder into a small rowing boat, and would then be rowed to the ticket office to pay our entry fee of €14 per person, before going inside. Comprendere?
Ross descended the ladder first, backing his bot down into our rowboat, capably steered by our oarsman, Gerardo. I came next and there seemed to be nowhere to fit, other than on my unsuspecting husband’s lap. “No, no, no….you go on the floor!” Gerardo told me. What the? There was a very tight spot down there and trying to squeeze myself into position, let alone without flashing the two American men on the opposite side of the boat, was a feat in itself. If only I’d kept up those contortionist lessons…
Snugly (and I mean snugly) in position, legs splayed out between our rower’s feet, we made our way via the ticket office to the entrance. There was an assembly line of rowboats going in and out, using ropes attached to the rock to pull themselves in and out of the tiny opening. As we approached that tiny opening, Gerardo called out for everyone to “LIE DOWN!”, which they did in the nick of time, as we shot through the hole and into the roomy blue cavern. It was incredible! The water was SO blue; just iridescent! Gerardo began crooning in his beautiful baritone; the music echoing off the walls of the cave: “Volare, oh-oh, contaré, oh-oh-oh-oh!” Even though he did put us on the spot saying his singing was surely worth a €10 tip each - what choice did we have - he was so much fun!
The boat trip continued on to the spectacular Faraglioni Rocks (pronounced “Farra-yoany”) - the ones we (& everyone else) had spied from the garden yesterday. This time we were getting up-close and personal with these monstrous sea stacks, sailing in and around them and right through the archway. As we approached, suddenly the front of the boat was the place to be and everyone flocked to the bow to view their magnificence. Our captain tooted his foghorn as we cruised under the arch, to a rousing cheer from all onboard.
This afternoon we caught the public bus up to the heights of Anacapri, the little town on top of the mountain. Like Capri Town, Anacapri was chock-full of fashion and souvenir shops but did have a much more laidback feel. We had a great walk around town and a delicious pasta lunch before taking the single chair chairlift up even higher, to the lookout at the peak. It was a blue-sky day and the views down to the Faraglionis and around the island were magical. Everyone seemed to know each other at Anacapri and it seemed like a great little town. I needed to visit the ladies’ before we came down but there was a €2 fee for the privilege. Rummaging in our pockets, we could only manage to scrounge €1, so I had to cross my legs all the way down and hope for the best.
Tonight, still full from our pasta extravaganza at lunchtime, we went up to our hotel’s rooftop bar for a drink and a snack. Our young, gregarious waiter, Giancarlo, had a soft spot for us and our homeland, having spent 2 months in Sydney and Melbourne before Covid struck. When asked for the drinks menu, he said “oh, I can do something like an Alerol Spritz”. OK, an Aperol spritz it is. We asked what snacks he had and he told us he’d see what he could find. He soon returned bearing 3 little bowls of chips, biscuits and pistachios (most of the 5 food groups covered for a healthy meal) and the biggest Aperol Spritz we’d ever seen! The pink sunset swept across the sky, turning the sea purple and in the distance we could even see our old mate Mt Vesuvius, poking up above the clouds.
