Nice and Breezy in Caprese
It was our last full day in Capri today so we thought we’d head back up the mountain to Anacapri, to visit the beautiful Villa San Michele (thanks for the suggestion Carol!).
Villa San Michele was built in 1885 by Axel Munthe, a Swedish doctor with a passion for collecting antiques. The Villa was erected on the site of an ancient chapel dedicated to the Archangel Michael - hence the name - and is surrounded by lush and gorgeous flowering gardens, in my opinion, just as impressive as the house. Apparently Munthe was a lover of animals and not only did he have a whole herd of dogs, he also kept owls and had an alcoholic monkey (you heard that right). He was upset about islanders hunting and shooting birds so he bought the mountain behind his Villa (as you do), dedicating it to the birds of Capri and declaring it a wildlife sanctuary. Old Axel also had a not-so-secret love affair with the Queen of Sweden - Victoria - who conspicuously spent an awful lot of time on the Island Of Capri, using the excuse that her own pet pooches, of which she had many, needed a play date with Dr Munthe’s muts and besides, the Italian air would do them all some good.
Perched on the edge of the cliff, high above Capri, the view from Villa San Michele is not too shabby at all. Overlooking the Bay of Naples, all the way to Mt Vesuvius, with the signature blue Capri waters lapping at the foot of the mountain, it’s a real estate agent’s dream.…position, position, position. One of Munthe’s prized possessions and part of his sizeable antique collection is a 3200 year-old (WOW!), red granite sphynx, all the way from Egypt, that commands prime position, facing Capri and gazing down on the best vista in town.
Munthe wrote a book back in his day, titled ‘The Story of San Michele’, an international best seller - translated into 45 different languages - where you can read all about his life, with a bit of fiction thrown in.
It was another beautiful day in Capri so this afternoon we thought we’d test out those crystal clear waters and hit the beach. Most of the beach is covered in stones the size of small bread rolls. They’re a bit tricky to negotiate in bare feet and marginally better in thongs. Our hotel has chosen to forego the tired terry towelling slippers that most hotels offer (so yesterday) trading them for some complimentary, funky, bright green, rubber thongs. I thought I’d take advantage of the free footwear and road test (or rather, beach test) them on the rocky shoreline. Ross had gone ahead of me to stake a good spot at the beach and as I lumbered along the stones, feeling every undulation through the squishy green soles, you could hear me coming a mile off.
After a little while, Rossco decided he’d head over to buy us some takeaway lunch and came back after a lengthy wait when they’d stuffed up his order. Unfortunately, he’d already bought us some little gelato cups that were rapidly melting in the steamy Capri sun. By the time he’d trekked all the way back to the beach, the gelato had liquified and was a sticky mess (still tasting surprisingly good).
Thinking it would be a good idea to rinse off my sticky hands in the ocean, I donned my thongs and made a bee-line for the water. Where the rocks end, there’s a section of coarse sand before you enter the sea. What I hadn’t realised was that this sand was like quicksand, every step plunging my green-thonged foot at least a foot down into its grasp, sucking it in. It was an effort to extricate each foot from the sand and as I tried to walk forward, both my new thongs got blow outs, my feet coming out but the thongs staying firmly wedged in the sand. I started to feel a few eyes on me and realised I was putting on quite a show. Believe it or not, it got worse. When I bent forward to pop my ice-creamy hands in the water, I over-balanced, my hands plunging deep into the hungry quick sand and my forehead hitting the beach, sending my bum skywards; notably not my best angle. There was a young girl sitting in front of me, not very successfully hiding her mirth and keenly filming all my hand-washing routine. Although it does warm my heart to know I will be bringing others joy, it was fairly embarrassing and I’m really hoping the footage doesn’t show up somewhere public one day.
Ross and I were entertained by the young American Instagram girls, unashamedly posing and prancing all over the beach in their very revealing swimwear, seemingly unaware that they looked quite ridiculous to the hoard of onlookers they were parading in front of (not that I can talk). There were two groups of girls in particular that made us giggle. One girl would be in charge of capturing the perfect shot, while the other would flick her hair, gaze out to sea and then give the camera her best smouldering Blue Steel. Tenacious in their pursuit of the perfect pout, some shots were repeated over and over…and over. They were hilarious.
The water temperature here is perfecto - not to cold but still refreshing - and the clarity is insane. You can see every rock and every grain of sand on the bottom. There was one couple getting very amorous at one stage, obviously on their honeymoon and obviously oblivious to the fact the water was so clear. Thankfully they wised up and swiftly moved their passionate embrace behind a nice big rock.
We have a very cute little balcony that looks out over the Marina Grande, the main port of Capri, so we can watch the comings and goings of all the boats and ferries and the hive of activity as people get ready to launch into the day. Things don’t really start to open up too early on Capri - shop shutters easing up somewhere in the vicinity of 10am and the roads quite empty. It’s only by mid-morning that the taxis (did I mention all the taxis here are convertibles!?) and buses start zipping around. Conversely, at the end of the day, once the crowds of day trippers have descended on the marina and shuffled onto their mainland-bound ferries, EVERYthing starts to close. We squeezed in a movie before dinner tonight and at 8pm, when we wandered downstairs to find somewhere to eat, chairs were being stacked, blinds closed and lights dimmed. There was really only one restaurant open on the whole strip. In comparison, Mykonos was only getting started at 11pm! The Isle of Capri may not be the place to come if you are looking for scintillating night-life, but we have thoroughly enjoyed our stay on this little piece of Italian paradise.
