The best spent money possibly ever. Also, more importantly, the best adventure ever.
If I were writing a teen novel, it would have gone almost exactly as today did. Start out with a little exploration of the quaint, Greek like, Capri. A stroll down the lanes full of eye-catching over-priced clothing, beautiful jewelry, and extravagant restaurants were we ogle over the prices and realize they could never be paid. Find a little giardini with a one Euro entrance fee. Enter because it is probably worth the fee to see the sweeping view and because there might be shaded lunch space.
As the two cute, albeit sweaty, girls Adriana and I are, we stopped to take photos of us in front of the awe-inspiring view. Sheer rock faces, plummeted to the water in one direction, two majestic rock spires shot out of the clear deep-blue sea in the other. We asked a kind man if he would take our picture, making sure to catch the view behind us. We got to talking and learned he was from Boston, learned that a tempting path our of the giardini lead directly to the beautiful rocks below where a few brave swimmers were rock jumping into the refreshing water. We talked to him about places worth seeing, things he had done and we had done. He highly recommended walking down the path because the ‘beaches’ were worth visiting. In the end, we took his advice, walking down to the steep switch backs until we came to the semi-secret dirt trial leading to the beautiful jumping rocks. After much stumbling down the rocky, steep, haphazard path, we finally arrived at the edge of the island and the beginning of the sea.
When we picked our jumping spot, there was a French couple that was packing up to leave. There were a few young Italian kids as well. But the most noticeable sunbather was the old, Italian man.
He was slightly overweight, browned by years of sun. He had a blue sarong tied around his waist, a large white straw hat more suitable for a woman, and sunglasses to rival the greatest movie stars. If it weren’t for the little white mustache I would have guessed he was a woman.
As Adriana and I prepared to jump into the water, he came over to show us where to jump in, and the ladder we could use to climb out of the pool like sea. After a few jumps in, he and Adriana got to talking while I swam around the warm, incredibly salty Mediterranean.
If this were my ‘teen novel’, the old man would have been a young 23-year-old built, tan, beautiful Italian with muscles modest but prominent, and shoulders of a frequent swimmer. He would have naturally dark skin, darkened more by spending a summer in the sun. His beautiful light brown eyes with ‘farfalle’ eyelashes would reflect the warmth of the sun while his rich dark hair seemed to absorb it. His friend would be much of the same build but with stunning dark blue eyes, the color of the sea surrounding us. Both would have charming smiles, slightly crooked Italian teeth with the traditional coffee staining, but charming nevertheless.
But lest not get carried away. Though I have met such wonder boys, today was not that day. Today was not my ‘teen novel’ day, but my ‘reality adventure’ day.
This old man began to explain to us that he and his friends had built themselves a cave and a ‘villa’ here on the rocks of the amazing Capri Island. We could see it from the water’s edge, an unassuming bunch of posts propped up against the cliffs face, with a thatched roof on top providing shade. It seemed pleasant and shaded, a nice hideaway from the general sun and heat of the island. He offered to take us up to see his ‘villa’. We agreed and put on our shoes, seeing as the rocks were hot, and having recently developed carpet feet, jagged to the touch.
When we got to the ‘villa’ we were immediately surprised, and yet strangely not. The piles of junk, chairs, and general disarray of the grand ‘villa’ were rather appropriate for any beach dwelling but not befitting of the name villa. Our host, Peppino, described it as a little chaotic, due to the general lazy atmosphere the heat inspires. I would say his ‘villa’ is more accurately described as a hippy shack; friends hang out, keep their beach stuff, and enjoy the rocks and sun. It is most certainly prime real estate, except for maybe during a massive storm throwing waves against the cliff face, causing the little shack to wash away into the sea.
Peppino showed us some of his photos and paintings the he worked on while down in this ‘villa’ of shade. He actually had some lovely paintings of the views Adriana and I were admiring out from under the shade of the shack.
We were soon invited to participated in on of the friend’s birthdays; cake and proseco followed by red wine were shared willingly. The cake was divine. It was an incredibly fluffy bunt cake with a delightful lemon zang—perfect for the area, as lemons are clearly the staple of life—a sweet glaze and a dusting of powdered sugar. After a comical conversation concerting strange birth marks related to pregnant women’s habits, intermittent compliments on our splendid Italian, and silly jokes, we headed back to the rocks for some well deserved jumping and swimming.
Our new friends joined, naturally, and added their rafts and singing to the fun. After many heart stopping jumps (I’m rather afraid of heights) and even more frightening ladder climbs (the waves always sloshed the large metal ladder around) we decided to hang in the briny, refreshing but warm sea of Capri. Our new friends were all from the island of Capri and really loved it. It was wonderful to meet locals so happy to be locals.
As we floated in the water the generally placid see was beginning to have a change of heart. The easily accessible ladder became a dangerous weapon as chop and white water churned around it. Every sixth or seventh wave of the cycle would slap against the rocks creating a white salty spray. I moved farther from the rocks to avoid such chop, easily diving and resurfacing to keep from getting seasick. Adriana was getting tired and nervous. She hung onto the little mat with one of our friends, and eventfully after much white water, climbed out.
The salt water is so dense it is easy to sit or float in the water, so I was neither tired nor worried. I kept pretending to be a mermaid, swimming under the water and flipping my feet like fins. But I was making our friends nervous and so I obligingly put a hand on the raft to talk and make them feel like I was working less. But, hanging on the raft obstructed my floating patter in the waves and began to make me feel sick to my stomach. We were having an interesting conversation but I was in desperate need of sinking under the wave to keep from bobbing. Unfortunately that would have been rude, so I stayed afloat, feeling queasier and queasier.
Luckily, as I could stand the bobbing no longer, Adriana called to take a photo, but most importantly because it was time to get going. By this time, the chop was so bad I could not get near the ladder. The waves were crashing into white sloshy water sending the ladder reeling about the rocks. Treading frantically to maintain a safe distance but be close enough to grab the ladder when the time was right, I waited. It was the first time I have ever questioned my swimming skills. But, I held position well, and after what seemed like an hour, the wave cycle started over and I could scramble up the ladder. My heart was racing when I got out, my stomach churning as much s the water I had just left. My breath came in pants but it was mostly out of fear than exhaustion.
Now if this were my teen novel, the handsome Italian boy with dark eyes, certainly named Francesco, would be overly concerned about my safety and well being, anxious to make sure I was safe. The startlingly blue-eyed boy would have already done that for Adriana, and had moved on to discussing the possibility of us going dancing with them that night and maybe just staying a few more days on the island. We would sit there on the rocks, bedazzled by the beautiful scenery and handsome company, muse over the idea of missing our train the next day and just staying a few extra days in Capri. By sunset, we would be distinctly paired and maybe even kissing romantically against the backdrop of a beautiful violet-gold sky.
But again, reality was a better option than my teen novel, and a perfect day is best left at perfect.
Adriana and I packed up, thanked our wonderful new friends for everything, said goodbye, and began the steep climb up the hill and back to Capri centrale. We grabbed a granita—which was more like eating a real piece of perfect fruit on ice—and headed back to the other side of the island, and off to Sorrento.
