The Amalfi Coast & Capri
Kelly makes a boo boo with the suncream. We’re being good
with the creams, wearing 30 most days since being closer to 30 than I’d like to
admit, I have a new found obsession with getting wrinkled or leathery from
years of summer holidays and cheeky sunbeds. But despite good intentions, Kelly
is bright red - as in full-on beetroot,
roasted tomato red.
“I don’t understand!” she exclaims, skin sizzling - “I’ve
been putting cream on!” She fishes out the bottle to show me.
“Kel, that’s not suncream, that's aftersun.”
**
After a hot and gorgeous night wandering along the bay of
Naples, we pick up our friend Arjun from the station and head to the Amalfi
coast. Naples had taken me by surprise, rough round the edges and sweet on the
inside, the city was a ball of energy. The people were so different here, the
Neapolitans wild and loud and wearing the most incredibly terrible fashion as
if in rebellion to the rest of their country. But they owned it; the brash colours and odd combinations of trainers and
leather skirts, of long t-shirts and hard-earnt hair dos. It was so fun to
watch the city come to life as the sun went down on Vesuvius, the bay a hub of
life and great food.
We leave the city and head for the mountains, and having
tackled five cities in seven days we sack-off the public transport and take a cab the
whole way to Ravello. Despite its world famous coastlines, Amalfi is not easy
to reach. There are no direct trains, and a lot of buses and changes. It’s
worth it though, and this minor inaccessibility makes it feels authentic, with
no well-tread tourist path in the green mountains.
Winding up and up and up impossibly high and narrow
Cliffside roads, I find my stomach going; all three of us are car sick, our
driver Maurizio laughing in amusement at our English stomachs. When we finally
reach the heavens I have a slight worry that I’m not going to be able to look
out any windows for the next few days but It doesn’t take long to adjust, and
when I do, Ravello has me reeling. It’s the kind of beautiful that doesn’t look
real, that can’t be caught on camera. We are on the top of a mountain looking
down into the bay of Minori, over vineyards and lemon orchards. The sky blends
into the sea, and colours I have never seen in an ocean or sky rise with the
sun over the mountain each morning. It’s unforgettable.
The only problem about being on top of a mountain is getting
back down. We miss the bus on more than one occasion down to Amalfi, and when
you do catch it, be prepared for the ride of your life. Buses reverse on
mountain edges, the fly round corners that have 200 metre drops, and they don’t
have air con. From amafi the best adventures are by boat. There are so many
towns that are within easy reach ad we speedboat the whole way to Postitano
without so much as a provisional licence - my over-enthusiasm sending Kelly two-feet into the air when I hit a wave.
We get all dressed-up and ready to party in the evening, then accidentally get so drunk on gin, we miss the last bus down so are stuck on the top of the mountain for the night. We teach the local Italians lads the ‘Head up’ game on our iPhones instead, and secure with this new friendship a lift down and an invite to the coolest party on the coast - Atrani’s secret party where they have taped fireworks to the side of the houses in the caves and set them off in time to the best music I’ve heard all week.
Hungover and happy, there is a slight misunderstanding the
next morning and we find ourselves chased out of Ravello by the crazy Italian
hosts, wanting blood for having had Arjun in the house instead of just the two
of us. If it was a supplement or money she wanted, an email to Airbnb would
have sufficed, but instead we nearly end up with a black eye and run for our lives
with our oversized luggage, hiding in the local bakery as we pray for a taxi to
rescue us. Arm yourself with language; the more you can communicate when
travelling, the more you are safe from misunderstandings.
An easy one-hour ferry sees us escape to Capri, where we are
greeted by a much more agreeable host who helps us with our luggage rather than
throwing it at us, and makes us fresh bruschetta on arrival from the tomatoes grown in
his garden. Genny is a fashion designer who has rented out the annex of his
super mansion on Air BnB, and I stare open-mouthed finding a Mac computer and a
Nespresso machine in my room along with a Tempur mattress. Now that’s more like
it!
With all great discoveries whilst travelling, it’s usually
by accident - this was our best Air BnB find, and having picked this place
because it has a hot tub, we spend the first evening in it drinking prosecco by
the bottle, watching the sunset and the stars come out with startling
brightness.
Genny and his wife think we’re funny because we don’t want
to leave their land, in fact we don’t move out of their garden for 24 hours and
when we do we simply walk the little path down the cliff and find ourselves at
the famous blue grotto cave entrance -
another reason this location is perfect. We jump in a boat with a beautiful smiling
Italian called Raffaelle who sings Neapolitan songs to us from Dean Martin and
the Rat Pack. I am in love immediately. The entrance of the cave is a bit tricky,
with a tiny mouth that forces you to catch a wave to gain entry.
“Lie down please,” Raffaelle tells us, “heads inside the boat.”
We duck, sat in the little wooden boat, waves splashing, he
pulls us through the rock and suddenly all is still. The water in the cave is
completely and utterly luminous, as
if there are stadium lights at the bottom of the sea bed. The echo in the cave
means Raffeale is having great fun, singing soprano and splashing the oars to
catch the light. It’s truly mesmerising, an experience that photos cannot do
justice to, although myself and Kelly give it a good go with the selfie-stick.
**
What to do with your last day when your flight isn’t until
10pm and you are on one of the most beautiful islands in Europe - cocktails. Unfortunately, we go a bit
over-board and get so drunk we miss the boat, despite being in a bar on the
harbour. We miss the next boat too having the wrong tickets and with the sun setting
we start to panic, Raffaele rescuing us once more and getting us to the right
place.
I cry on the boat back to Naples. I’m pretty drunk, but I
mean my tears. Kelly and Arjun console me before passing out cold at the back
of the boat on the floor with their luggage. I wonder how we’re going to get on
the plane. Holiday romances are perfect for their imperfection; they exist only
for a moment. There is a deadline before you begin and so you kiss with
urgency, share stories with ease, you are another version of yourself in a
place that isn’t home. I enjoy salty kisses and swimming and driving around the
mountains, boating in the caves, being bought ice-cream and lunch and wine. I
try and change my flight to stay one more day, and we hug and kiss as if I am
boarding the Titanic when we say goodbye, chasing the gangplank as I leave the
magical island. The sweetest, kindest Italian I have ever met.
This is the real secret with Capri - you need a resident to really see it. There are two completely
different prices for everything - boat tickets, drinks, bar entrance. If you are
a resident the boat is 6 euro to Naples. If you are a tourist it is 13. Now there’s
nothing you can do about that (as we discovered having got Raffaele to buy us
resident tickets and then being denied entry to the boat, missing it and nearly
our flight). But with the night life you need a buddy - club entrance to the
main hotspots was 20 euro including a drink on the arm of Raffe, without him it
was 60 euro. Parking is impossible for tourists; but Raffaele is handing friendly policemen
20 euro notes and parking in taxi bays no problemo.
Capri at night is a sight to behold, feeling as if we had
stumbled upon something between an extravagant wedding/Royal Ascot/Dubai/meets
lottery-winners and oil merchants. I have never seen so much money or plastic surgery
in one place. There are tight faces and oiled hair, incredible couture outfits
fit for a ball, boob jobs that make your eyes pop and enough Valentino shoes to
start a shop right there in the square. It’s a super show and a great one to
watch.
But there is a Ying to the Yang; Anacapri is the older and more naturally beautiful part of the
island, away from the money and the noise and we are heartbroken to leave. This
adventure has reminded us of the utter necessity of travel, to see things
outside of our comfortable circles, and on my return I am jarred at my lack of enthusiasm
for nights out and pubs that had kept me happily entertained before. I’ve got
the itch…
Next stop Norway!!