If you go to Capri (pronounced CAH-pree as all those in the know are well aware), the Blue Grotto is likely to be on your itinerary. Go in the morning, when the lighting's just right, and the row-boats are there to take you inside.
We went in the afternoon - no boats. They normally leave just after lunch, since the grotto doesn't have the same appeal at that time of day. But today was different - they weren't there because the tidal swell apparently made it too dangerous. So we walked down the iron steps to look at a small bland opening in the side of a cliff - the entrance to the grotto. Having resigned myself to not seeing it, the sight of a young guy and his girlfriend diving into the water from a visiting boat and swimming into the cave didn't immediately flick a switch in me, but it did in John, and quick as a flash he was in. Carl and I followed, apprehensive but thankful for John's gusto.
It wasn't dangerous, and even though the lighting wasn't optimal, it was impressive, a luminescent glow under the water giving it a surreal feel. When we got out, we saw the sign absolutely forbidding swimming nailed to the rock face right above where we'd dived in.
Carl - a true gentleman (mostly) who's not only modest but is always thinking of the comfort of others - asked for my towel to wrap around himself so he could change modestly into his dry clothes. Since the place was deserted, I encouraged him to simply drop his swimming trunks and change right there. He did. That's when the boat full of sightseers came around the corner, with Carl bent over showing them his least romantic aspect. With smiles beaming from the passengers, Carl's frantic efforts to pull up his drawers served only to get his knickers in a knot (sorry). The only competition to Carl's strangled cries of embarrassment were the howls coming from John and me. (As mutual friends will attest, if there's one person you'd prefer to not have around during an embarrassing moment - out of the knowledge that it would never, ever be forgotten - it's John.)
For reasons that escape me, the phenomenon has since been officially renamed "the brown grotto."
As Carl said after our trip, our get-together is etched into his memory. It certainly is in ours, no doubt as it is for a number of tourists who decided to take a boat trip around the island.
Capri was one of the destinations of a 4-day trip that the three of us took to celebrate our 50th year. As I said in an earlier blog entry (here), a 50th birthday only happens once. But there's no reason you can't celebrate it several times. And there's absolutely no reason why one of those celebrations can't be a several-day affair in a cool place like Italy.
At least that's what a bunch of (aging) boys from a Durban North high school (South Africa) decided some nine months ago. My preference for having the celebration in Italy earned me the job of leading the organization effort - destination, accommodation, etc. Since "coast" and "action" led the field in terms of priority, we eventually settled on Sorrento, my first choice of Matera being a little too far from a major airport to be worthwhile for those coming from far and staying just a few days. The agreed date was the end of September, after the main summer season.
An initially enthusiastic group of about a dozen started seeing casualties in about April. Numbers dwindled steadily for all manner of reasons, and with just 3 remaining at the end of August, it looked doomed ... until the original instigator of the whole event (Carl) said: "I'm still in, who else is?" Another (John) re-joined the fray, while the timing unfortunately eliminated a third (Kevin). We were on.
Having driven the pleasant 6-hour journey from home in the morning of the 25th and checked into the hotel, I duly left in the evening to go and pick up Carl & John at what I thought would be an airport apt to a major urban center such as Naples. I was wrong. It took at least 45 minutes to find the sucker, Naples' road signs to Capodichino acting as an apparent deterrent to anyone with the odd idea of actually going there. Once I found it - dogged persistence being the only reason I did - it was a shambles, construction rendering it a site of pure Italian chaos, with cars parked at Picasso-like angles in places that you'd never imagine a car could go. Lucky their plane was several hours late, and the airport is the same size of that in Podunk, Idaho.
Sorrento itself, like Capri and Pompeii where we spent our first afternoon, is a quintessential tourist place, with a character moulded by the hordes of Englishmen, Americans, Germans, and French - not to mention the odd South African - that jam its streets, piazze, and mostly cater-to-the-tourist restaurants. Until late night, that is, when the young beautiful people of (probably) Naples and the surrounding areas gravitate to its main piazza. Perfect spot for a trio of 50-year-olds to "observe" the passing parade. (Sorry, one 50-year-old and two near-50-year-olds.) Bar Fauna took a good few euros from us on their overpriced beers and grappas as we watched the Italian proclivity for social interaction unfold. Since the Italians are not big drinkers, who needs to spend money at a bar or pay to get into a club when all you want to do is talk? Just as it's been for a thousand years and more, the piazza is the perfect place for hooking up, and all three of us are very glad that it is.
Our other memorable destination, unfortunately without an embarrassing tale to hang on it, was the beach at Marina del Cantone on the inside of the Sorrento peninsula. Cupped by a curving mountain ridge, its pebbled beach was the perfect spot to recline and relax with a few beers and a few swims to clear the head from the night before. With mostly Italian families wandering the beach (mostly in jeans and long-sleeved shirts), the ideal setting sparked thoughts of another reunion with families in the Torre Turbolo (http://www.torreturbolo.com) just a short walk away. Maybe ...
One last quintessential Italian experience deserves mention. As we attempted to drive out of Sorrento on the Sunday morning, my penchant for finding "quick" backstreet routes found us in a long alley that seemed to have been built hundreds of years ago. In other words, it was narrow. Very narrow. So narrow, in fact, that we couldn't get through it with my side mirrors folded out. When we came to a corner - more of a kink in the road, actually - it took a few inch-long back-and-forward maneuvers to get through it. "How am I doing on that side John?" typically earned a response that I should move more to my side, where my elbow was scraping the side walls. Carl's picturing the arrival of an oncoming car didn't help. Our sparse conversation in thin voices confirmed the reason for my white knuckles on the steering wheel, and I had visions of having to go for help to haul us out of there ... except that none of us could actually get out of the car. Eventually, the alley emptied us out on to another sidestreet, one where I could actually flip out my side mirrors - it felt like a six-lane highway. The smell of a burning clutch filled the car and our trailing path as an acrid legacy. The guy working in his garage gave us a bemused, puzzled smile as we went by, no doubt wondering how the hell we'd ended up there. Somehow, we made it without a single scratch, but the sweat pouring off my brow told a different story. The "Sorrento squeeze", I call it.
So now it's come and gone. All the hours I spent in doing my research for it are done, and - as a major event in my life - in a way I'm just a little sad that it's now past, perhaps because of the lengthy months of anticipation. Not having seen Carl for 26 years, and only seeing John every 5 or so, we slotted in as a threesome as if we'd been travelling together for ages. In retrospect, it couldn't have been plotted any better, I just wish it could have lasted a little longer.
Carl and John left on the Monday morning to head back to their respective homes in Cape Town and Jersey. For my part, I headed down the Amalfi Coast and then further south, on another journey of discovery. But that's the subject of another tale ...
[For a few pictures of our Sorrento soiree, go here: http://tinyurl.com/424qh4]
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