Today I discovered that Capri is the kind of place 60 year old men take their 30 year old lovers to the beach in matching Prada jandals. And turquoise Capri pants, naturally.
Despite feeling like the lower class all day, Capri really is a magnificent place.
We were blessed with flawless weather, which we only cursed when climbing umpteen stairs.
We swam at the crowded beach by the Marina Grande at the beginning and end of our day, and in-between caught the cable car up the hill to the Piazzata, which you are breathlessly reminded several times is a celebrity hangout.
We didn’t see any celebrities. But we saw loads of places they’d love to shop!
The highlight of the day didn’t start very well. We walked down a kajillion steps to the most beautiful part of the island to be sneered at by a maitre’d who informed us that there were no public beaches on this side of the island. Only private ones for rich people, like his, with a €16 per hour pricetag.
“Never fear”, we said to each other, “private beaches are for sissies anyway!” and we marched away to the rocks in a huff, where I spent forever finding the perfect grotto to illegally swim between beaches.
My definition of perfect is “you can get out again after you jump in”. Luckily, I found such a place just a short walk on jagged rocks away.
We had a quick swim and Paul cut his toe almost immediately. It didn’t keep me out for long though!
Though my other half may disagree, I though it was bliss.
And we were even treated to beautiful views of Positano on the ferry back in.