If you are lucky, you'll notice the perfect days in your life. Three of my prime days: May 21, 22 and 23, 2001. I make a point of remembering them. Here's why.
As my travel journal recounts from dateline Italy: After a whirlwind first tour of Rome and Pompeii, on May 21, my husband and I boarded a motor coach for a drive along a stunning Lattari Mountains road to Sorrento. In our brief time in a flowerful city, one that seems draped on the edge of the sea, we shopped for local crafts and sat on a bench, eating gelato and people watching on a busy street. Next, we took a high-speed hydrofoil to the nearby Isle of Capri.
The rugged, four-mile island of limestone rises to more than 1,900 feet above the Tyrrhenian Sea. We had figured a two-night stay here would be a pleasant interlude between the tour's more acclaimed destinations. It turned into my all-time favorite place on the tour, as it had been for ancient Greeks and Romans, some who witnessed the devastating eruption of Vesuvius in 79 A.D. that had wiped out Pompeii. Over the centuries, more travelers would fall under the spell of Capri; notably artists, poets and writers who could not bring themselves to leave.
The steep funicular sweeping us up from the Marina Grande dock spills crowds into the town of Capri with its plaza full of sidewalk cafes and line of alluring shops. In such a luminous setting, it seems a short walk to the tour group's assigned Hotel Regina Cristina with balconies facing a courtyard of flowers and wall fountain and the sea.
The next morning we skipped what seemed would be a perfunctory peek at the Blue Grotto and instead took a boat tour around the island. As we bounced in a motor launch along the craggy coastline, I told fellow passengers it was local custom to kiss a loved one while passing between the towering Faraglioni pinnacles. I had made up the custom, but passengers dutifully kissed.
Back at Marina Grande, we tasted (and purchased) lemoncello liqueur and boarded a minivan to the island's highest elevation town, Ana Capri. Hopping onto a chairlift, my husband snapped a photo study of the unfolding landscape to serve as a reference for his painting, "Ah, Capri!" Lunch at San Michele Hotel added to our awe of Ana Capri's sheer, jaw-dropping views.
In the afternoon, we took a leisurely tour of gardens and ancient ruins before setting out for a swim. The pool at a sister hotel was set on the terraced hillside facing the sea and yet more Roman ruins. Being a pool connoisseur, I determined to swim in the chill pool and even savor this departure from my temperature comfort zone. Savor I did. As I swam and we lounged in the sun, we were lolled by the song of Capri's robins, blackbirds and sparrows.
Early evening, we set out with two other touring couples for dinner at the Fodor-recommended, Ristorante Terrazza Brunella overlooking Marina Piccola to the south. For enchantment, the glowing sunset view of the harbor and mountains rivaled our excellent seafood pasta with its clams, mussels and king prawns, our wine and congenial company. We strolled Via Tragara to the hotel under a moonlit sky and ended the night relaxing in the hotel Jacuzzi.
Certainly, other wonderful days rate my attention, and I remember them with gratitude: Gathered with family over a leisurely breakfast, making plans for kayaking, an outing or a walk in the woods. The vividness of such moments seems to slow time and trump all woes.
Fast-forward to September 25, 2014: On the deck of a cruise ship leaving Naples after a tour of the Amalfi Coast, we watched the Isle of Capri fade from sight and recalled our stay there with affection. Given the gift of such exquisite journeys, we brushed aside the woes accumulating in the world since 2001, even a momentary grip of fear for those who might be risking their lives to cross these waters on rickety vessels.
Margaret Fuller, the mid-19th Century foreign correspondent covering Italy's civil war and society for Horace Greeley's New York newspaper, reported spotting sentimental tourists in her Italian travels. Like a robin or a sparrow, I am a commonplace sighting among centuries of travelers. All I can sing is, "Ah, Capri!"
Ah, Capri, a pastel by Vincent Mancuso