This has become my mantra of sorts when I walk around Anacapri on my own. I try to take Stella, my aunt and uncle's yellow lab, with me whenever I go out and about the town because everyone seems to know her and then they associate me more readily with my aunt and her mother, who are both well-known and loved throughout the town.
As for Johnny and I, our days on Capri have reached a pattern of sorts, which is ironic only because each day we do something new and see something different. Well, at least new and different for me. Having returned here for at least part of most of his summers, Johnny is full of ideas and island pride - even though his reddish blonde hair prevents him from ever blending in entirely. Whenever we meet tourists or other English speakers, my behavior differs so drastically from the way it did in Spain where I was so prepared to chat and be outgoing. Instead I here defer to Johnny and allow him to impart his wisdom upon any wayward travelers we may encounter.
Most of our time is filled with walking, though I suppose you could more aptly call it hiking, exploring, wandering or adventruing. The history of the island stretches back to the times of the Roman rule with the gardens of Augustus Caesar and the ruins of the Villa Jovis, which was the emperor Tiberius's palace. I am, in fact, writing these very words by hand (to be later transcribed to this blog) from my perch at the top of Villa Jovis. Johnny naps casually beside me as we take a rest from our wanderings. We hiked this morning from Capri up to the Villa Lysis, also known, though less popularly, as the Villa Farsen. This building carries an interesting history and a well-maintained structure, both of which commemorate the wealthy Signore Farsen, a Parisian of Swedish descent who at twenty-three built this villa in the wilderness and overlooking the clarity of the ocean. His reputation, both on the island and in Paris, was largely marred by his affinity for teenage boys and his tendency to recreate old Greek and Roman statues, as well as pagan rituals. Farsen passed away in the 'Chinese Room' in his basement from an overdose of opium and cocaine at the ripe old age of forty-three. Today, the building houses an exhibit to honor the 20th anniversary of the death of Russian ballerina, choreographer, writer, composer, conductor and general artist Nueyearev (probably misspelled). The focus on the perfection of the male figure reminds of Farsen's original motifs. As we walked through the three stories of the villa, I counted five full bathrooms and a spa in the basement - all for the house of one man. He must have needed to visit the little boy's room often.
From there, we continued up a more wooded and nature-y trail up here to the ruins of Villa Jovis. Honestly, thanks to our Spanish art and culture/history class with Duke in Spain this summer, the very concept of ruins was fixed sourly in my memory. We devoted hours, both in class and on homework, to analyzing the depiction of ruins in essays, poems and paintings from the past four centuries. To call the task a little dense would be the understatement of my time abroad. But these ruins are cool. And they're breathtaking in such a way that I would imagine, if I harbored more artistic talents, that they would pluck the strings of inspiration to make one want to create something either just because of or to immortalize said ruins. Well, Johnny's up and wants to walk now - will have more thoughts for you in a bit. ~1:30pm.
3:35pm~ Now at Bagni di Piccola Marina (I'm still not sure I understand when or why the Italians precede nouns with adjectives and when the reverse is more appropriate), or the beach at the island's little marina. Again, my cousin lays napping beside me, and so again I seize upon the repose from walking and talking to put pen to paper. We have, in the past two hours, hiked back down to Capri centro for a pot of gelato at supposedly the best gelateria of the island. They change their flavors on a daily basis (and we should know as we've not missed a chance to sample two flavors at a time on each of the past three days - so far I've tried Bignolata w/Nociatella, Angurria w/Fragola, and Liquizardi w/Cioccolata) and their waffle cones are made fresh on the spot as you order. We then continued down the winding and relatively recently restored Via Krupp to arrive here at the beach.
To recap, yesterday's main event was a long and comparatively luxurious walk along the Pizza Lungo, which took us from the elephantine Arco Naturale, past la Grotta Matermaria, and up to il Porto di Tragara. There, a kind New York lawyer who's been returning annually to that very spot for the past twenty-five years took our photo and assured us that if we sampled the linguine di fontanelina and white sangria, it'd be the best meal we eat in a year. And so, that is exactly what we did before returning home to Villa la Pietra to enjoy the sunset with wine, family and hearty conversation before dinner. It has been an interesting observation, that as travels take on more of a vacation-y feel, suddenly the daily schedule revolves around when and where we will obtain our next meal. In fact, as we chat with tourists along our walks, Johnny's instinctive follow-up question to "how long are you here for?" is "where are you planning on taking your next meal?", which he quickly follows-up with about four or five strong suggestions.
As we walk, Johnny and I have more or less adopted an unspoken formation of habit with him roughly three yards or so in front of me. It is not so much a difference in pace that dictates this order but more of a necessity. Johnny doesn't like to walk in straight lines, but instead his path slithers slightly as his flip-flops smack the stones. He carries on with conversation, side observations and anecdotes over his shoulder to me. With roads often narrower than some LF sidewalks, it's just easier for me to trail slightly. This also affords me the chance to observe more closely as we amble and I puzzle to myself over the words from a sign we've just past or the treks of the little gecko-like lizards that run rampant here. I like to fancy them the squirrels, more or less, of Capri.
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