RETURN TO ROCKY SHORES: Tim Dowling revives memories of a hopeless honeymoon on Capri.
After 22 years of married life, Tim Dowling and his wife risk reviving some bad memories of a hopeless honeymoon on Capri in Italy.
MY HONEYMOON was not an unqualified success. My wife and I landed in Naples in September 1992, with a vague plan to explore the Amalfi coast and what we thought was a tremendous amount of money: not quite £800 (NZ$1580). Nine days later we found ourselves stuck on Capri without enough cash to pay our hotel bill.
The trip began with purpose. As an American citizen living in Britain, I had to apply for leave to remain in the UK from outside the country, so our first stop was the office of the British vice-consul in Naples. Our paperwork completed, we approached the remainder of the honeymoon with an odd combination of indecision and abandon. We had yet to determine which of us took charge of the finances in our marriage, so neither of us did. The amount we calculated we’d spent never quite seemed to tally with what was left.
In those days you could not simply stick your debit card in a foreign cashpoint and receive handfuls of the local money. Our sudden, stupid dilemma cast a shadow over the whole trip. We’ve never been back to the Amalfi coast. In fact, we haven’t been abroad alone together since. Would a return visit lay the ghost of our incompetent honeymoon? Or might history simply repeat itself?
Twenty-two years ago, we left Naples by boat and were deposited further down the coast at the ferry port of Positano, which is to say, the bottom of town. The town is as steeply raked as an amphitheatre, and my abiding memory is of scaling its steps and winding roads with all our stuff, then checking into a hotel attractively situated at the point where our legs gave out.
This time the opposite happens. We are delivered by car to Hotel Villa Franca, which is near the top. From its rooftop swimming pool you can see the whole town sloping sharply toward the beach below. I’m not sure we ever achieved such a vantage point on our first trip – we never got this high.
The descending walk into town is seductive, and a little confusing. Positano is small and beautiful – especially in early summer – but its narrow streets take alternating twists, and one set of shortcut steps looks much like another. But down is down, and eventually we arrive at the church of Santa Maria Assunta, after joining a wedding party heading that way.
There was always a danger that we might run out of things to talk about on our second honeymoon, but our conversation about when and where to eat never wanes. We talk about where to have supper over lunch. Twenty years ago, selecting a restaurant was a matter of luck and budget. Now you can stand outside an establishment and read a review on your phone written by someone who ate there the night before. But I have long believed that it’s actually pretty difficult to find a bad meal in Italy, and nothing I ate in Positano dented this theory.
The rather expensive Al Palazzo (palazzomurat.it/restaurantpositano): excellent. The restaurant in our hotel: marvellous. The unassuming Lo Guarracino, suspended above the beach on a cliff walk five minutes from town: fantastic. To the person on TripAdvisor who said it was ‘‘a little disappointing’’: where do you normally eat?
On the morning of our third day, we are driven to the marina in Sorrento to catch a ferry to Capri. We came to Sorrento 20 years ago – by boat – but soon after disembarking my wife decided she didn’t like it and we caught the next ferry back to Positano. It was a costly diversion – two boat trips cost nearly as much as a room – and, in hindsight, was probably the turning point for our finances.
‘‘What were your specific objections?’’ I say as we drink coffee under an awning.
‘‘I can’t remember,’’ she says, looking up. ‘‘It’s lovely.’’
Even after 22 years, the scene that greets us on arrival on Capri is instantly familiar. The Marina Grande is thronged with tourists, following guides in packs. The guides no longer shout – the tourists all wear headphones – but if anything the technology makes them even more herd-like. When the last boat leaves they will disappear, but for the moment Capri is theirs. This includes the main town, which sits high above the port and is accessible by a funicular railway.
Our hotel, the Syrene, is up there, on a street packed with day trippers and lined with posh, completely empty shops. Later, when the tourists leave and Capri takes on a more exclusive air, the shops shut. There must be some golden hour when Capri’s glamorous set emerge to buy more Fendi bags, but we napped through it. Twice.
After a quick lunch in the