Everyone Loves Capri Sun

Buona Sera!

Guess what Lizzie and I wore today to the Isle of Capri? (I bet my Dad will get this...) Capris! Capri is a hot, crowded tourist trap, but a beautiful hot, crowded tourist trap. We got up with the sun and took an hour and a half boat ride out to Capri. Once there, our group of 40 had to squeeze onto two mini busses, and there weren't enough seats, so Lizzie and I had the pleasure of sitting on a makeshift fold out seat which fit (sort of) in the aisle. I was squeezed between three enormous men and one enormous woman, who bitched the whole time about how uncomfortable she was. I wanted to punch her, but I had lost all feeling in my arms. The drive was your usual treacherous coastal drive, complete with hair pin turns and plummet-to-your-death cliffs, but when we got to the top (to the town of Ana Capri) the view was stunning. We heard all about where Tiberius Ceasar held his orgies (anywhere he wanted) and how he used to make people "fly" off the cliffs by his villa if he was bored, or if they displeased him. We did a little shopping (very little--Jackie Onassis bought her sandals at Capri, which shows how far out of our price range they are) had some lunch, and then went for a walk. At 2, we crammed back onto the mini busses, and hit the even more crowded town of Capri.

Capri is very haute couture, and all sorts of rich celebrities visit. I suppose this is a selling point, but it's really just crowded and expensive, and my favorite part was the walk to the Augustus Ceasar Gardens, which offered spectacular views of the sparkling blue water. By the end of the afternoon, we were exhausted, and lined up to take the funicular down to the port. Good lord. The funicular has not been updated since Capri was a quiet hide away in the '60s. It's absolutely mobbed, and people are pushing, shoving, cutting in line, and it's much worse than even the Kenmore Square subway stop after a Sox Game, if you can believe it. I had some serious rage, as did Lizzie, and we were contemplating the benefits of causing an international incident by elbow dropping this one bastard all the way down the cliff. We barely made it in time to board our boats, and mostly slept on the boatride home. There at the port, Victorio (on whom I have a crush) was waiting for us. If Victorio had been driving the mini busses, he wouldn't have made us sit on a cardboard flap crammed between two sets of angry, sweaty tourists.

Now we are decompressing in our hotel room, and will head down to the bah later for some diet coke (or, as the server at the restaurant called it, American champagne) our earlier food poisoning severely limiting our food and drink choices. A little while ago we heard some awful Italian techno music pounding up from the beach, which I believe was a sound check, which in turn leaves me in breathless anticipation of the real event.