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Anacapri
ISOLA DI CAPRI, ITALY, 2013
The midmorning haze cleared a few miles outside of Naples, and from the helicopter, Capri suddenly appeared like a glistening rock, as if the gods had cast a giant emerald down into the middle of the sea. Lucie (92nd Street Y Nursery School / Brearley / Brown, Class of ’16) glanced down at the deep blue waters, wondering how warm it was and how soon she could jump in. She loved the feel of ocean water on her skin.
Turning to her cousin Charlotte (Rippowam / Miss Porter’s / Smith), she asked excitedly, “What’s the first thing you want to do?”
“There’s this restaurant, Michel’angelo, which has a spaghetti with fresh Campania tomatoes and burrata that’s supposed to be out of this world.”
“Yummy!”
“How about you?”
“I’d like to swim in the Blue Grotto.”
“Can you swim in it?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Hmm…isn’t it very deep?”
“I’ve swum in the Atlantic and the Caribbean. I think I can handle swimming in a little cave on an island,” Lucie said lightly. She hoped Charlotte wouldn’t be fretting over her safety throughout their trip like her mother would. Thankfully, Charlotte was already distracted by the view out her window.
“Quite stunning, isn’t it?” Charlotte remarked, marveling at the dramatic peaks of the island swathed in clouds.
“You know, Emperor Tiberius thought it was the most beautiful place in the world, so he moved the capital of the Roman Empire here in the first century A.D. Issie’s wedding is going to take place at the ruins of his palace,” Lucie said.
Charlotte smiled. “This is why I love traveling with you. I can always sit back and rest assured that you’ve done all the homework. You’re like my personal Wikipedia and Yelp all rolled into one! Remember that trip to Quebec one Christmas where you mapped out the whole itinerary based on where we’d find the best hot chocolate?”
“I was actually trying to find the best poutine for Freddie,” Lucie corrected.
“Ugh, Freddie and his poutine! I weep for your brother when he loses that teenage metabolism. Jesus, is that where we’re landing?” Charlotte pointed out the window at the helipad atop a majestic hotel with arched terraces.
“Looks like it.”
“That’s not where we’re staying, though?”
“No, we’re at the Bertolucci. I think this is the place where all the celebrities like Mariah Carey and Julia Roberts stay,” Lucie remarked.
“Then I’m glad we’re not staying here! Hotels that cater to celebrities are generally always awful. If you’re not famous, they treat you like pond scum,” Charlotte commented as the AgustaWestland AW109 made a dramatic swooping turn before landing on the rooftop of the hotel.
Several attendants rushed out to assist with their luggage, while a lady in a stylishly retro white shift dress came out to greet them. Checking their names off a list on her iPad, she said, “You must be Signorinas Churchill and Barclay? Welcome to Anacapri! Please enjoy our welcome refreshment.” A crisply attired waiter presented them with ice-cold Bellinis in tall Venetian glasses, while another waiter bore a platter of fresh strawberries dipped in white chocolate.
“Thank you! But you do know we aren’t staying here?” Charlotte said cautiously as she reached for a strawberry.
“Yes, of course. As wedding guests of Ms. Chiu, you are naturally our guests too. Your hotel is in Capri town, and we will send your luggage ahead to the hotel.”
“But is it safe?” Charlotte fretted.
“Don’t worry, signora, your luggage will be very safe with us. Meanwhile, we have arranged your transportation downstairs,” the lady graciously explained as she escorted them down to the lobby, where a magnificently restored candy-apple-red 1950s Fiat cabriolet taxi awaited them in the driveway.
“Buongiorno! I take you to Capri—just ten minutes away,” the driver said with a flourish as he opened the door for them.
Making herself comfortable in the car, Lucie commented, “Well, if that was the pond-scum treatment, I want to know how Julia Roberts gets treated when she arrives.”
“Well, maybe they googled me and saw who I was,” Charlotte remarked with nary a hint of irony. As one of the senior editors at Amuse Bouche magazine, Charlotte behaved with a distinct entitlement that came from being an employee of the influential magazine and its even more influential parent company, Barón Snotté Publications. Now she turned her attention toward the handsome cream-and-yellow-striped linen awning of the vintage convertible. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if all our taxis in the city*1 looked like this? So much better than those ridiculous ‘Taxis of Tomorrow’ that already look so worn out.”
“I don’t think this linen roof would survive one week in the city,” Lucie said, laughing while fingering the fabric and letting her hand dangle out into the breeze. As the taxi made a hairpin turn around the steep curve, she exclaimed, “Oh, wow! Check out the view on your left!”
