We went by boat over the sky blue waters of the Bay of Naples to get to the Isle of Capri, land of the rich and famous.  Hardly anyone but the locals stay overnight on Capri because only the very wealthy can afford the hotel rates.  Italians take the boat over to the island in the day and return by it to the mainland in the afternoon.  Maybe one could spend the night at a friend’s house, but the friend would have to be tremendously wealthy to afford a house, much less the lifestyle of the island.  I guess one could buy a house on Capri, but only with millions of disposable dollars on hand and ample time to hang around on the waiting list.  So, we considered ourselves lucky to have a small room on the isle, thanks to group booking with Globus. 

 

I woke up on the Isle of Capri.  Before that, I had been a semi-conscious, foggy-headed zombie, thanks to Lunesta and jet lag.  Capri is a beautiful place to wake up in.  The brilliantly white homes, the deep purple bougainvillea, the nicely dressed locals wearing coral jewelry, all fit perfectly against the blue water backdrop, a blue that, before Capri, I had only seen in the over-chlorinated swimming pool of my childhood Florida home. 

 

There are no cars on Capri except for the buses that shuttle people from Capri to Anacapri (higher Capri).  Everyone walks the quaint cobblestone streets including the dogs, who trot amongst the locals and tourists, chasing each other and barking, tails wagging.

 

We took the bus ride up to Anacapri to see the villa of San Michele.  A Swiss doctor, Axel Munthe, had visited Capri as a young man and made it his life’s mission to come back to the island and build his villa. 

 

There are two ways to travel to Anacapri and the villa.  One is by bus, and the other is by foot, trudging up the 777 ancient Phoenician steps, carved into the island’s limestone face.  We were taking the bus.  Not that long ago, in the late 1800s, Axel would have taken the steps.  Unless, in those days, you were the postlady, Maria Porta-Lettere, who climbed the steep ascent twice a week all the years of her long life, once you were in Anacapri, you tended to stay put. 

 

The modern road from Capri to Anacapri snakes up the face of the island.  At each turn, the driver slows down imperceptibly, swings the bus as far out to the edge of the road as possible, makes the turn, all while maneuvering so as not hit the oncoming bus from the opposite direction.  It’s all done with horns and mirrors.  The driver looks in the mirror that reveals the hidden section of the road.  If it’s relatively clear, emphasis on relatively, he blows the horn and proceeds, standing on the gas pedal and speeding up the narrow stretch until the next opportunity to perform the stunt presents itself.  The chorus of “oohs” and “aahs” from the passengers only serves to encourage the driver.  If you glance out the window, you see the sheer drop that awaits a miscalculation. 

 

Once at the top, we disembark our bus and begin our much safer walk to the villa.  On the way, the shopkeepers are opening their stores, sweeping, arranging and smiling at us.  Luigi explains that we are their only source of income and they are grateful for the tourists.  One lady offers us a sample of lemon and orange white chocolate candy that melts on my tongue. 

 

The entry way to the villa of San Michele is an inviting, dark wooden door set inside white walls.  Inside, we step onto the welcome mat, a replica of a Roman black and white mosaic of a skeleton.  Cease the day!

 

The best description of the villa, kept as it was when the doctor lived there, is from his own book, The Story of San Michele:

 

“The house was small, the rooms were few but there were loggias, terraces and pergolas all around it to watch the sun, the sea and the clouds – the soul needs more space than the body.  Not much furniture in the rooms but what there was could not be bought with money alone.  A few primitive pictures, an etching of Durer and Greek bas-relief on the whitewashed walls.  A couple of rugs on the mosaic floor, a few books on the tables, flowers everywhere in lustrous jars from Faenza and Ubino.”

 

But it is the multi-colored marble tile floor of the porch area outside the villa that gives me a great sense of awe; the marble and the story of the sphinx, which I will see next.  Axel serendipitously chose to build the villa on the ruins of one of Tiberius’ villas.  The marble I walk across is the very same that the emperor strolled upon when he contemplated the decisions of his last days.

 

Luigi tells us not to miss going up the steps to the chapel to see the sphinx sitting on the parapet.  Axel found the ancient sphinx after a dream led him to the cove where Nero’s palatial ruins had crumbled and buried the giant statue.  The dream told him:

 

"On a lonely plain, far away from the life of to-day, stood once the sumptuous villa of another Emperor, who had brought the sphinx from the banks of the Nile to adorn his garden.  Of the palace nothing remains but a heap of stones, but deep in the bowels of the earth still lies the sphinx.  Search and you will find her.  It will nearly cost you your life to bring it here, but you will do it."

 

If you place your hand on the sphinx and make a wish, the wish will come true.  The sphinx’s features are weathered and no longer chiseled.  She sits, contentedly surrendered, gazing out over the water, letting tourists pet her and take photographs of her backside.  I wonder if she sent the dream to Axel, the man who would free her from her sepulcher?  As Axel said, “The sphinx has kept her own secret for five thousand years.”

 

I did make my wish and I can’t, of course, tell you what it was, but it hasn’t come true yet, that I will divulge.

 

We leave the villa through the garden. I would be able to spend every afternoon in that spot reading or praying.  Just to sit and listen to the trickle of the fountain while looking at the flowers would be a prayer.  How thankful I am that people like Dr. Munthe yearned for cultivated beauty. 

 

Once back in Capri, we take a walk with our new friends who came from Canada to Italy; Brent and Ana, Cathy and Lorena.  The narrow cobblestone streets are flanked on both sides with charming homes, wisteria growing everywhere.  It is the coziest walk I have ever taken.  The road leads to Tregara terrace, where we gaze out at the fragilioni and Mount Vesuvius, sleeping under the clouds, across the Bay. 

 

Denis and I visit the Chapel of San Michele to see the tile floor decorated to depict the Garden of Eden.  The Chapel has wooden planks along the walls, which you walk on so as not to step on the precious floor. One woman steps down onto the floor and wanders around, oblivious to her transgression until the employee ushers her back onto the plank.  At least she can go home and tell her friends, “I walked on the floor of San Michele Chapel!  Others only looked at it!”

 

We end our day in Capri at the cafe where we have cappuccinos with our new friends.  A lab relaxes by our table, enjoying the cool breeze.  None of us can quite comprehend that we are in Capri – Capri!

  

Mount Vesuvius erupted in 79 AD, sending a storm of ash across the Bay of Naples and over the city of Pompeii, suffocating the inhabitants and enshrining the city.  As I walked through the streets, the stones and ghosts told the story. 

 

A dog had bucked in vain against the chain that tied him to his post, while a woman collapsed to the ground, clutching a handkerchief to her face in a failed attempt to breathe.  

 

The statue of Apollo stood frozen in dismay, on the verge of dashing to the sun, when suddenly he couldn’t see it any longer in the blackened sky.  The little faun statue lifted his arms, not for his usual dance with the woodland nymphs, but to try and stave off the blanket of ash about to bury him.

 

The grey ash, the somber color of cemetery stone, interred the pastel-colored frescoes and mosaics, just as swiftly as it did the graffiti sprawled on city walls.

 

A small sampling of the graffiti tells me that we are all the same, always:

 

I ask you to elect Marcus Cerrinius Vatia to the aedileship. All the late drinkers support him. Florus and Fructus wrote this.

 

The weaver Successus loves the innkeeper's slave girl, Iris by name. She doesn't care for him, but he begs her to take pity on him. Written by his rival. So long.

 

Take your Iewd looks and flirting eyes off another man's wife, and show some decency on your face!

 

The famous mosaic, cave canem, warned Pompeians to “beware of the dog,” but no mosaic warned to “beware of Vesuvius.” 

 

The ghosts were whispering, “Beware of your fragility.  Beware of Nature’s ferocity. Beware.”

 

(more graffiti at: http://www.idst.vt.edu/thbecker/1124/wallsofpompeii.html)

 

 

We arrived in Roma, met the Globus reps and boarded the bus that would take us over Italy for the next ten days.  Our tour bus driver’s name is “Nic” and he maneuvered the tour bus among the thousands of Smart Cars and mopeds that zipped along the streets.  Italy does have lines painted on their roads, but these are not generally followed.  Instead, the Italians prefer to drive outside the lines.  We were sure Nic was going to kill several pedestrians and drive over at least one or two Smart Cars.  But he didn’t and, as his finale, he backed the bus up in an alleyway that surely wouldn’t even fit a Smart Car, much less a tour bus, and we clapped in relief mixed with a touch of awe, and gladly placed our trust in Nic. 

 

When we arrived in our room at the hotel Michelangelo, Denis and I took a nap, which I needed desperately due to the coma-inducing combo effect of jet-lag plus a Lunesta sleeping pill that refused to work on the plane, but was working really well now.

 

We got up and decided to walk to the Vatican.  How many times in my life would I be able to walk to the Vatican?  To get to St. Peter’s Square, we had to go through a tunnel where several gypsies were begging for coins.  Most sat on the ground, prostrated before an array of holy cards.  Their children are also begging.

 

The square was crowded and I noticed the nuns and, well, pigeons right away.  One pigeon had a broken wing and yet managed to hop awkwardly amongst all those people without being stepped on.  I guess he died on the Square but, as Denis said, what better place to die?  I am sure he had inadvertently received a number of blessings from the Pope!

 

One hundred and forty statutes rim the roof of the buildings enclosing the square, standing like candles on a birthday cake. I later learned that Bernini had sculpted these “Saints.”  When I looked up at these Saints, some implored me and others commanded me to pay attention to the eternal.

 

In the center of the Square is the “needle.”  An Egyptian obelisk rests on top that came from Egypt, brought to Rome by Caligula.  St. Peter’s Square was the site of Nero’s Circus.  And it is here, at the Circus, that St. Peter was crucified upside down.  His tomb is inside St. Peter’s, where we will go on our last tour day.  The obelisk was believed to have been used as a reliquary for the ashes of Caesar and then as a reliquary for a fragment of Christ’s cross.  The fragment of the cross is believed to be there to this day. 

 

We walked outside of the city-state of the Vatican and came to the river Tiber.  We took a picture of a building that seemed ancient and picture-worthy.  Later I found out it was the Castel S. Angelo, which was the funeral monument of the emperors, where their urns were interred.

 

The angel statute at the top of the structure was said to have saved Rome from a terrible plague at the time of Gregory the Great. 

 

Before going back to the hotel, we had lunch at a pizzeria.  I ate sliced mozzarella cheese and tomatoes drizzled in olive oil and cheese pizza.  The pizza had plenty of olive oil on it, along with garlic cloves.  It was delicious. 

 

On the drive to our Welcome Dinner that evening, we passed a cemetery and Fabio (our tour director) explained that cemeteries are always surrounded by cypress trees because the roots go straight down like a needle into the ground and so do not disturb the monuments.  He also pointed out the umbrella pines, which resemble, you guessed it, umbrellas.

 

At our welcome dinner that evening we had wine, antipasta, soup, wine, salad, wine, pasta, wine, veal, wine, and tiramisu.    

 

Relaxed from the wine and our bellies full, we went back to the hotel to sleep and get ready to ride to Pompeii in the morning.