Back at the mo everyone was feverishly packing ready to get on these earlier than God flights I’d booked 3 weeks ago. Smoke up anything you wouldn’t dare take with you, last flirtatious moments, last forcing of last minute clothing and shoes into your demolished broke down suitcase….. and I’m out.
I stayed up all night. Walked from the hotel to the airport in the pouring rain in my new Rick Owens….to the floor. It was freezing on the 1st flight. But oh the flight to Naples. The devil himself opened the aircraft doors. “Hot as balls” as my grandmother would say. And it was. Just getting on the navetta autonoleggio to pick up my rental car was a bitch. All I could think about was getting my Fiat so I could be all Italiani cute. As soon as received the keys I realized I was short one bag….my entire SUITCASE. Like what the entire fuck? I come off of tour and my brain goes to straight jelly?
Leave it to old Italians to help a damsel in distress. One of the attendants told me to wait where the shuttle stops and I’d be able to ask the driver. I waited. I saw the shuttle enter the parking lot….old man helper is pantomiming as only Italians can and if I’m not crazy, I swear he pointed to nipples and then pointed across the parking lot to me. Hardy har laughing Italians. Whatevs….they had my bag.
Next issue…no auxiliary in the Fiats….so I had to get a Ford. I love music too much to be without my own playlist.
The serpentine streets on the drive to Torre D’Alba from Napoli made a 33 mile jaunt 90 minutes. None of the streets have names…or if they do you can’t see them. PLUS you’re distracted by Mt. Vesuvius and just crazy natural beauty all the time. The Gulf of Naples indigo waters filled with boats – any of which have my husband on board – I couldn’t check in fast enough.
My cute little watchtower is incredibly well appointed, the pool is cold but refreshing, the grounds are well kept by Claudio who is also well kept. It looked exactly like the air bnb ad. Nothing could be more perfect. Seriously. This place is heaven.
So much so why do I think I have to leave and make a tour itinerary? Tell me why I cannot sleep in past 8am? Why do I always have the urge to “do” something? My planning wears me out. I laid out at 9am this morning, tried to jump in the cold ass pool, then went back indoors and forced myself to sleep until 11am. The 15 churches basilica bells serenaded me to the terrace so I could look down at all I was missing. I couldn’t take it anymore, I had to have a mimosa or bellini stat. After all, it IS Sunday.
Sorrento is touristy as fuck however. The ports beaches had folks lying on sidewalks like beached whales. This was not fancy shmancy… My Bougie alarm went off and that was that. I had to get up out of here.
Taking an elevator back up the cliff from the ocean, I ran into a shmancy restaurant with Bellinis and beautiful men who said Mama Mia when I walked into the room because…that’s what Italians say apparently. And my fancy shmancy 60 euro brunch had me starving. Bullshit ass shmancy. Good, but my ghetto alarm was ringing and so I too had to get up out of there.
My host told me about Nerano…beach city en route to Positano along the Sorrento Peninsula. So I would take the 30 minute gorgeous drive in my manual transmission Ford over towering bluffs, through brick and orange piazzas, crawling through tiny alleys that would scratch up my side view mirrors and finally winding down long streets with rows of olive trees, pink, white and red oleander , mingling with bougainvillea and hibiscus. All of the plants I love.
As soon as I jumped into the turquoise rocky waters, all was released.
The drive, the broken suitcase, the last show, the late shows, the lost passport found, the shit talking witch hunts, the blue ovaries, the defector, the bad haircut, the good haircut, the castor oil and finally the coach flight that magically turned into business class.
I am so grateful to be taking a vacation. I just wish I knew HOW.