Colle Dell'ara {A Stunning Amalfi Coast B&B}

In booking our trip to the Amalfi Coast we considered a number of options from private homes to B&B's.  But when we stumbled upon this place, it almost sounded too good.  A bed and breakfast run by three Italian brothers and their father, complete with 'family' meals in the evenings if you so desired with most of the ingredients coming from the expansive organic gardens surrounding.  Nestled in the hills over Positano, no question it would offer breaktaking views down the coast (all the way to the Island of Capri, in fact).  But what really sold us was the idea that when traveling with a toddler, there might be a day or two we simply wanted to rest, and this place was essentially it's own destination.

(all of the following photos were taken directly on the property over the course of our stay)

We read thru endless reviews online, all raving about the brothers and the unparalleled views.  One or two mentioned 'the hike' from the road being a challenge, but we were undeterred.  I was enamored with the idea of a cliffside, family-run Italian B&B surrounded by lush organic gardens.  

The brothers nor their 'house' as they so affectionately refer to it, disappoint.  These guys know hospitality.  They welcome all ages from retired to young families and backpacking singles the world over, and I witnessed day after day as they made every single person feel like family.  Friendly, humble, passionate, whether it was a glass of water or suggestion for dinner, never once did they seem less than overjoyed to accommodate.  The views were rivaled only by their kindness, which they seem to have inherited straight from their father.  Timid but clearly full of joy, it was the father who greeted us in the darkness and physically hauled our bags from the road straight up, up, up the winding cliffside a solid 10-minute hike.  The man made me marvel.

The rooms themselves are simply furnished but spacious and comfortable with large private baths.  The property itself is impressively quiet nestled in those hills, and the views… the views are killer.  From every single room and terrace, simply stunning.

I couldn't tell you exactly how many acres their property covers, but it feels enormous.  We wandered thru the gardens and vineyards to our hearts content day after day, drinking in the mediterranean views and gushing over the astounding array of fruits and herbs and vegetables.  There was no way to adequately discern how much was being tended and how much simply grows wild.  It was such a gloriously harmonious dance of the two.  The brothers themselves didn't even seem to know.  They just smiled and shrugged with an obvious awe and appreciation for this rich and fertile land.  Their gentle respect towards the soil beneath their feet inspired me in a way I still can't fully articulate.

Every morning we awoke to a lovely spread of local fruits and jams and pastries, among other things.  Breakfast on the terrace gazing out at that view?  I promise, you could do it every day.  For all of time.  It is profoundly, deeply nourishing.  

One really fascinating bit is to inquire of the history of the house.  It's relatively new by European standards, built by the father some years ago.  But because it's located in a nature preserve, building any kind of new structure was and is illegal. The transporting of materials and the actual building process happened mostly at night under the cover of darkness.  

The sunrises and sunsets were jaw-dropping as I'm certain you can imagine, and one day we were even treated to an afternoon thunderstorm.  (you'll notice dark storm clouds in a number of photos)  Watching those clouds roll in, drench everything in sight and promptly roll out again was absolutely mesmerizing.  With the rich volcanic soil and Mediterranean climate, no wonder so much grows wild.  It essentially tends itself.  There can't possibly be happier vegetation on earth.  There just can't.

I found the infamous hike lovely.  Must say, it is not for the faint of heart.  Reading the cautionary reviews I shrugged them off thinking people were likely making a bigger deal than necessary.  They weren't.  It's a hike.  But it's beautiful. 

I opted for good shoes and thought of it this way: I can eat pasta and gelato everyday to my hearts content with zero concern!  

When your workout is built right into your stay at no additional cost, what's to fret about?  ;-)

Have I mentioned yet that this real life garden of Eden is shockingly affordable??  Yes, indeed.  Right at $120 per night, I can't imagine you could beat it, well, perhaps anywhere else in Europe.  For those dreamy views, the warm hospitality, a private terrace and bath, and lovely breakfast?  Not likely.  If you've ever traveled to Europe you know well the accommodations are no where near cheap, and even at that you'll likely end up with a tiny room and less than comfortable bed that looks out at a brick wall.

I have an entire post I've been putting together for awhile including tons of tips on how we travel affordably, and this Amalfi Coast adventure was no exception.  Our airfare to Italy was free using miles (incredible savings there, always) and with an affordable stay such as this that included breakfast (or typically brunch for us) all we had left to budget for was dinner.  And maybe the occasional… okay twice per day gelato!  Good thing gelato is cheap in Italy ;-)  

Another cannot-stress-enough travel tip is to spend the bulk of your food budget picnicking.  Go to the local market, spend a few dollars on fresh, delicious ingredients, and save yourself the ton of money you'd spend at expensive restaurants.  Besides, wouldn't you rather spread a blanket and take in the coast or Eiffel Tower or Roman Colosseum over dinner anyway??  A fraction of the cost, a hundred times the ambiance.  Definitely splurge on a nice dinner or two for the sake of culture and experience, but don't feel like you have to do that every day.  Your experience will be richer (and so will you) if you opt to go the picnic route.

I simply cannot say enough about this gorgeous B&B.  It's been several months now since we visited and during that time I began The Intention Project and took a little sabbatical from blogging, but with travel season upon us I had to share this with you.  (although I encourage you to look to 'shoulder' season for the best travel rates, no matter where you're headed)  Colle Dell'ara is simply way, way, way too good to keep to myself.  We fully intend to return sometime and I'm crossing my finders it's sooner than later!  

(tons more reviews available at airbnb.com)

Or for more on our Amalfi Coast Adventure:

A Return to the Amalfi Coast of Italy

Tangible Beauty on the Isle of Capri, Italy

Tangible Beauty on the Isle of Capri, Italy (continued)

An Unexpected Walk Thru Seaside Sorrento

Beauty in the Cliffs Over Positano

A Final Evening Stroll

A Final Evening Stroll

Positano, Sorrento, Amalfi, Capri... simply stunning.  All of them, each of them.  We so wanted to wander into the breathtaking village of Ravello nestled so high in the cliffs it's said to be dizzying, but winding down our final day we decided instead to stay close and take in the sights and sounds of glorious Positanto one last time.  It was a good decision. 

Gelato, our daily indulgence, one last time.  I will never forget the look on her face after she licked this strawberry cone to it's drippy tip, and just as her Daddy dropped it in the nearby trash can to avoid a sticky mess, her chin instantly began to quiver and she couldn't hold back the tears.  Devastation.  What's a Mama to do?  Console with the offer of more gelato, of course.  A scene forever etched into my heart.

All better.

We walked down to the black stone beach and dipped our toes in the waves, tossed rocks into the water like wishes, breathed a final prayer of gratitude for these beautiful days of wonder.  For togetherness without distraction.  For soul-healing aqua waters and a tiny girl's first big adventure.  For enchanting moments of watching her kick a ball with a boy from the UK in the shadow of an ancient cathedral and toss bread crumbs with a tiny Italian into a centuries old fountain full of goldfish, their only shared language that of giggles and joy.  

For the moments, the meals, the celebration of life and love.  The garden walks and seaside picnics.  The long strolls with espresso and pastries and sound of thunder rolling in from the the ocean.  For the quiet.  For the cliffs.  For the life pulsing through our veins.  

And above all for the vivid reminder that all creation sings His praises, that He is the author of beauty, that this life is a gift beyond what we can conceive, so let us treat it as such.  

Grateful.  So grateful.

{Thanks for coming along on this journey with us!  This post wraps up our Amalfi Coast adventure, but I'll revisit it again shortly to share a bit more about the B&B where we stayed.  We've had a ton of questions and it's simply too incredible not to share.  If you wanted to know more, keep an eye out!}

Beauty in the Cliffs Over Positano

Imagine tiered cliffside gardens, stone paved walkways, flowering ivy draped here and there overhead.  Imagine the sounds of chickens clucking somewhere out of sight, a slight ocean breeze, and the stunning aqua waters of the Mediterranean stretched out below as far as you can see.  

And right in the center of this dreamscape, picture a sprawling family restaurant where you're greeted warmly, shown to a table, and fed course upon course of the most decadent homestyle Italian food the southern coast has to offer, most of it coming directly from the rich volcanic soil on which you're standing just hours before.

La Tagliata.  We kept hearing about this place a short walk down the winding main road from the B&B where we were staying.  On a whim one evening we showed up.  It did not disappoint.  The views, the gardens, the food, the people.  Spectacular, truly.  Let's take a little stroll, shall we?

Let me also not fail to mention, they happen to have two stunning rooms for rent here.  Your stay includes breakfast, a private terrace, waking up to these views each morning, and get this, all the fruits and vegetables you desire to pick from their expansive gardens.  I mean, really?  Unbelievable.  

La Tagliata, we shall meet again, dear friend. 

Up Next: A Final Night in Positano

(sidenote: as I'm wrapping up this series on Italy, I'm also making some major changes in the blog realm.  I'll be sharing more soon.  Stay tuned...)

An Unexpected Walk Thru Seaside Sorrento

Following our enchanting evening on the Isle of Capri, we woke slowly and took our time wandering the winding pathways from our hotel towards the center of town.  We stopped for pastries at our favorite basement bakery, chatting with other travelers and sipping hot espressos while taking turns chasing Everyn up and down the steps.  Afterwards as we waited to ride back down to the marina I stood beneath the white pillars taking in the sweeping Mediterranean views one last time, and breathed a silent thank you.  For all of it.

Our ferry back to Positano was slotted to leave at noon, but as we arrived to board were informed there would be no ferry back to Positano.  The waves were too choppy to navigate the shallow waters of the tiny port.  A brief moment of panic swept over me, what?!  So we're just stuck here??  Immediately soothed by, oh!  Wait.  So we're like, stranded on the Isle of Capri...

The attendants pointed us towards another boarding ferry to Sorrento, suggesting we simply catch the bus from there back into Positano.  The unexpected chance to return to stunning Sorrento instantly won me.  We had no real plans for the day anyway.  The unexpected, unplanned adventure is half the reason I love to travel.  It does wonders for my free spirited soul.  It took a number of years for my super organized, well planned husband to embrace the notion, but after experiencing a few unforgettable rabbit trails around the globe he's finally come to love them, too.

These photos make it obvious why Sorrento is so entrancing.  Bustling but not overwhelming, it sits directly on the cliffs over the water.  Mt. Vesuvius in the background, the islands of Capri and Ischia just off shore, it's the perfect base if you want to explore the many villages up and down the Amalfi coast.

Seriously, how gorgeous is this place?  The first time I laid eyes on it those many years ago it left me breathless.  I was truly heartbroken the day we had to pack up and leave.  The vow we made to return that day is precisely what brought us back.

We arrived and wandered, taking it all in like the unexpected gift it was.  Chatting with locals, eating gelato, pigeon chasing, gazing out at ships at sea.  I'll never forget the sound of Ev squealing and screaming as she chased those birds in circles, causing an entire cafe to erupt in amused laughter and offer her endless bread for feeding.

A simple, well lived day in my book.  Unexpected joys are always the richest.

If ever you have the chance, do fall in love with this lovely city.  Its siren call may just draw you time and again.

Up Next: Beauty in the Cliffs Over Positano

Tangible Beauty on the Isle of Capri, Italy (continued)

"In Italy the summer before Henry was born, on a trip with family friends, we ate raw green olives in Positano, looking out at the Mediterranean Sea, and we drank Bellinis made with thick, white peach puree.  We ate paper-thin pizza with narrow ribbons of basil and fried zucchini blossoms stuffed with ricotta, impossibly rich and light at once.

On that trip I had the best meal of my life, on the island of Capri, at a restaurant called the Lemon Tree.  Our family and dear friends sat at a round table, and the branches of the lemon trees over our heads hung so low and so thick they almost made a ceiling, a dense canopy, and hundreds of lanterns hung from their branches and made the whole dining area twinkle as they swayed.

Our table had a whole fish roasted with wheels of lemon and swaths of herbs, carved tableside, and handmade lobster ravioli, the fresh lobster meat so sweet it almost tasted like there was sugar in it.  What moved me, though—and what the restaurant is famous for beyond the lemon tree canopy—were the antipasti and sweet buffets: two huge rough wooden tables piled with platters wedged in like puzzle pieces.  One table held cheeses and pastas and grilled, marinated vegetables; the other, plates of every imaginable fruit, cake, and tart.  At the center of that lovely table, a bowl of fat blackberries, almost as big as plums, and a bowl of whipped cream, decadent and simple at once.

I can still taste the tiny glass of limoncello the served at the end of the meal, and I can still recall the hint of coolness in the air as we drove back down the winding roads to the marina, feeling like the world was so beautiful I almost couldn’t stand it, so thankful for those trees and those lanterns and those huge round tables and that bowl of blackberries.”  -Shauna Niequist, Bread & Wine

We had decided in late Fall that a return trip to the Amalfi Coast was how we wanted to officially celebrate our tiny girl’s first birthday, as well as 11 years of marriage.  Our love of travel, Italy in particular, her love of lemons.  It was the perfect pairing.

Though Josh and I are seasoned travelers, I admit I had been wrestling with a significant amount of fear about taking Everyn so far from home.  What would we be exposing her to?  What if something happened?  What if, what if, what if… the thoughts plagued me.  Most of them completely irrational.  Trusting my husband’s leadership implicitly, I confessed to him in near tears one evening.  I wanted to know if he had even the slightest hesitation.  Knowing well how women, especially new mothers, especially his wife wrestle with fear and anxiety at times, he very lovingly and calmly put me at ease.  He encouraged me with a new mantra to replace any and every tempting, fear-laden thought, “I will not live in fear.  I will not make fear-laden decisions.”  And that was that.  I took a deep breath.  Resolve.  I committed despite any lingering ‘what if’ notions. 

But then this book… then this particular chapter… then these particular paragraphs.  It was serendipitous timing as it arrived in the mail only a few weeks later.  I began feeling almost compelled, called if you will, back to the Isle of Capri.  And one thing was absolutely certain.  We would dine at the Lemon Tree.

So there we were on the island, wandering cliff side gardens and indulging in endless gelato.  It was surreal to be back in a place that felt so familiar and exotic at once.  What I was completely unaware of however, was how God was about to orchestrate the next few hours in a way that would leave me speechless.

Our first few days in Italy had been sheer delight, but every night as darkness fell so did my spirit.  As I crawled in bed each night I would begin grappling again with fear.  Nothing specific, just fear itself.  Knowing well my sensitivity to spiritual climates, Josh had taken to praying over me every evening as we went to bed, calling on the Holy Spirit to impart peace and deep rest, to hedge me in at every side.  With every day it lessened, as if it were beginning to lose it’s grip, but still it was there, taunting. 

Dressed for dinner we finally set out in search of the Lemon Tree, right at sunset.  A dark cloud loomed on the horizon but failed to raise any kind of alarm.  We rode the sweeping lift back down to the marina across the treetops and began a slow stroll up winding roads in the direction of the restaurant.  I carried Everyn as Josh attempted to navigate a side of the island completely foreign to us. 

Very suddenly the wind began to pick up, a significant chill on its breath.  We glanced at each other with a knowing look.  We’d made it up the main roads and entered a residential area with narrow passages, concrete walls draped with ivy, iron gates.  Nothing about the area looked fitting for a restaurant.  Then the rain began, slowly at first.  There was literally nowhere to duck for coverage.  We kept moving, sure the restaurant couldn’t be much further.  The rain kicked up another notch.  I passed Ev to Josh and we began jogging, unsure where we were headed at this point.  And still the rain grew heavier, almost to downpour.  We were frantically attempting to find anything to step under, even the slightest overhang.  Nothing.  As Josh became increasingly frustrated, I became increasingly giddy.  It washed over me, through me, and I began laughing delightfully, racing thru the rain in flip-flops and a long skirt.  At every intersection we seemed to peer down yet another endless street and I’d squeal and laugh harder, calling over my shoulder, “Embrace it!  Just embrace it!  There’s nothing else to do!”

Soaked nearly to the bone, I finally spotted a tiny covered vending area.  I yelled back to Josh and darted under.  Two young guys stood casually with sodas in hand watching the rain, and in the back corner, two sweet Italian grandmothers huddled together under a small umbrella.  Both in calf-length skirts, scarves tied over their heads, they smiled sweetly as I joined them shaking off the excess water. 

Just as Josh came jogging up with Ev a third grandma rounded the corner as well, deciding it wise to join us.  She shook off her umbrella chattering to the others, seemingly amused by the rain.  As we stood waiting for a break in the downpour the two ladies in the corner pointed and cooed at Everyn.  The talked quietly to themselves, their eyes locked on us, pointing softly here and there.  With a slight slowing of the drenching the guys darted out, but we stayed put, well aware we still had no idea where the restaurant was located.  I glanced up at the sound of Italian clearly directed at us, just as the grandmothers tentatively approached from their corner.  One held out a tattered sweater, pushing it into my hands and pointing at Everyn.  I wasn’t sure how to respond at first.  Glancing at their own worn layers, I hesitated.  Certainly they needed this more than we.  Sensing my hesitation the third grandma jumped in with heightened volume.  She rattled and rattled, pointed and pointed, and I stared blankly understanding not one single word.  It was clear they wanted me to wrap the wet baby, certainly, but how would I ever return this sweater?  The longer we hesitated the more emphatic they became in the most concerned but heartfelt manner.  Finally I wound the sweater around Ev's shoulders, expressing our thanks again and again.  I was on the very verge of tears at their incredible concern and kindness.

When the rain finally came to a slow and steady drizzle, we decided to brave it.  I looked to the ladies and asked “The Lemon Tree?  Do you know the The Lemon Tree??”  They rattled at each other in Italian until deciding they knew what we meant, then began pointing up the hill and nodding.  “This way?” I asked to confirm.  They rattled back more than what seemed a simple ‘yes’ in response.  Our confused expressions must have concerned them, as the third grandma bid goodbye to the others and motioned for us to follow.  I was dumbstruck.  Clearly she had just finished a full days work, arms loaded with bags and a large umbrella.  I reasoned it must be on her way, surely.  We followed her up a hill and around a few corners.  She struggled up the inclines, breathing heavily, almost waddling in her orthopedic shoes.  My concern grew she was going much out of her way.  Finally stopping at a crossing she pointed at a darkened gate, smiling exuberantly and trying to catch her breath, motioning for us to go.  We thanked her profusely as she turned to leave in the same direction we’d just come, affirming my suspicion this stop had not been conveniently on her route. 

We approached the gate and peered down a winding path, lights glowing somewhere towards the back.  It was quiet, too quiet.  Tables and chairs lined the partly illuminated pathway.  Approaching a large seating area situated literally beneath a grove of lemon trees, limbs densely intertwined to form a canopy draped with lemons and dangling lights, we knew we’d finally arrived.  And not a single soul was dining, save a small group of staff on the far side.  One caught a glimpse and promptly stood to greet us.  He approached with a smile and kindly explained they didn’t open for another hour but welcomed us to wait.  As the rain began beating down on the canvas roof out of sight beyond the branches, he motioned to a nearby table for us to sit. 

Relieved to be out of the downpour we had no issue waiting.  As we pulled ourselves up to the table a server arrived with a basket of bread and lit a candle on the table, as a second wrapped a huge, plush blanket around my shoulders, then Everyn, then Josh.  We were all so cold, I almost wept.

The handful of guys who’d been dining across the way packed up their plates and moved to a room off to the side, though clearly we were the ones who’d intruded.  I could still see them laughing and chatting, eating intently.  I loved how they shared a meal together, not so much as a staff, but almost as family.  Very Italian. 

As they finished their meal and transitioned to work mode, we watched as they began diligently piling platters in two distinct rooms.  One situated just in front of us, the other off to our right.  Having forgotten the details from the book months earlier, I wondered what they were doing.  There was a huge table in one of the rooms, and the platters just kept coming.  And coming.  And coming.  I was so enamored watching them I barely noticed as the filled the other, as well.

When a server returned to take our order and I asked what a particular item was listed under ‘Aperitivos,’  he just motioned towards the room.  I raised my eyebrows, “Really?”  He nodded with an amused smile.  “I’ll have that, please.”  Josh did the same.  No brainer.

We tried so many things I cannot even begin to detail them all.  Marinated vegetables, seafood galore, cheeses and cured meats and pasta.  It was incredible, a feast of something both body and soul.  It felt like a celebration.  We ordered entrees, astonished again by the decadence, and when they asked about dessert and pointed to the other room, I about died of happiness.  There were tarts and pastries galore, tiny layered cups of tiramisu, handmade chocolate truffles and big bowls of whipped cream with liquor drenched fruit.  The platters and bowls circled the entire room.  I could barely decide what to try and just stood there forever, staring happily. 

It was delicious beyond description.  All of it.  Every last, unassuming bite.

As the rain continued to patter we sipped hot espressos and waited.  We’d been dining almost four hours.  We were so content, so grateful to be savoring this moment, this food, this life, as Shauna so perfectly noted, “…so beautiful I almost couldn’t stand it…” 

As Everyn started indicating her exhaustion, we waved goodbye and wandered back down the winding path towards the road where the taxi they’d summoned for us was already waiting.  Despite a subtle drizzle, the clouds were beginning to give way to a dazzling star filled sky.  I stared out the window, deliriously happy, so terribly grateful for this rain-soaked night. 

The driver dropped us near the main piazza, far as he could go, leaving us to walk the winding stone alleyways back to our hotel.  The white pillared Mediterranean overlook to our left, the piazza to our right, the sky above now clear and dancing with stars, all was still.  Thanks to the rain the typically bustling piazza was quiet, one lone storekeeper standing outside across the way.  The tables and chairs were leaned to drain and the whole piazza was aglow from lit café windows, the warm light glistening against the wet stones.  It was breathtaking. 

Still enamored with the scene I stood speechlessly taking it all in, when quietly my husband began swaying and humming, Everyn wrapped up in his arms, a knowing smile spreading across her tired little face.  Her giggles propelled him, and I watched in near disbelief as he twirled her in circles, dipping her, spinning her, both now laughing deliriously. 

I didn’t say a word for fear of interrupting.  I just watched in stunned admiration, this man, this darling girl, spinning in circles in a glowing Italian piazza under the stars on the Isle of Capri.  I could do nothing but marvel at how very, very, indescribably, unspeakably good my God is, utterly blown away by His rich and decadent goodness.

Following their spontaneous waltz they walked ahead of me towards the hotel, flirting still along the way.  I walked slowly, savoring deeply the last of this magical evening, when suddenly I heard clearly the voice of my Lord, as crisp as the now fully dazzling sky, What was it you feared, my love?  In My hand, you are.  Nothing can snatch you from my grasp, the world over.

I felt stunned to the core.  All my previous fears seeming suddenly so small and trivial and irrelevant.  Failure to filter constantly negative media and conversation, even casual thoughts, not only robs me of joy but breeds fear to overflow.  Crippling fear, the kind that prevents you from living, from freedom, from seeing anyone but yourself.  The kind that holds you captive, starving and cold, terrified to breathe.  The diabolical kind.

I suddenly realized the magnitude of this night, God’s very goodness on display, a desperately needed reminder of the great beauty and kindness we experience when we slay our fears and brazenly stomp past knocking it to its knees with defeat. 

I so easily could have missed it, could have missed Him… in the kind eyes offering a tattered sweater, in the thick, exhausted ankles leading us thru darkened stone alleyways, in the warm hands wrapping blankets around my shivering shoulders.  In tangled branches heavy with lemons and steaming espresso in tiny cups, in pounding rain and dancing stars, handmade truffles, glistening piazzas.  In a dancing man and his tiny girl, in echoing giggles and starlit walks…  Gods goodness to me on display, brilliantly, vividly, obvious.

How silly to think, in the clutch of God’s hand, there is every anything to fear.

This night set the tone for the rest of our adventure, and from that moment on fear lost its clawing grip, crushed in the very light of Truth.  And it hasn’t returned since.

(Up Next: An unexpected detour to Sorrento...)

Tangible Beauty on the Isle of Capri, Italy

Oh, Capri.  I will never cease to sing your praises.  If it was Southern Italy who winked and charmed me across the way, then it was you who took me by the hand and twirled me breathlessly about the room.

Just off the mainland, this small island is easily reached by short ferry ride.  Pulling into the colorful harbor you’re immediately taken by the rising backdrop dotted with lemon trees and stacked with cliff side houses and buildings. 

It’s tempting to pull up a chair at any number of cafes lining the water, order an espresso and watch the boats come and go the entirety of your stay.  But despite the welcoming buzz of activity, the heart of this dreamy island lies upward.

Whether by short taxi ride up thru winding back roads or escalator-like lift that sweeps you over the treetops, arrival at the center of town is even more enchanting than pulling into harbor, if that’s possible.

Piazzas filled with café tables and sweeping views of the island and Mediterranean below greet you warmly, making you feel both at home and transported all at once.  The winding walkways are lined with boutiques and cafes, lush flowers and draping greenery blending seamlessly with the architecture.

White columns, hibiscus flowers, sunken lemon groves, limestone cliffs, all of it captivating.  It isn’t a place I’d choose to visit in the height of travel season when tourists descend and fill the narrow alleyways to irritating capacity, but then we don’t travel anywhere at the height of travel season.  (we’ll discuss that tip in more detail in an upcoming post)  We find a stark difference in visiting a place during peak versus off season, when local life and culture is authentic and organic.  

Italy in October is glorious.  Kind, relaxed, warm.  It's as if the entire country breathes deeply and kicks back with an espresso to break from the swarm of tourist season.  We few stragglers who wander the quiet streets are greeted with lazy smiles and nods, embraced as old friends rather than a potential souvenir sale.

And particularly in the quiet of off season, Capri feels otherworldly.  Its beauty is truly stunning, said even to charm emperors in centuries past. 

We had packed an overnight bag and jumped on the ferry from the tiny harbor at Positano.  We spent our first afternoon revisiting the gardens of Augustus, letting Everyn run giddy circles thru the flowers and fountains perched cliff side overlooking the infamous faraglioni rocks. 

We wandered the paths and alleyways reminiscing, stopped for coffee and strawberry gelato, laughed about how different life looks now than it did all those years ago when we last strolled these streets.  We were slow and deliberate, taking everything in every step of the way, enamored still.

Much anticipated plans for dinner finally lured us back to our room to clean up.  We’d been looking forward to this particular dinner for months ever since reading one singular line in a book.

Reflecting on it even now still takes my breath away.  What transpired as we set out for a lovely dinner on this stunning island, I could not have dreamed up had I tried...

(To be continued!)