Showing posts with label Capri. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Capri. Show all posts

Thursday, August 31, 2017

Day 3. The Vessel



Today's exercise is ... The Vessel: Write about a journey on a ship.

Hm, okay, writing about a journey on a ship. That’s a problem, I’ve never been on a ship. Will a boat do?

Way back when I was a teenager, my family and I were vacationing in Italy. One fine day it was decided that we would visit Capri. My late dad wouldn't hear of it, Capri is an island and the only way to get there was by boat. Dad didn’t like boats, because he hated, hated, hated, water.

But we weren’t alone, my late parents traveled with two other couples and their children and they made it their mission to get dad on a boat come hell or high water. To cut a long story short, dad eventually gave in. He looked at all the ships in the marina of Sorrento (where our hotel was) and figured those ships looked sturdy enough for him to be okay. So he gave the green light.

On the morning of our excursion to Capri dad got a bit of a surprise though … those big ships didn't go to Capri, only little boats did, boats that held a maximum of 12 people. “This isn’t a boat,” dad exclaimed, “this is a banana peel!” It took considerable persuasion, but eventually dad decided to risk it and stepped onto the boat where he got a second surprise … the boat had a glass bottom.


While all of us were mesmerized looking down at the fishes swimming in the clear blue water, dad sat rigid on the bench. He didn’t want to see no fishes, he didn’t want to see no water.

It got even worse as the boat pulled out to sea. At first we traveled at a gentle speed, the shipper allowing us to marvel at the blue water and the variety of fish, but at some point he ‘put foot down’ and the boat raced forward, bouncing up and down on the ever increasing waves.

Dad, as white as a sheet, started to look a little green around the gills. “Oeh” he groaned each time the boat hit the water, “Oeh, we’re gonna die. I know we’re gonna die. We’re not gonna make it.”

No sooner had we made it to Capri than we transferred from one boat into another, this time to go visit the blue grotto. This second boat was really worthy of the name banana peel. Only six people fitted in it and dad wasn’t going to be one of them. “No way,” he said, “you can go see the blue grotto without me. I’m staying right here.” Nothing and nobody could persuade him. So off we went without him.

As we arrived at the entrance of the blue grotto it became apparent why only banana peel boats undertook this journey … the opening of the grotto was so low no regular boat would have fitted.


Those of us who had their misgivings soon overcame their fear when they witnessed the magnificence of the grotto. It was a unique experience.

When we got back to Capri and told dad about what he had missed at the blue grotto he nodded “I’ll take your word for it.” When we got back to Sorrento he went inside a church and lit a candle for Saint Nicolas (patron saint of sailors). He never set foot on a boat again. 



Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Kicked out of Capri



As much as I hate winter with its snow and sub-zero temperatures, I’m not a fan of summer either. I can handle the season up to 27 deg C (80.6 deg F), but anything more than that is just a little too much for me.

This is a relatively new condition. In my younger days, the heat didn’t bother me at all.

I remember a time when we traveled to Granada, Spain. One of the hottest regions of the country. It was not unusual for the temperature to reach over 40 deg C (104 deg F) but I wasn’t bothered at all.

While in Granada we visited the Alhambra and Generalife. It was hot as hell, but the heat didn’t have an effect on me. We walked around for hours, enjoying the scenery, taking pictures, and we didn’t care about the heat.





The following year we vacationed in Capri and walked all over the island, including Villa Borghese and its gardens. The sun was beaten down on us, we had little or no protection and no water. Were we bothered … not in the least.



Not only did we walk for miles in Capri, at one time we even ran. That is … I ran.

In one of the gardens of the island, where we enjoyed a delicious ice cream. The scenery was beautiful, trees and flowers everywhere and live size statues of angels and the twelve apostles dotted the grass.


Before leaving the garden, mom wanted a picture of St. Peter, she suggested that I pose with the saint.

In doing so I draped my right arm around the statue’s neck and with my left hand pretended to pull his beard.

My goodness had I made a mistake in doing that. The gardener came charging at me, pitchfork in hand, swearing at the top of his voice. He yelled in Italian, and even though my Italian vocabulary was limited, I understood that my actions had been disrespectful to the saint.

Seeing him waving that pitchfork I wasted no time. I took off as fast as the grass and my flip-flops would allow me. The gardener, even though he was well into his sixties, was in surprisingly good shape.

I can’t remember how long the spring lasted, but I outran him. When me folks caught up with me they told me they had to pay a considerable amount for them to keep the camera and to keep the police out of this matter.

They were also told to leave Capri as soon as possible. So we did, we visited the Blue Grotto and then we headed back to them mainland.



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