Exploring Positano

Sue woke me up at around 9 again. She’d been sick through the night and was still sick, which was rather worrying. Matt had replied to the text, and asked Sue to poke me in the arm. So she did. Facebook eat your heart out. Camillo and I went down for the same breakfast as the day before, and brought Sue back a croissant and some of the bread.

After we got back upstairs, we talked about trying to get to Capri. The weather wasn’t brilliant, but we were all keen to try to get there. Sue didn’t feel like she could get very far away from the bathroom, and wanted us to go without her. We saw what looked like a tall ship come into the bay, which generated some excitement.

I went across the road to the little shop and got some apricots, a peach and half a rockmelon, because I fancied some, and because I thought it might give Sue something harmless that she could keep down. I had the lovely lady who ran the Villa, Juliana, help me buy the fruit because I didn’t know whether I had to buy the whole box of apricots or whether I could just pick what I wanted. She said to just pick them up and take them to the counter. So I did. It was rather painless really. She asked me whether we were going out, and I said that Sue was sick. Someone asked her while we were talking whether we wanted the bathroom cleaned, and I said I didn’t think so.

I went back up and Sue still didn’t feel any better, so Camillo and I decided to go for a wander around Positano. Sue really wanted to buy some ceramics with their wedding present money, but Camillo refused to choose something for her. That gave me my chance to get her something myself. I felt like I knew enough about what she wanted to choose something she’d like.

We walked down to the town, with me taking careful notice of the promising-looking ceramics shops. There weren’t as many as I’d thought. Most of the ones I’d seen were in Amalfi. We got down to the beach and Camillo checked what time the boats were going to Capri. It turned out that there weren’t any more boats that day. Many had been cancelled altogether and the rest only had one boat a day. We kept going past the restaurant we’d eaten in the night before because we could see a path. It wound around the cliff, going past an amazing round castle thing that seemed to be someone’s house. We went through a very rainforesty bit and came out at the entrance to a tunnel marking the beginning of Hotel Pupetto and Ristorante. We chose to take the steps down towards the water and came around a corner to see a beach with long, low huts set up with restaurants and bars inside. For some unknown reason, they were flying Australian flags. We walked down and someone offered us a menu, but we said we didn’t want to eat, and kept walking.

We didn’t get much further, as there were gates at the far end of the beach, so turned back and went up the same set of stairs. This time we went through the tunnel, but came across a dead end one way, and road back down to the beach the other. We conceded that it was the end of our adventure and headed back. It was around 1pm by now, so we went to the bar where we’d had beers the first night and got some more of those pidda things with mozzarella, ham and pomodoro. Except this one was bigger. I also got some banana gelato, and we found a shady place to sit (it was fine and hot by now) and eat. The food was very good, and the gelato was spectacular. I tried to negotiate with Camillo to reimburse them for accommodation, but he wouldn’t engage and said that if I could persuade Sue that he’d agree to take some money. I knew that would be a lost cause.

We walked back up and I stopped at the only ceramics shop that had seemed promising, and bought Sue a nice ceramic plate for €30. I hope she likes it. I was getting a bit edgy about time, and checked the bus times back to Sorrento. The next one was 3.10pm, which gave me just under an hour.

We found Sue asleep in the villa. I told her about the plate I’d bought, and she seemed very touched. She wanted to see it, but I thought that since they’d already sent so much back home that it would be better for me to take it and send it on later. I also negotiated to give them the difference between what they’d paid for accommodation for the two of them and what they’d paid with me there. Hurrah. Sue saw reason because she recognised how she’d feel in my situation. I packed up, watched the last small shuttle bus to the top of the hill go past, and set out walking to the Sorrento bus stop. Camillo came with me, and we hoofed it up the hill, with him insisting on carrying my bag.

We made it with about 10 minutes to spare, and realised that all the shops were closed for siesta, so I couldn’t buy a ticket. I asked all the English speakers I could find, and they’d all been clever enough to buy tickets in advance. A nice Irish couple spoke to me for a while, and the woman gave me her validated tickets from the journey there. Camillo thought I should just barge my way onto the bus and not offer any sort of explanation. As the bus pulled up, he said goodbye and headed back down the hill.

I got on, and sure enough, the driver was completely unconcerned about tickets. This may have been to do with the fact that the bus was packed and there were real concerns that not everyone would get on. We managed to get on (the Irish lady passed me her validated ticket just after she’d got past the driver) and they stood/sat in the back stairwell, and I stood in the aisle in front of them. It wasn’t too bad. The trip itself was fine. I had the back of a chair to hold onto, and could see where we were going quite well. About half way to Sorrento it started pouring, and rain came through the sunroof until someone closed it. People got off gradually, until we got to the station as the last stop. I spotted the airport bus straight away, got off the Positano bus and got straight on the other, paying my €7 and getting the front seat.

The trip back to Napoli was pleasant. The driver was quite attractive and was doing this very funny thing where he bowed to all the tour drivers and then grinned to himself. Just after half way there, this extremely stylish woman got on and sat next to me and the driver was speaking to her. Oh well, can’t win ‘em all.

We got to the airport with a minimum of fuss, and I thanked the driver. He said ‘Prego!’ in return. Because I was there three hours before my flight, I had to wait to check in. I got sick of waiting, so went upstairs to get some dinner. I asked for risotto with tomato and pesto completely in Italian, and understood when he asked me if I wanted cheese. I said ‘Si.’ Go me. I went back downstairs, and found that check-in had opened and the line up was horrendous. I was put in boarding group D, and had to put up with the most annoying, whingeing Pom couples I’ve ever seen. They kept pushing in, until someone got sick of them and told them off. I went back upstairs and got some tiramisu gelato (last one [sigh!]) and headed towards security.

I got through with little fuss, then to passport control. One of the whingeing Pom couples had a stand-up in the middle of the airport. We took our seats near the gate, and got called to the bus in boarding group order. It was dodgy, because the bus door I was near was right near the stairs of the plane, and so I got caught in a crush and left behind so took possibly the LAST seat on the plane. I didn’t mind, except that my bag was near the back of the plane, but I got a window seat near the front. We must have sat there for about 15 minutes while the luggage was loaded in – I accepted the fact that I would miss the NE bus I’d booked a ticket for at this point.

We took off, I listened to my five George Harrison songs, then began on John Lennon, falling asleep about halfway through it. I’m not quite sure when I woke up again, and whether I’d only missed half the CD or one and a half, but the flight seemed quite short. The landing into Stansted was faultless, but it was cold and raining (6 degrees!). I piled as many layers on as possible, but was still cold.

I got through passport control and made a dash for the bus stop, but the next one wasn’t until 12.05. I only had half an hour to wait, but I was cold and tired. The driver let me get on the next bus, and we were in Cambridge quite soon. I walked home and crashed into bed.