The Daughter's Italy / Part 3

I always knew Positano and I would be great friends. What wasn’t there to love about it? There was the iridescent sea lapping gently against the pebbly beach, briny air caressing our faces and THE MEN. These are the men of the Amalfi coast! There is something unique about these men. They roam the shadowy corridors and steep stairways of Positano with tanned seafaring physiques that made our knees go weak with a casual “ciao bella!”. We knew we were in trouble from the get-go, but successfully managed to manoeuvre ourselves around the slick lothario’s with a smile and a quickened step.

Ms. B and I were in Positano to gossip, eat enough bread to fill a bakery, laugh from the pit of our bellies and get drunk on red wine in tumblers and stumble home arm in arm. What could be better?
After a few days of meandering through the snake and ladder like pathways of Positano, Ms. B and I decided to expand our horizons by going to Capri for the day. A stomach churning ferry ride out to the Island, complete with the mantra
“I am AUSTRALIAN – I will not V-O-M-I-T/I am AUSTRALIAN – I will not V-O-M-I-T”... we landed in the somewhat disappointing and glum looking Marina Grande. The blue skies that had been with us in Positano had disappeared under a cluster of clouds and it was cold and windy as we boarded our smaller boat to circumnavigate the island (I am AUSTRALIAN – I will not V-O-M-I-T/ I am AUSTRALIAN – I will not V-O-M-I-T).

Unfortunately due to the rough weather the Blue grotto was closed (seriously – who comes all the way from Australia to Capri and doesn’t get to see the Blue grotto? Me it seems!). Fortunately we did get to see the Green grotto (lucky for our guide... I was murderous with sea sickness by this stage (I am AUSTRALIAN – I will not V-O-M-I-T/ I am AUSTRALIAN – I will not V-O-M-I-T)). The harbour couldn’t come soon enough as we disembarked the boat, green to the gills and still chanting the mantra over and over in our heads.

In typical family tradition, by the time we had made it up the heady slopes to Capri town my mind was on food. Seasickness, what seasickness?? There was no way we wanted to sit in the touristy trattorias dotted around the piazza, we wanted REAL Italian food. My trusty guidebook told us of a “secret” pizza joint (hey Lonely Planet – it’s not too secret if you published it in your guidebook is it?) that proved a little tricky to find. Apparently the restaurant had been cooking pizza for 18 generations and it involved going down various alleyways that led you to believe you were heading towards a public urinal.

After a couple of wrong turns, we finally found what we were looking for. Ms.B and I exchanged glances of “Do we/don’t we?”... I pushed her through the doorway to discover the largest living man we have ever seen! He looked like Jabba the Hut from Star Wars. Seriously. I could tell his genetic code was based on the piles of pizza the place was churning out. As we sat down Ms.B elbowed a bottle of wine towards me with a twinkle in her eye... Our host was pictured on the wine label languishing on the rocks of Capri in the sun... In just his shorts. There goes lunch we giggled.

What came out of that pizza oven in a dark and dingy alley in Capri can only be described as glorious. And believe me, I have eaten many pizzas across Italy and nothing will ever compare to this! A thin crispy base, lusciously creamy mozzarella, blood red tomato sauce and every meat an Italian butcher could find was washed down with an icy coke. Eyes glossy with desire and molten cheese hanging down our chins, I don’t think we spoke to each other for a full 15 minutes.

Ms.B and I still send each other desperate texts every once and a while with just 2 words “Pizza.. Capri...”.....