Capri - 11th May

A visit to Capri is an easy exercise – buy a ticket – ride the ferry – arrive – the ticket people carry out their duties without losing sight of the fact that it is their intention to be of as little help as they can be without appearing to be overtly unhelpful!

We accommodate the quirks of the ticket sellers – we join the travellers - some traveller pairs – some pairs of couples – the occasional single traveller – numerous guide-led tour groups – the latter turning the entire caravan into a tourist horde.

I have become so biased towards the tour groups that I equate them with the devil  – no that is not correct – rather I dislike the tour operators that have corralled them – perhaps even that is not correct! – perhaps I just dislike the effect of their bulk trading on slow tourism – perhaps that is not correct – perhaps I just don't know what I think of tour groups and their vendors.

We take the standard ferry to the island and are immediately introduced to the Caprisan charging regimes – 32 Euros for a breakfast of toasted sandwiches and coffee. The prices recognise a parity between the Euro and the Australian Dollar around the Amalfi Coast – name a product and the price in Euros will be the price we pay in Australia in Australian Dollars – a litre of petrol 160 Euro cents

A "round the island boat" tour – we address the ticket seller's window – the transaction is half complete when tourists approach from each side to interrupt the transaction – in doing so they approach so closely that they rub shoulders with us - one assumes a position between us and the ticket seller – we are stunned – we stare at them – they persist – if Shorten thinks Morrison is a space invader then he has never been to Capri! - we stare some more and eventually manage to acquire the requisite tickets.

Our timing is impeccable - we join the twenty others on the lightly loaded boat just as the gang plank starts to think about retiring to its temporary storage - the  seas are light - the fellow passengers all friendly - Americans challenge the British for the dominance of the numbers - the island small - the Grotto Azzurra  is reached shortly after the views of the Capri port disappear.

The boat joins the queue for row boat service - the aging baby boomers on our vessel all look with considerable interest at how their peers on other boats manage to effect their transition from respectable aquatic transport to a Grotto Azzurra access canoe! - some become more apprehensive - some become more confident - all are steeled in their resolve to give it a go - the sun emerges to enhance the experience.

We effect our transition to canoe with a surprising absence of  drama - we approach the tiny entrance to the grotto - lie back! - hands insider the boat! - lie back - lie back - through the tiny porrtal into the darkness - look back towards the portal - the water? - azzurra! - the canoe paddler sings as only Italian canoe paddlers can - he voice resonates in the sea cave - passengers utter pleasant exclamations - cameras and phones send an infinite number of electrons to god! - very pleased to have had the experience!

Back into the boat - circumnavigate the island - steep cliffs patrolled by sea birds - rocky outcrops pass through through the tunnel of love - back to the port - up the funiculare to the town square! and as we emerge the Angelus announces our arrival.

We watch our fellow traveller emerge from the funiculare – the women with a smile – they are in the midst of the recognition of a long-held ambition – to visit Capri – the men? – the smiles less copious! - Regardless they gather in the square not sure what to do next.

Members of tour groups that could be delegates to an international conference of baby boomers all mill around the entrance to the “pay before you go” conveniences that share the funiculare exit passageway – they look focused on achieving an early entry into the facilities but nevertheless chatter away with a high degree of excitement.

Other Tour groups that have beaten them to the island stand in the middle of the square - participants in a circle around the flag carrying guide – they are significant  contributors to the apparent chaos that is the square – we shudder when we realise that this is shoulder season! – while the hustle and bustle created by the tour groups in some ways is enhancing our experience it is clear that this will not be the case for the mid summer tourist!

We await our opportunity to clear the tourists and magically obtain untainted photographs from the square over the port.

We wander away from the square – the elite of elite brands occupy shops that line the streets  - they clearly set the pricing regime adopted by all manner of caprisian traders - 4.5 Euros for a bottle of tap water re-purposed in an open bottle – 14 Euros for a glass of house white!

We dine on pizza, melon, prosuitto and water and resolve that we will not even comment on the magnitude of the bill.

We have seen enough of Capri – she is looking tired – clearly her tourism profits are being exported somewhere - clearly they are not all being reinvested in the little island! – the fat cats are already fat – they display little interest in the long term future of the place - we head back on the ferry and the refuge of the Erkani Suites

The girl is tired – she sleeps - we worry - we hope the dreaded Mr Ross is not about to pay a return visit?

I sit on the balcony - It is late in the afternoon – the street is quiet but active – not every tourist is in need of a late afternoon rejuvenation and the more hardy are still out and about.

I watch the poacher trying to attract the hardy to eat early – he has been so named "the poacher" because of his propensity to acquire patrons rightly or wrongly from under the nose of three his next door neighbor – the potential customers lingering at the street menu of L’Antica Trattoria are attracted away – we are much cheaper! Says he! – after our experience of last night I am sure that his establishment could indeed made a handsome profit at prices significantly less than those of it's neighbour. On the other hand the Trattoria seems quite relaxed about their neighbour's endeavours – they are not interested in the light walleted customers that he manages to poach.

I look a little  further down via P.Reginaldo Guilliarno  - another human side street interceptor of passing traffic works the street – more up market than the poacher – he is in the perfume business – he accosts every female that passes regardless of age – his success rate in getting them to stop must turn the poacher green with envy – while his sales  are only occasional his accoustees leave with perfume sample cards that waft their aromas up to my balcony as they pass below! – delightful!

It is approaching 7pm and the street is coming back to life after it's late afternoon siesta – people have come home earlier from their tourist activities – they have freshened up and are now starting to emerge for an evening of dining and strolling- the poacher is finding his task much much easier.

The sound ambience of the street increases in volume and changes in character – I reflect on this statement and conclude that it may well be that the cause of the change in ambience is the reality that my second glass of prosecco seems to have evaporated from it's glass.

I watch some more - I see the aching hips of the 70 year olds - I see the sun-burnt skin of the 40 year old women - I see the seemingly inexhaustible energy of the younger brigade - I see the smiles of those without the aches and pains of advancing years - I see mobile phones in practically every hand - I see women stopping in front of the flower pots that adorn the entrance to the Trattoria - they instruct their husband to ready his camera - they strike their pose! - the husband obliges - I reflect on the people I have seen - Germans, Americans, Brits, Spanish, Scandinavian, Italian, Japanese - I reflect - I expected to see more Khimar wearing girls strolling in the crowds - in fact their numbers are small in the extreme.

It is 7:30pm - The guide from the luxury cruise boat leads her heavy walletted cargo to the Trattoria – a special room for these cash cows – it is amazing what even an aging Michellin mention can achieve – tonight’s party of 20 arrive and are ushered past the seated source of the Trattoria bread and butter.

Enough is enough - we don the best of our travel clothes - we are off to see the Three Tenors - a 15 minute walk - we arrive to champagne in the Museum gardens - we talk to fellow guests - all English - "where do you stand on Brexit" says I - I receive a strong response - "I am a leaver" says he - he then launches into a controlled tirade - in fairness a controlled but emotional response rather than a tirade - the government and the opposition are both to blame - Londoners are to blame - the BBC is biased - his wife recognises that his emotion may not be conducive to a relaxing holiday and steers him off to look at the gardens - we are quickly joined by another Englishman who had been standing nearby - "don't believe everything you hear" says he - In an instant his wife also deems it appropriate that they move to another part of the garden to admire the sunset - clearly the Brexit question is one that has the ability to induce disagreement among a disparate group of Britains.

The concert starts - a small room - perhaps a 100 people - the tenors all wonderful - a delightful experience. 

Some think the world is made for fun and frolic,

And so do I! And so do I!

Some think it well to be all melancholic,

To pine and sigh; to pine and sigh;

But I, I love to spend my time in singing,

Some joyous song, some joyous song,

To set the air with music bravely ringing

Is far from wrong! Is far from wrong!

Harken, harken, music sounds a-far!

Harken, harken, with a happy heart!

Funiculì, funiculà, funiculì, funiculà!

Joy is everywhere, funiculì, funiculà!

Ah me! 'tis strange that some should take to sighing,

And like it well! And like it well!

For me, I have not thought it worth the trying,

So cannot tell! So cannot tell!

With laugh, with dance and song the day soon passes

Full soon is gone, full soon is gone,

For mirth was made for joyous lads and lasses

To call their own! To call their own!

Harken, harken, hark the soft guitar!

Harken, harken, hark the soft guitar!

Funiculì, funiculà, funiculì, funiculà!

Hark the soft guitar, funiculì, funiculà!