Breath-taking. Unassuming. Temperamental. Verdant. Inspirational. Grand, yet simple. Difficult to climb yet worth it once you get to the top. All these things describe the Isle of Capri, an Italian island off the Sorrentine Peninsula, on the south side of the Gulf of Naples, and subsequently one of the most beautiful places in the world. I went for a weekend trip with my program, and despite the unfavorable weather, I would've been happy to stay for a week, a month, a year, forever. Capri captured my heart, and it's not very hard to see why.
Before arriving in Capri, we made a brief stop in Naples to visit the excavation site at Herculaneum. Much like the more famous Pompeii, this Roman town was covered by ash, pyroclastic flow and debris when Mount Vesuvius erupted in 79 A.D. It was pretty amazing to get such a beautiful and well-preserved glimpse into Roman life and culture as it was over 2,000 years ago. We saw the remains of houses, bars, baths, bakeries, and shrines. It felt like walking through the pages of a National Geographic!
After that, we took a fast boat from the Port of Naples to Capri. At this point, it was cloudy and cool, but it didn't matter. Everything around me was like something I had thought I'd only ever see in movies or read about in books. We had to squeeze 70 of us into three tiny buses (along with all our luggage) that would bring us from the lower marina up to Anacapri, the western cliff on which we would find our hotel.
At one point during this ride up a steep and dangerously windy road, there was nothing between me and a 450-foot drop to the ocean except the window and a tiny iron railing, which was exhilarating to say the least. Once we arrived at our destination we a) couldn't believe the view, and, b) were all too excited to sit still, so we followed Livio and explored the area, finding it nothing short of marvelous.
The trip then began to blend into a dreamy procession of vista views, brightly colored stucco buildings, rocky cliffs, tiny streets cluttered with tiny shops, endless waves seemingly carved out of lapis lazuli.
And it was then, in a moment of pure happiness, that I was struck with the sudden need to write. Listening to the crash of the water, the laughter of my friends, the silent hum of the warm sun against my skin, I grabbed my pen and paper and began to scribble. Right away I could feel myself loosening up, relaxing. Ah, the catharsis of poetry. So here's a very rough cut of some of the things I came up with that day... it may not be good, but at least it's something.
The trees grow on a slant
The roads bend so that machines must hug the curve of the mother that made them.
I've never been so close to a carnivorous ocean
where jagged rocks increase the sky.
The sun reigns sovereign over the sea,
her influence impressed (like diamonds, like lemon sharp) on the soul of each wave.
I can be angry, too.
I will climb through each crevice like a pillar of glass,
here a harsh knob becomes a loving handle, a rough ledge becomes my down.
The seagulls pivot, shoot upward and dive;
They mimic the spit of the surf with grace and years of practiced dexterity.
Immense in their glory yet ignored for their pains, the mountains watch the birds kissing the feet of the sun, adorning their wings with...
