And then there was Capri

After all the sun, booze, pizza, booze, pasta, booze and silliness in Positano, Capri took a healthier turn.

I was there for three nights and, while I was bummed not to be living it up at the Caesar Augustus or J.K. Place, or brushing elbows with Jay-Z or George Clooney (ah, Clooney), I found another thing I was looking for: nature. In fact, I discovered three amazing hikes: one for each day.

On the first day, I just sort of happened upon a trail that took me out to the Arco Natural reserve on the beautifully sculpted eastern coast. To die.



It went down, down, down and then curved around...



... past the famous Faraglioni rocks...


...and back into town.

(Where I had a gelato, of course. Just a wee cono piccolo, which, yes, was as delicious as it looks.)

The second day’s Sentiero dei Fortini hike was utterly amazing. It was the longest of the lot, stretching from the northwest corner down to the southwest, hugging the shoreline and alternately cutting into piney patches of woods and out into arid swaths of land.

Along the way, these lovely ceramic tiles, designed by Sergio Rubino, described the local birds, insects, trees, herbs and flowers.

And I nary saw a soul.



I traipsed across these lunar rocks.


Up stairs. Down stairs. And across bridges.


With only the sound of motorboats in the sea and geckos in the brush to accompany me.


And finally! I saw the lighthouse in the distance, signaling the end of the hike was near.

When it was, I was rewarded with a day of lounging at Punta Carena.

Poolside service, dips in the Mediterranean, Bret Easton Ellis smut, and dozing in the sun. My little slice of heaven.


(And hey kids! No reason to feel sad about dining alone!)

The third day took me up Monte Solaro, the highest point of the island.


The trail itself was less beautiful, but a good, ass-kicking workout (to counter the two homemade chocolate-filled croissants I had every morning at my hotel for breakfast).

I even beat these chumps, riding the chairlift to the top.

So while I didn’t hobnob with Euro jetsetters, or shop at Prada or Dolce & Gabanna, it couldn’t have been a better finish to my Italian getaway.

Ciao!