Chapter 31
To: Sophie Smalls
RE: Hello!
Why is a cruise captain taking a cruise?
It’s Alex! I take back what I said about overnight emails.
You are putting yourself out there, so that’s absolutely a good thing.
Just remember, it’s not about being on the hunt, it’s about putting yourself into unfamiliar situations and being open to what that might lead to.
Try not to sweat it. If it doesn’t work out, you’ve had yourself a nice expensive mistake holiday.
Hang in there. You might just be surprised.
Alex
A positive, supportive email to start my day.
I needed this. I feel like emailing him back immediately to tearfully thank him for his support like they do at the Oscars.
I think I’ll leave it until I get back from this excursion, I don’t want to come across as a needy arsehole.
I jump in the shower and psych myself up for the day ahead.
Today is the day when I redeem myself. No more beautiful beaches, no more lazing around in my swimsuit, just me, sun hat on, soaking up the culture like a middle-aged sponge.
I’ll swan around the Amalfi Coast, maybe have some lunch in a chic little café before taking myself shopping to buy some Italian accessories to show off on the rest of the cruise.
I haven’t quite figured out how to remove my beach bracelet.
It feels like it’s been welded on but it’s nothing that a pair of scissors won’t fix.
When I get to Pompeii I’ll take photos of the architecture, making oohing noises at the ruins and educated grunts as I pretend to be an expert on the history of the place, which I’ve quickly googled on the coach ride there.
The group today is bigger than the beach trip crowd, maybe sixty or so, and as we meet outside and get in line, I’m surprised to see Ellis at the back of the queue.
‘You’re taking the tour?’ I ask pointlessly, given that he’s in the queue for the people who are, indeed, taking the tour. ‘I thought you’d have seen it all.’
‘Nah,’ he replies. ‘It’s an area I’ve never explored. I really want to visit the Stabian Baths, though I didn’t anticipate it being this hot.’
It’s at least twenty-nine degrees today and I’m already dehydrating just from breathing.
‘But it’s better than sitting around bored on the beach all day.’
‘True.’
He puts his cabin card into his wallet. ‘So, what did you do yesterday?’
‘Oh, just sat around on the beach all day.’
He laughs. ‘You know, I was just saying how fun and not at all boring that is.’
‘It was really nice!’ I inform him. ‘It beats sitting on deckchairs, fully dressed in the summer on Whitby Beach.’
As nice as it was living close to the beach, as a kid I remember walking along the promenade in early June wearing gloves and a scarf while the wind endeavoured to blow the ice cream right out of my cone. British summers are never straightforward.
We’re herded onto the coach, where Ellis and I sit together.
I’m happy he’s here. He’s easy to talk to and doesn’t require Google Translate.
Unless he wants to wander Pompeii on his own, in which case I’ll pretend that I wanted to be by myself anyway.
Our tour guide is Camilla, a happy, confident woman who makes us repeat Italian words loudly but reassures us the only words we really need to learn are musica, vino and amore.
The air-conditioned coach takes us the scenic route through long, winding clifftop roads, known as the Amalfi Drive, towards Amalfi and Pompeii.
It’s a road originally built by the Romans, passing through Positano, and you’re only one misjudged corner turn away from plummeting down the cliffs into the deep blue Tyrrhenian Sea.
The hillside houses in Positano are incredible.
It’s like an explosion of colour out of nowhere, like when Dorothy opens the door to Oz but minus the Munchkins and Elphaba’s sister squished under a house.
Camilla tells us that the brightly lit view in the evening is even more spectacular.
She then makes us repeat spettacolare three times for her own amusement.
Our first stop is the Piazza Flavio Gioia, where Camilla informs us that the lemons grown here are used in the limoncello and can be eaten whole, rind and all. Also, the toilets require one euro exactly to use. Booze and bathrooms. I like that she has her priorities in check.
We exit the bus in the piazza, which looks like it’s home to every bus, car and moped in Italy.
Behind me are the sea and the ferry port and in front, a roundabout with a fountain and large statue of Flavio Gioia, the man attributed to inventing the sailor’s magnetic compass.
There are restaurants on the other side of the fountain and well-placed tourist shops.
It’s busy and loud but still charming. It’s also just a short walk to the cathedral, which is our first destination.
‘I love Italy,’ Ellis tells me as we walk at the back of the group following Camilla. ‘We’ve docked so many times here and I’ve never explored nearly as much as I should have. Have you been before?’
‘I’ve been to Florence,’ I reply. ‘School trip in year twelve. We travelled the whole bloody distance by coach, and I’ve never seen so many travel-sick teenagers in my life. We slept in a hostel and shared a grotty toilet, but I do remember the pizza being ridiculously good.’
Making our way along the main shopping street, Via Duca Mansone, Camilla lets us know that we’ll have an hour to shop before we leave for Pompeii.
I might need more than an hour. I spy everything from fabrics, sandal makers and fashion with the running theme of lemons printed on most of the material.
There’s also a huge chocolate shop I plan to eat my way through.
Finally we arrive at the cathedral. It’s astonishing.
A striking building with a beautiful Moorish, European and Byzantine facade, dedicated to St Andrew, the patron saint of fishmongers, gout, spinsters and prestigious Scottish universities.
After admiring his statue, my heart drops when I see the number of stairs leading up to the cathedral entrance.
On first inspection it looks close to three thousand.
According to the excursion information provided, this trip requires a large amount of walking and some uneven surfaces.
Pfft, I thought, I live in London. I’m an expert at walking and I have Fitbit badges to prove it.
As for uneven surfaces, there isn’t a pothole or wonky pavement that I haven’t battled and conquered.
I shouldn’t have been so cocky.
‘Good Lord,’ I mumble as both Ellis and I stop in our tracks. ‘Do they hand out water and orange slices halfway?’
He sighs. ‘Maybe this is why I haven’t visited before.’
There’s a restaurant overlooking the entrance, which seems to be packed and I assume always is.
Walking up and down those stairs requires water, sustenance and a medal.
The aroma follows me, and I’m almost tempted just to ditch the cathedral tour and launch myself face first into a plate of frutti di mare linguine for breakfast.
As we climb up to begin our one-hour tour, I notice several people sitting on the steps. I’m not sure if they’re just taking in the scenery or they’re about to go into cardiac arrest. Some are redder and sweatier than others. I’m heartened to know that passing out is an option on the way back down.
We reach the huge bronze doors, where Camilla stops us.
‘For centuries, the Duomo has been very important to the people of Amalfi. These doors were cast in Constantinople, now Istanbul, and date from around the eleventh century. If you look, you’ll see four figures: Christ, Virgin Mary, Sant’Andrea and San Pietro. ’
Inside the cathedral, it’s hard not to just stop and gawp.
I feel so small. I’m not religious but I can appreciate how humbling and awe-inspiring a building like this can make you feel.
Ellis and I explore the cloister gardens, set between white Arabic columns, the grand chapels and the crypt, which is majestic and nothing like the Hammer House of Horror set-up I’d expected.
When it’s time to leave, I feel like I could easily have spent the whole day here.
‘One-hour, ladies and gentlemen,’ Camilla reminds us when we meet outside. ‘Then we meet back at the coach for Pompeii.’
‘I need a drink,’ Ellis says as we trudge back down the stairs. ‘And some oxygen. Maybe a quick bite to eat. Fancy it?’
‘Absolutely,’ I reply. ‘I could eat. Also, I heard somewhere that they make limoncello here.’