On a boat in Sorrento
My made-up stories from Italy
It’s 8:30 am.
From all my observations I must say, Indians are very productive travellers. They plan their travels abroad to each breath.
Catch the bus at 0700. Reach place by 0743. Oh, the bus is 2 minutes late? Will have to compensate by taking a thirty-second lunch break. All toilet breaks stand cancelled.
67-minute guided tour of the Colosseum with a guide whose dripping Italian accent is making it impossible for anyone to understand anything about the massive (and if I may say, grotesque) structure.
My watch is telling me I’ve done 12,000 steps today. Ah! Are you even on vacation if you aren’t walking like it’s the 1880’s and Benz is yet to tell the world about the motor engine?
But those are just observations. My vacation is different and you’re going to find out why.
The rant is over. I’m not even in Rome. I am in Sorrento and I am going to Capri.
It’s supposed to be a dreamy island. I will see the grottos. The Italian waters are a dream. There will be a boat. I will jump in the water. I will meet new people?
But it’s 8:30 and the Italian sun, much like our Indian sun, is quite unforgiving and sharp. My handicapped vision, an embarrassing negative 4, is disallowing sunglasses. I reached the pier.
How I know the word pier, do not ask just yet. Someone taught it to me.
Who someone? The main character of this story.
The main character of this story, Leo, is not the main character in any of his stories but he is going to be in this one.
There were eight people on the boat.
“No shoes on the boat, please.” said Leo as he kept his purple Birkenstocks in a basket. I am wearing the same ones but in pink. Besties.
Me, three Americans, two Japanese Americans and two Moroccans.
That detail is unnecessary but it is pertinent because I was the only one who came without a companion.
I reached later than most people and I was a bit sleepy so I decided to sit in the back of the boat, away from the direct sunlight. I’ll maybe go sit next to the cockpit. It looks like it has shade.
Yeah, who is Leo?
The captain of the boat.
He is skippering the boat. He’s half English, half Italian. He’s also really tall but I was sleepy. I saw, I grimaced. I went back into sweet sweet apathy because I’m not a princess and this isn’t a fairytale.
“Can you steer the boat while I put the fenders up?” says Leo looking at me.
Oh, I have to steer the boat. I mean, yeah. I got it.
He goes around doing whatever he had to do with the fenders.
He comes back. I take my seat.
“Are you feeling sick?” asked Leo
“No, I am good. Didn’t sleep very well.”
“Went out drinking?”
I hadn’t gone out drinking but it seemed like a fashionable excuse for looking like I may throw up.
“Haha. You got that.” I said
He obviously got nothing.
Everyone was marvelling at the waters. I was sitting on the stern.
We saw some grottos. They are pretty but I think YouTube content and the magic of cameras has spoiled us all. Nothing ever looks as great as its video content. The magic of a bird’s eye view, the skill. Sometimes real life appears rather dull because of how static things are.
I found it quite inane, how they had named the caves. One was called The Grotto of Love because if you looked hard enough from the eyes of an imbecile you could see a large heart carved in the centre of the cave.
Alright, then.
Leo cracked some rehearsed jokes. You know the usual boatman tour guide jokes.
“You could buy that house on this hill. Just four hundred million Euros.”
And these stupid jokes were met with roaring laughter by the Americans. Oh, so no one on this boat has a penchant for real humour. I wish I could laugh at all of this.
Thanks Leo. I can stop crushing on you now.
We reached Capri. Grabbed some lunch. I got a full size marinara with Coke. Obviously.
“It’s a bit too hot, right?” Leo says visibly unenamoured by the magical island of Capri.
“Ah, yeah.” I retorted.
It’s not so hot. It’s 28 degrees. Europeans.
And he walks along doing things his work demands.
Wow, that wasn’t charming at all. ‘Ah, yeah?’ Do I need to re-read the ready reckoner for people who cannot communicate? I do.
I stood in a long line to get the bus ticket to the centre of Capri. The buses in Capri are awfully small. If you were unlucky enough, you’d have to wait 30 minutes only to find out that there are no seats and you’d have to wait for another 30 because you cannot possibly afford a car ride in Capri.
Luxury is cheap in my country. I can have so much in so little.
Thankfully, I got on the first bus that came in. I reached Capri and the views were spectacular. Nothing blemished the splendor. Steep cliffs rose from a miraculously blue sea. The villas were magnificent, embellished with the most vivid coloured bougainvillea I had ever seen.
I wanted to feel like I’m in a movie but my earphones ran out of battery. To consume myself in thoughts of superiority, I must block out all other auditory stimuli. To be the main character, one must actively block out all external stimuli because being in touch with world constantly reminds you that there are so many others living in this world and your pursuit/need/want of being the main character, exists only in theory, in a space of muted of self-awareness and delusion. We are only the main characters in isolation. I decided I was better than all others because I have dropped the pursuit of the main characters and have accepted my place in the world as a supporting character in the world — the world which was larger than the individuals. I am so pleased with myself.
I walked around this manicured garden, one that I paid a nominal fee for. I paid 400 rupees to enter this silly garden and so I must enjoy it.
I walked around and took a few pictures — all bad ones I must say.
And walked back to the busy streets of Capri. I am extremely tempted to go to Villa Lysis. Villa Lysis was built by industrialist and poet Jacques d’Adelswärd-Fersenin in 1905. “Dedicated to the youth of love” (dédiée à la jeunesse d’amour), it was Fersen’s self-chosen exile from France after a sex scandal involving Parisian school boys and nude (or nearly nude) tableaux vivants (french, living picture).
I had read about it but I think I can skip it. Maybe visit another deluxe location not too far from Giardini di Augusto, the garden I am at.
I can finally breathe now that I have made it amply clear to my readers that I am a woman of culture and I know places in Capri. Thank you for reading this, they have absolutely no bearing on the rest of the story.
It was going to be four. Leo’s boat will leave. And I can’t swim to Sorrento. Someone will drop me obviously. Foreign girl, silly and unaware. But Indian girl, maybe a pickpocket.
Do I look like a pickpocket? I opened the front camera of my phone. I do look deeply Indian and I have a very dense accent.
Okay, I can’t miss the boat. And I must go back now because the buses here are tiny and it looks like there’s going to be a long queue.
I made it back to the Capri harbour with twenty minutes to spare. Maybe I should get a coffee. The man at the pub last night told me to examine Capri cafe prices before I sat in them. How much could a Hazelnut latte really cost?
Turns it could cost a lot. 13.4 Euros with that stupid oat milk I ask for everywhere I go.
It’s okay to indulge. But this coffee is making me miserable.
I walk back to the meeting place.
Leo looks at the cup I’m holding.
“Ah, got ripped off, ha!”
“Uh. Yeah. I cannot believe Capri.”
“Me neither. This place in Sorrento, in the main piazza, has the best coffee in the world.”
“Oh yeah? I will find it tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah, I pick up my coffee from there every day at 7.”
Leo’s chatty. Hmm.
“You’ll see me there then if I wake up haha.”
Good job on the if I wake up. Real nonchalant. Real player. Taking it fully easy. Champion.
“Yeah, you're on vacation. If I were you, I wouldn't wake up. How long are you in Sorrento?”
Oh. How long I’m in Sorrento? I think I’m going to spit out my coffee.
Maybe he’s doing this for the tip.
“Ah just today and tomorrow. I leave for Siena the day after.”
“I love Siena.”
“Then come with.”
Are you stupid? Come with???? Really? Real nonchalant to real fucking dumb.
“Hahaha. I wish I could but I have to work.”
The American lady came walking sideways.
“Dear Leo, it’s too hot. When do we leave?”
“We’re just waiting for the carrier boat. Another few minutes maybe.”
Leo goes to figure this out. I am staring into the abyss. This ‘come with’ is not leaving me any time soon.
Come with? Fuck off.
We get the small boat. Leo helps everyone get on the boat but he holds my hand for 2 seconds longer. Or maybe I was unstable.
Ugh.
We started our sail back.
I talked to the Japanese American. His name I can’t seem to remember but he lived in LA. I thought about his life.
It was getting hotter. I went back to the seat that was slightly less afflicted by the sun. Also, incidentally closer to Leo. I promise it was unintended.
I am not engaging. I am done with my tomfoolery.
Leo offers me gum.
Is he going to kiss me? He’ll probably ask everyone. He didn’t.
“Thank you.”
“Do you want to steer the boat?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Okay, there is hope.
Leo opened a bottle of Prosecco for everyone and handed me a glass.
“Does anyone want to go swimming?” he asked.
Everyone looked at each other hoping someone would say yes.
“Even if one person wants to go, we go.”
“Do you want to go?”
“If someone goes, I will go.”
“So, you want to go.”
“If someone wants to go.”
“So, yes.”
“I mean…yeah. Yes.”
“This girl here wants to go so you can blame her for wasting your time.” Leo announced to the boat.
Fully doesn’t have a sense of humour, man. I’m not going to wake up for this.
We found a patch in the water and I jumped in the water and so did four other people from the boat.
They can all thank me.
All you people pleasers and consensus chasers can literally die in this water. I wish a shark upon you.
We hang out there for a bit in the water.
Life is good.
I decided to go back up. Get the first privilege of the shower to get the salty water off.
Leo hands over the shower head to me.
“What are you doing today evening?”
“Probably pass out. SO tired.”
He was going to ask you, dumbfuck.
“Yeah, the boat is tiring. Do you want to get beer later? 9:30, maybe?”
I am blinking really fast. No one’s asked me like that before.
“Yeah, for sure!”
For sure??? Really?? Needy. Real needy.
“You have my number.”
“Yeah, I do.”
I dropped him a text from the boat.
And I sat in the boat smiling ear to ear.
So we are meeting Leo for beer.
We did it.
Time flew or should I say sailed.
We reached Sorrento. I waved Leo bye.
There’s a hop in my walk. Obviously.
Fatigue, what’s that?
I reached my flat.
Took a bath, washed the salt off, washed my hair, moisturised myself.
It’s just 6.
What must I do with myself for three hours? I do not know.
The fatigue may have left but the hunger, that’s still banging.
I made some easy lemon garlic pasta. Washed it down with some limoncello, which the apartment owner was kind enough to give.
Life is good. I have a date. I am in Italy. I would have had money if it weren’t for that money-sucking coffee but overall, the main character ha.
It’s 8:30. I tidied my room a little bit. Told my three friends in Chandigarh I am going to meet an Italian boy. If he attempts to kidnap me, they will save me, obviously.
Phone buzzes.
Leo: I am just leaving the dentist's. See you at the pier?
Why at the pier? What is at the pier? There is definitely no pub at the pier.
I don’t want to bang Leo. No. Maybe hold hands. Maybe kiss. But no. But yes.
Me: What’s there?
Leo: I am bringing beers. You said you liked the sea.
… Did I?
At this point, I am frantically googling Leo Romano. Is this his real name?
I type ‘crimes against women in Sorrento.’
Not much appeared.
I should go. It’ll be a good story or I’ll die. Big deal.
Me: Oh okay! I’ll see you there.
Leo: See you
I locked the door. Walked down the stairs. Google mapped my way to the pier.
I saw Leo talking to this man who was fishing. I walk up. He was cuter in the afternoon.
There was an awkward side hug, side kiss, if I may?
We sat on a rocky patch by the shore that was lit by a bulb.
And I wished to myself how lovely it would be if someone more permanent sat there with me. Someone I could revisit this memory with but I think I will have to revisit it by myself.
But there is no one permanent. I am unable to catch hold of this permanence. It eludes me just about every time I am at the cusp of making something permanent.
Maybe that’s why I have no tattoos.
How will I ever overcome this fear of permanence? What is it even called?
‘I have never gone out with Indians. Tell me why you love the cow so much.”
Classic white, ignorant, unread, unruly boat man.
“Haha. Our religion considers the cow to be sacred, the mother of all the gods. She is not a God but is supposed to be revered.”
“Interesting. Do you believe in religion?”
“I am interested in religion. Does it cloud my judgment? I’d like to think not.”
“Hmmm. Was it you or I who held hands for longer?”
I wasn’t expecting this question.
“You.”
“No, it couldn’t have happened if you didn't want to.”
Is this worth an argument? Can you just keep it playful? We got nothing to prove. The sea, the rock, there’s beer — be pleasant.
“Haha. Okay yeah sure.”
“Do you want to walk around? I could show you all the boats.”
He jumped off the rock. Extended his hand to help me off. I took the hand, climbed off, and dusted my pants with the other hand.
“Who’s holding on right now?” I said, very much still holding his hand.
“This one’s me.”
Wow. Giggles are all I have and I walked along holding Leo’s hand.
He said some things I can’t remember. I was too busy romanticising. A bit too busy.
We got to a Gelateria.
“Fancy some Nocciole Gelato?”
Nocciole is Hazelnut.
Hazelnut is my favourite flavour. We have the same favourite flavour. How lovely.
In my limited experience, one must always explore all possibilities with individuals they have instant agreement on ice cream flavour with. The easiest, most wonderful test of compatibility is going through a pizza menu and wanting the same pizza; looking at 15 different flavours of ice cream and wanting Nocciole, looking through the drinks menu, and wanting JD with coke.
You figure yours.
“Yes!”
We walk around Sorrento which is rather boring if someone’s not holding your hand.
But everything is a lot better when someone’s holding your hand, isn’t it? Even if it’s for a little bit and even if it’s just that one time.
“I really wish you weren’t going the day after.”
Is he trained to do all this emotional drama? What does he mean he wishes I weren’t going? What was he going to do if I stayed?
“Yeah but it’s fine. Thanks for the gelato! I am this way.”
“Me too.”
“Coming for coffee?” he said again
“Yeah, I’ll wake up.” I laughed.
“You’re making it really difficult but have you kissed an Italian before?”
