Some people could mistake the Mediterranean island of Capri as an overrun cruise ship stop, brimming with camera-happy tourists elbowing each other for the perfect Blue Grotto shot. Others may see it as little more than a shopping mall for spoiled 20-year-old blondes spending their much-older husbands’ money. But those people have never travelled to Capri with Tito Perrotti, the larger-than-life father of a close friend.
Tito’s daughter Lauren takes in the sun as their rented boat returns to Capri. ( Zackary Canepari)
The tanned 56-year-old Italian-American has been going to
Capri for 23 years and, to all intents and purposes, the island is now his personal playground. In Tito’s Capri, short-skirted blondes and sunburnt tourists are the supporting cast; it is the island’s bacchanalia of food, wine and turquoise sea that plays the starring role.
To travel with Tito means you have to learn to follow. He looks you square in the eye, and says with supreme confidence: “You should try the ravioli. Wait until you try the ravioli. Best ravioli in town.” Whether he’s recommending the ravioli, the postprandial limoncello, or a hike down 282 steps to a beach club, he’s always just making a suggestion. But you quickly learn to listen to Tito. He’s usually right.
The island has two main towns: Capri and Anacapri. Anacapri, where most of the employees of the tourist businesses reside, is the more bustling city. It’s also far less expensive—despite being the base for visits to the Blue Grotto—and comes with its own version of an adventure ride from the marina, along a narrow road clinging to the cliff.
Cars, on the other hand, are banned on the cobblestoned streets of Capri, and the isle is reached by a charming funicular, offering stunning ocean views from the tiny cars. The village is a maze of picturesque street cafes, luxury retailers and elaborate villas, surrounded by 360-degree vistas. Tito, of course, prefers Capri.
Nor is he the first. A resort since the Roman Empire, Capri is known to have inspired, among others, W. Somerset Maugham and John Sargent. It has been a Roman capital, a bolt-hole for Queen Victoria, and now finds itself in every holidaymaker’s wardrobe by virtue of the calf-length pants it lent its name to.
Life moves at a slower pace in Capri, but there never seems to be a dearth of things to do. Afternoons are best dedicated to downing espressos or aperitifs at street-front cafés while watching outrageously dressed blondes lead dapper old men past the Prada, Armani and Gucci storefronts.
That, though, is our only downtime. No sooner does early room service bring the cappuccinos to the poolside balcony, where we can watch the sun rise slowly behind the mountains, than Tito is raring to go for his morning walk. Small roads wind up hills around Capri, lined with elaborate villas and pristine gardens.