A week between the cliff villas and the lemon groves of the Amalfi coast, packing only what fits in a single soft trunk. A small editorial on travelling well.
The trick to packing for Capri is to pack as if for one extremely long, perfect day.
One pair of linen trousers, the colour of bone. One sundress that doesn’t crease. One silk blouse that can be worn three different ways before it needs to see a hanger. A flat sandal. A heeled mule. A scarf that doubles as a wrap when the evening wind comes off the water.
The boat at noon
We took a small wooden gozzo out toward the Faraglioni at noon, and the captain, a man of perhaps seventy with the patience of a saint and the sense of humour of a much younger man, told us about the families who used to live in the caves on the south side, before the island became famous.
A quiet dinner above the harbour
Dinner was at a place that does not take reservations from people it does not know. We ate spaghetti alle vongole, drank a chilled white wine from a vineyard nobody can find on a map, and talked about whether luxury, in the end, is anything more than the absence of hurry.
Pack less. Stay longer. Don’t check your phone at dinner.
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