My Last journey to Island of Capri
Every morning the same ritual was repeated: the curtains were pulled back to the left, the windows were thrown wide open, and fresh sea air began to move around the room. The days were hot, but warmed up only by noon, so the morning chill met everyone who woke up on the island. The guests of the white houses, in principle, were in no hurry to get up, one might say, they even slowed down their rise. Life on the island seethed in its unhurried rhythm and was drowned in the singing of birds.
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I really wanted coffee. A five-minute walk was a small cookery, where delicious Italian coffee and pastries were prepared. There was no doubt that the morning from the spacious blue room would be transferred here. In the meantime, I had to open my eyes and believe again that the world opening outside the window was not a dream.
In the distance, either on the sea or in the sky, yachts and ships swayed. Such a thing as a "horizon" simply did not exist in this area. The water gradually turned into clouds and rose upward. It seemed that the whole island was covered with an azure *. But, despite the isolation of space, freedom was felt here, as in no other place. The seagulls also felt this freedom, sitting on the railings of narrow balconies. There were not many of them, as one was thicker than the other. After talking, they went up and disappeared under the * of the sky.
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The finishing touches in front of the mirror and the door was locked. No technology and cards, but a real, beautiful, carved key. Tiles with incredible patterns, which can only be found in the south of Italy, turned into steps. The elevator silently stood aside. He was used to the fact that after looking at the painted floor, the guests of the island descended the stairs.
At the exit from the territory of the hotel, stretching, everyone was seen off by a red cat. In cafes, coffee was already pouring with might and main, and sfogliatella, a Neapolitan pastry, was crunching. Emotional Italian speech awakened on a par with strong espresso.
Lemon trees stretched along the roads, the aroma of which spoke of eternal summer and peace. Yellow-blue colors predominated in both man-made and nature-made. Convertible taxis circulated along the winding roads that serpentine encircled the island.
Driving along the cliffs was breathtaking. My head was spinning both from the height and from the beauty spreading beyond the boundaries of the cabin. Some beaches could only be reached by water. Their rocky, stone environment created a special unique atmosphere.
Girls in large glasses resembled the heroines of films of the sixties. Lowering their legs into the water, they coquettishly posed for the cameras. The second group of tourists settled down in a restaurant at the foot of the rocks. Drawing circles in the air with a glass of white, they devoured the present with a barely perceptible smile of happiness.