POSITANO, the beginning of our four week Euroliday.
And what a start it was!
Except we didn’t arrive to that exact view by boat. In hindsight a ferry would’ve made for smoother sailing. Instead we came on a bus, like sardines in a sweaty tin can on a road that hugged the cliffside.
NOT THAT WE WERE COMPLAINING!
Well, not until one of us accidentally chose the wrong bus stop when we finally arrived into Positano which meant we had to lug fifty kilos of luggage uphill, up stairs, four kilometres to our hotel.
Or as they say in Italy – Mucho Whoops-o.
The accommodation at Hotel Gabrisa blew us away.
Our balcony was satisfactory…
“Yeah pretty good aye”
I became obsessed with the pretty Positano purple.
and the scattered hillside dwellings.
Unpacking complete Hugh was ready for his FSOS – first swim of summer.
After watching him climb stair after stair with dual suitcases due to an unfortunate ‘gut instinct’ call I quickly threw on some thongs and we yogged to the main beach to get him submerged.
Those first swim of summer feels.
Since we had descended from hotel to sea level we thought it best to check out the second smaller beach in the next bay along to weigh up the two and plan where to spend the next day.
Victory to the little guy…
A mere three hundred and fifty thousand million steps later and we were back at our hotel to change for dinner.
Time to taste Positano.
Because front row means best show.
The food appeared and I was officially crowned “Best restaurant picker of the year – 2015”
You’ll either find this following snap breath-taking
Or you might prefer the look of this incredible sight.
I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the next shot that you like the most.
I mean how can you go past-a this…
Ok I get it – you’re into nutty ice-cream filled balls.
Waking up in Positano is like waking up as Beyonce. I think, probably.
On this particular morning I felt pretty fly. A real fly gal. Or just like an actual fly.
We polished off our fruit and dozen of eggs and departed for the beach.
Thongs are so wrongs for the stairs.
“Get me in that waterrrrr!” – Hugh.
It was a day of great expectations. I was ready for my first EVER Italian swim. If only I had known what really lay beneath that turquoise expanse.
It looked like the perfect spot to catch some rays, go for a doggy paddle and post a photo on instagram.
Delve a deeper.
Perhaps it looked like the perfect scene for the perfect crime?
The truth is, I got stung hun.
By a jellyfish, although that is far too cute of a name for such a ferocious sea monster.
A “sharp, razer, dagger fish” is better.
My first thought was that the culprit was a swarm of bees. One minute I was frolicking about in the water and the next I was panicking that now bees or wasps have evolved to be capable of aquatic, dive-bombing, surprise attacks!
I got to the bottom of the matter as all good detectives/victims do by speaking with the sole witness of the attack, one H W.G. Pyle.
His statement was sketchy to say the least.
“I saw it, I didn’t want to scare you, it bumped past me, so I sort of bumped it out of the way, and then I guess it attacked…”
I had no time to play the blame game. I made it to land and collapsed on the beach. It was a matter of life or death, who knew how I would react to the tentacles of torture?! I had to work with the one witness available even if I was convinced he was in cahoots with the perpetrator.
“You have to pee on me, please, I would do it for you. It’s just going to be one of those things that happens and we don’t have to talk about again. Please. I think I’m dying!”
The burn behind my knee and on my back (yes I was stung TWICE) were now making my vision blurred.
He was unhelpful. “I’m not doing it. Trust me, it’s been proven as something that works, where did you hear about it? Friends?”
This Pyle guy was a real piece of work, I didn’t know who to turn too, if he wasn’t going to pee on me who was?
And then my angel appeared, I was in the stretcher at this stage on a drip (on my sun-bed having a drink of water but roll with it) when she visited me bedside.
“I’m an Australian doctor, did you get stung? A little girl did too, take this panadol and have a warm shower and you’ll feel better in an hour or so” she said to be assuredly.
“Thank you!” I cried, as Hugh galloped off in search of some warm water to pour on my back. He returned sometime later with a glass of water, and a beer for himself (?!)
The Australian angel of life was right. I did survive and live to tell this tale.
In summary it was a tenta-cruel experience.
Now we can go on with more photos from the rest of my less dramatic time in Positano. All flowers and chocolates can be sent to me when I return to Paris, thank you for your concern.
The highlight was our trip to “Da Adolfo” a small beach and restaurant only accessible by boat. Our hotel made a lunch reservation for us and the whole day was just MAGIC.
We traversed the steep stairs and winding tracks like excited nimble mountain goats to the main beach where the free Da Adolfo boat with the red fish was waiting
Board shorts board walk
Off we sped (putted) along the coast looking back at Positano with the perspective of a pirate.
The trip allowed for a snoop at some pretty fab-u-lous hotels
Pulling up to Da Adoldo I was underwhelmed, but in a good way.
A treacherous floating jetty with large crashing waves, but I was confident in the face of such pier pressure.
Land locked and waiting for lunch H ‘fish’ Pyle was out and about.
“Mate chuck us the go-pro!”
What I was really waiting for was 1 PM. Fun PM. Yum PM.
The best mussels I’ve ever eaten, ever. No other mussel will ever compare, I shell only speak of you!
The best way to digest is horizontally, preferably with a good thriller. I was snapped this way after lunch.
Oh and shout out to anyone who has read, or is reading “Dark Places” by Gillian Flynn. I am completely and utterly disturbed! What a novel. If you have read it please reach out as I have much to discuss! Namely – how to stop the shivers and cold feeling in my soul.
With the heat slowly draining from the sun it was back to sea, Positano bound.
We really did ‘seas the day’
Full from beerskis, G&T’s and a whole lot of seafood we stumbled from the wharf up the hill. On the way we passed a frazzled woman herding her kids from the beach. “It’s either the cheese shop or bed!” she declared to her whiney eight-year-old quite literally throwing his toys.
Quite ironic as my two favourite places happen to be a cheese shop, and bed.
Our three nights flew by, the visible marks from the horrific attack healed and we had time for a clean-eating-totally-healthy-all-the-time juice and salad at Casa E Bottega – thanks for the recco A.Laff ledge-o.
Bye Positano, Love you babe XX
Next stop.. it’s the word that you’ve heard.
But actually the islands.